https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/blog.php?u=3 Sparky Slider Motorcycle UK en Sat, 02 May 2026 12:43:30 GMT vBulletin 60 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/images/misc/rss.jpg https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/blog.php?u=3 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=97 Wed, 16 Nov 2011 16:02:45 GMT Venue : Oscar's Cottage


Date : Late afternoon, March 13th


Present : December, Oscar and his Bitch.




Oscar's cottage, which I had bought on his behalf, was a very pleasant surprise.

It was small, but neat, with a charming garden in which grew plums, pears and candleberries and an especially interesting variety of orchids which I had thought were extinct, even in the grounds of the Residence.

In one corner stood a huge bee-hive, clearly alive and flourishing.
I paused to inspect them as Oscar ushered me throught the wicker gate and up the path to the front door.

Hmm, I thought. Someone here plainly has the green fingers, not to mention the sticky fingers, for I could have sworn that such varieties were a preserved and secret treasure of the Chronologists. Interesting.

However, I sensed Oscar's impatient shuffling behind me and straightened up.
"Lead on, McDuff," I smiled at him.

His face fell. "I thought I was named Oscar?" he said, bewildered. I sighed and clapped him on the back.

"And so it is, Oscar. It was a joke. A bad one, I concur. Now open the sodding door will you ? I'm hungry."

The door, however, had already opened and before me stood something much more interesting than a few rare flowers. It was Oscar's Bitch.

She was small, but strongly built, with excellent musculature and long, black hair.

Her breasts were small, but proud. Her eyes were the usual black. Thus far, she resembled every ChronoBitch I'd ever seen.

But.............her face was, simply put, beautiful. The bone structure was exquisite and the skin tone was pure alabaster.

She reminded me of a woman I thought I had loved, many years ago, but who proved to be as brittle as porcelain and just as shallow.

As you will discover though, this woman, (I cannot possibly call her a Bitch any more) had a spine and a bravery equal to any immortal.
Or mortal, come to that.

Her eyes widened at the sight of me and she gave a smothered gasp. I thought she was going to faint for a second but Oscar swiftly stepped into the breach and gave a her a sloppy kiss before introducing us.

"Sweetheart, this is Dec, the Lord December. Dec, this is my Bitch, Summer 257.

I gazed steadily into her eyes and knew at once what I had to do, whilst also realising that this was going to get out of hand very quickly.

"No," I said. And then I did that thing with my hands on her brow and named her Tina.

She gasped, then really did faint and for a moment I thought Oscar was going to rip my head off.

Then I realised it was a look of absolute adoration. Oh, bugger, I thought.

You do someone a small favour and then you do someone else a small favour and the next thing you know, you're some kind of Go- oh.

I took a very deep breath and laid my my head on my hands.
"Oscar. May I have something to eat and drink now. Please...........?" Then I fell asleep.

When I awoke, I found myself lying in soft, clean linen and the scent of lavender was everywhere and rather comforting.

By my bedside was small wooden table on which was a decanter of candleberry juice and a glass.

I poured out a generous measure and drink it all in one gulp. I was reaching out to pour more when a feminine hand stayed me. It was Tina.

"No more," she said firmly. "You need to sleep, then eat. Then we shall talk."

I assumed my sternest face and my iciest eyes - then fell fast asleep.
Again.


************************************************** ******* ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=97 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=96 Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:04:36 GMT REWIND.


In camera meeting : The Early Hours of March 12th


Present : The Millennium Lord, December, November, Tuesday


Venue : December's apartment.


The last time I set eyes on the Millennium Lord was when dear old Queen Bess was on the throne and there was some trifling problem with the Spanish.

In those days, he affected a very patrician attitude, dressed soberly, wore a disgustingly filthy wig and spoke deliberately appalling pigeon English.

Clearly, he had changed with the times. (Or perhaps the Times had changed him ? Lord, all this can get very confusing.)

As if his sudden appearance wasn't shocking enough, his greeting to Tuesday had left her and Nov speechless. Not me, however.

I'd known for a long time who Tuesday's progenitor was and if I'd been slightly evasive when she asked me directly, it was only to protect her from the shock.

It was for her own good, I reasoned incorrectly.
For after standing slack-jawed for a moment, she turned to me and slapped my face so hard, I'm sure it left a palm print on my handsome mug.

"You lying, fucking bastard," she screamed at me.

"Child, child, daughter... desist !" said the Millennium Lord. "I'm sure December was only trying to protect you from the shock. For your own good."

At this, I glanced sharply at him ; I knew he had astonishing powers - but mind-reading ?

As if to confirm this notion, he grinned wickedly at me, raising one eyebrow. Bastard.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself, that was plain to see. Then in an instant, his whole demeanour changed.

The smirk vanished and his previously sparkling blue eyes turned to stone, fixing me with a gaze that sent shivers up my spine.
He settled gracefully in an armchair by the fire and spoke; quietly but chillingly.

"You appear to have fucked things up quite remarkably, Dec. A Day, two Months and the Calendarist, all lost. Not mention the draining away of Time itself."

I opened my mouth to protest, to say that none of this was my fault, but he simply spoke over me.

"Are you any nearer to finding the cause of the leak ? Or who is responsible for it ? Do you know the reason for March's death ? Or why the Calendarist did what he did ? Well, dear boy ?"

Now, the answer to all those questions was of course, no. But I was so stunned by his assumption that all of this was somehow my fault, or my responsibility in some fashion, that I was lost for words.
Unlike Tuesday, bless her.

Having vented her immediate shock and anger on me, she now turned on her father. Gosh, what a vixen she could be !

"What is the point of blaming Dec ? None of this was his doing. And more to the point, why do you choose only now to acknowledge me ?"

She spoke with a contained fury that startled me and seemed to take the Millennium Lord somewhat aback as well.

I laid my hand on her shoulder, meaning only to restrain her passion, but it was yet another mistake. She spun round and slammed her gloved fist into my right eye, causing it to spout blood and close immediately, even as it rapidly repaired itself.

I glared at her with my one good eye and was about to give her the slap she so richly deserved, when the Millennium Lord spoke, so very gently.

"Children, desist."
And astonishingly, we did. Simply on his word of command.
"Sit, please."
And we did. (I have mentioned that we perennials have some rather cool powers and the don't get much cooler than the M's, as we commonly refer to him.)

"Now. Daughter, get some ice for December's eye and bring me a glass. Swigging from the bottle is so very vulgar, don't you think ? Ah, that's better. Eye healing well, Dec ? Good show."

He took a sip from his glass and regarded us blandly, although we were neither of us fooled; he was icily angry. For some reason, I noticed that the champagne bottle he had been drinking from was now full again and frothing. Oh dear. Oh very dear.

"Listen now and listen well, because I have no intention of repeating myself. Daughter. You were not informed of your origins because there was no good reason to do so and many good reasons not to. And before you ask, no - you have no mother. You were born of me and by me and, let me tell you, a damned painful process it was. However, December was not truly lying when he said you were a creation of The Time Lord."

I blinked and tried to hide my consternation at that remark. It was as if he had been there at the time ? He ignored me and continued.

"He deemed it a creation worth attempting. And as He could not achieve it, He ordered me to."
Here he paused and closed his eyes for a good minute. I shifted uneasily in my seat and wondered, (to my shame) if he was aware that I has spent the night insinuating myself into his daughter.

When he finally opened his eyes, he looked directly into mine and said coldly,"Yes."
Ah, I thought. Trouble here. Then I realised two things: Firstly, he was grinning sardonically and secondly, (to use the vernacular) he didn't give a fuck.

His expression changed abruptly again to the cold, humourless gaze.

"Things you should know. Firstly, The Calendarist martyred himself because he was Friday's father and mentor and was ashamed of his son's activities. But he also knew that Friday's cheap fraud alone would not account for the massive loss of Time. He reasoned that there must be some other force at work and that it must involve an invasion of the Pond. So he went to see for himself and did the best he could. He did well."

The M paused for a second and grimaced, as if to say it was still a pretty poor show.

"March stopped his own clock because he was responsible for the hole in The Pond and he was convinced he was about to be found out."

Now, I knew,of course, who Friday's father was and I could feel Tuesday's look of anger burning a hole in the back of my head. Tough. Some things have to remain a secret.

But this revelation about March stunned me.
"How do you - " I began and he raised a hand.

"I know much about many things, young Dec. You should bear that in mind. But what you really meant to ask was, why did March do it and how did he do it. Am I right ...?"
I nodded.

He sipped from his glass and stared at me for a moment, before replying.

"As to why....that I do not know. As to how, he had help from a mortal. From Real Time. From the Outside."

And then he gave me the broadest, biggest, cheesiest smile.
"Which is where you are going to have to go, my dear boy."




************************************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=96 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=95 Sun, 07 Aug 2011 23:15:37 GMT Hiatus

Now, you are probably keen to know the result of the Millennium Lord's sudden appearance at my apartment and exactly how Tuesday came to be his daughter and other such details.

Well, I shall tell you in due course. But first I feel I must explain about ChronoDogs and ChronoBitches.
Where they come from, what they do and what they look like.

To deal with the last first ; despite their name, which is both misleading and mischievous, they are not canine at all.
They look like simple mortal human beings, albeit large and muscular. (The women, or Bitches, are very similar.)

Essentially, they are a policing force for us Regulators of Time, to protect the Residence and its inhabitants from....well, ourselves, basically.

Things can often get out of hand in the bars and brothels here, when immortals gather to drink and ingest drugs and find sexual gratification and bemoan their eternal existence.

They are also used to guard the entrance and exits to the Residence, just in case another old lady manages to wander in. Or something worse.

They are fiercely loyal, (hence the Dog tag) and sadly, as I have come to realise, badly treated by those they serve.

They are housed in the two barracks, one for the Dogs and the other for the Bitches; bleak, cold affairs, reminiscent of Soviet Russia at its worst.

Comfortless, spartan, but extremely functional. Kennels, if you like.

Food is basic but nourishing and spiced with steroids to both induce muscle and constrain sexual desire, although this latter was not entirely successful, as I was about to find out.

Whilst the two sexes come into frequent contact, intimacy is actively discouraged in order to preserve discipline and morale.
Or so I have always been led to believe.

The truth is, as Oscar later told me, promiscuity is rife and rivalry between Dogs for the affections of Bitches has led to many a fight and many a death, which is always covered up neatly.

(I was astonished to learn, later in our relationship, that Oscar was, on occasions, a senior Dog at the most prestigious brothel in the Residence and that after we Regulators had tired ourselves out, both literally and sexually, the head Dogs would be entertained by the head whores in wonderfully depraved style.
Oscar has always maintained to me that he personally never took part in such events, but a certain blandness of expression and blankness of eyes makes me suspect otherwise. The dirty dog.)

So now.
On to the last point: where they come from.

The ChronoPolice, (to give them their official title) are created by the Time Lord in seasonal batches, every century or so depending on requirements.

Though not immortal beings such as I, they live on average about 400 years.
So.

Winter 360 means that Oscar was created from the Winter batch and late in the birthing.

Mature then, and experienced. And as I was about to discover, extremely intelligent.
Once Oscar's tears had dried up and he had regained his stolidity, he stood and gestured.

"Over there, lies my cottage, Lord..um.. Sir... (gosh no!)...Dec! Would you care for some tea and honey ?"

It occurred to me that tea and honey would go down a treat right now and I smiled my acquiescence.

It was like giving a puppy a treat. He literally bounded ahead, pausing now and then to wave me on and I cursed my natural inclination to be distracted by the simple courtesies of everyday life. I stopped and yelled.

"OSCAR !"
He whipped round and looked at me with an expression of pure contrition. He sensed he had somehow upset me and looked likely to burst into tears again, damn him.

This was going to be difficult, but necessary if he were to be of any use to me.
We trudged on together, side by side and slowly, whilst I gathered my thoughts.
I couldn't believe I was truly doing this, but needs must.
"Oscar," I began eventually. "There are things you need to know if you are to be of any practical help to me. So. I will talk and you will listen. Then we shall have tea and honey with your Bitch. Deal ?"

He turned and looked at me gravely, then nodded and held out his hand.
"Deal....Dec."

I hesitated for a second, then shook the outstretched hand warmly. It was a brand new experience for me and probably long overdue.

Then I related to him the events of the last few weeks, leading up to last night's appearance of the Millennium Lord.

So, I guess it's about time I told you too.


********************************* ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=95 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=94 Fri, 22 Jul 2011 21:36:29 GMT _*The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.*_ _*Part Two*_ *Venue : The Grounds of the Residence* *Date : March 13th* The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.


Part Two


Venue : The Grounds of the Residence


Date : March 13th


Present : December, Winter 360


I walked slowly through the grounds of the Residence, through the many lanes and landings, through the orchards and the meadows, dipping my feet in the gentle streams and letting the clean breeze ruffle my tumbled locks, (oh come on, you know how vain I am!), deep in thought after the revelations of the last few days.

It was a lovely spring morning, with a blue sky and a few fluffy clouds, as it always is here.
There are no seasons any more, if there ever were, which I doubt. What would be the point ?

My head was still thick and syrupy after the previous night and I sucked in the fresh air hungrily, whilst also groping in my pockets for a cigarette.
Yes, I am as weak as any mortal on occasions.

I stopped for a moment, to light a genuine Turkish gasper and ponder on this duality of character, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something tall and dark, motionless but watchful.

I stared at it for a good minute, but it remained stationary. Shrugging, I strolled on for a few paces, then stopped and whirled around. I was just fast enough to see it stop too and remain still again, a hundred paces behind me.

There was something vaguely familiar about it and a million years of autocracy (plus a certain amount of of arrogance) made me address it, in low, gentle tones.

"You. Come here and make yourself known."
For a moment, it hesitated; then slowly and reluctantly, it moved towards me, limping slightly. I felt a sudden stirring of recognition.

When it was within ten paces, I raised my hand and it halted.
"Who are you ?" I inquired, though in my heart I knew.

"I am CDWinter 360, Retired, m'lord." He barked back. I thought for a moment, then beckoned him nearer. It was indeed the ChronoDog who had plucked April from the Pond's none too tender embrace, at some cost to himself.

"Why are you following me ?"
He looked down and shuffled his feet nervously, but said nothing.
"C'mon, man, I'm not going to bite you !"

He cleared his throat, nervously. "For your protection, your worshipfulness!" he barked. I winced.
"Please....lower your voice. I have something of a headache."

"Sorry, your majesty," he whispered.

I sucked on the gasper and frowned. "What makes you think I need protection, Winter 360?"

No hesitation this time. "One Day, two Months, The Calendarist; all lost to Time. Never happened before, Sir. Something very wrong. Your Honour. Sir."

I was astonished. I'd never heard a ChronoDog speak more than two words at a time, let alone a sentence so accurate and succinct. It was the accuracy which worried me most.

And something else, something strange which stirred on the back-burner of my mind.
"Why me?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Once again, he faltered. Tried to speak, failed. Coughed, looked away, as if in shame.

I walked towards him, took his arm and bade him sit next to me on the warm clean grass.
I stared at him gently until his eyes met mine. Then I nodded slowly and the floodgates broke.

"Sir, your honour, my lord, you honoured me, you looked after me, gave me the best medics, gave me a home and allowed me to marry, treated me as a man, not a Dog, freed me from all service, gave me a pension to spend on honey and cream, allowed me to marry the Bitch of my life, gave me...a home...pension...honey and cream...cheese and onion toasties...I... you.... I am...your Dog, Highness...."
And then he ran out of steam, sighed deeply and dropped his head, exhausted.

I stared at him, nonplussed. Double nonplussed to be honest. I had not the faintest idea of how to reply to him, never having had any such conversation with a Dog before.

To give me time to think, I muttered vaguely, "Cheese and onion toasties are very bad for the digestion. Especially late at night."

He looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes.
"Thank you, m'lord for that advice. I will attempt to curb my desire, your Honourship."

I frowned at him. Whilst like most men, I love to be adored and worshipped and shown deep respect, I found this obsequience rather disconcerting, not to say uncomfortable. Especially from a ChronoDog.

I rubbed my aching head for a moment.
"Look, Winter 360.......let's get something straight." I took in a deep lungful of smoke, choked slightly, then continued.

"In public, you will call me Sir. In private, you will call me Dec. No more m'lord, your honour, your majesty or any of that shit. You understand ?"

He blinked, then nodded.
"In return, I will give you something no Dog has ever had before - a name."

He gasped and his eyes nearly exploded.
"A ....a....Name, my lord - sir?"

Names are important, you know. Without them, one is nothing. With them, comes a certain strength, a power, a sense of belonging and of place; even of importance. The denial of a name, of an identity, of a personality, guarantees anonymity and slavery.

I knew perfectly well that I was about to do would create, shall we say, certain difficulties, not to say hostilities, amongst my colleagues in Time.

Fuck them, I had more pressing needs.
"Yes. A name. Kneel."

He did so, a huge beaming smile lighting up his not unattractive face. I had never done this before and I doubt that any Regulator of Time ever has, but the words came naturally to me.

I placed my hands on his brow and took a deep breath, whilst a part of me wondered if there were any gaspers left in my pocket.

"Ex-ChronoDog, Winter 360, for services already rendered and for those to come, I bestow on you a Name, under the power vested in me by the Time Lord Himself.
Henceforth, you shall be known as .....Oscar."


****************************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=94 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=88 Sat, 28 May 2011 22:27:00 GMT Hiatus


April's remains were bagged and put into deep-freeze, there to await his interment in the Garden of Time, once a suitable tomb had been constructed.

As you will understand, this was not an everyday occurrence and took a little thought. It is not exactly a well-populated graveyard.

I sat in my apartment, drinking, accompanied by Tuesday and November, who had little to say, so stunning were the events of the last few days.

After April's demise, I had listened to January's message that March had stopped his own clock with no surprise at all and merely asked whether he had left any last note.
No, was the answer.

I dismissed him and turned to the Chief ChronoDog.
"Have March's apartment sealed and post Dogs to ensure it."

As he turned to go, I called him back.
"The Dog who pulled April from the Pond ? See that he gets the best medical aid, promote him and inform him he has my permission to marry and that a suitable cottage home will be found for him. Do it now."
He bowed respectfully and left.

I took one last look at April, then abruptly left for my apartment, followed by Tuesday, who was joined by Nov at a discreet distance.

At the door, I beckoned them both in and broke out the oldest Armagnac I could find.
And now we sat in silence, reflecting.


We had lost a Day, two Months and the Calendarist. Not to mention vast amounts of Time.

I had no idea why this had happened, nor what I should do about it, as the Eldest Month.

Over and above this, I felt a deep sadness for misjudging April so badly. His behaviour since I ordered him to undertake a suicide mission had been exemplary and warranted - what ?

I was vaguely aware of a timid knock on my door and that Nov got up to answer it.

When he returned, he was accompanied by a slim, tall youth, dressed entirely in black, carrying an opened bottle of vintage champagne from which he occasionally sipped.

Before I could say anything, he kissed Tuesday on the brow and said,"Good evening, daughter !"
She looked bewildered.

And then it hit me.
"Christ..." I said, disbelievingly.

He turned to me and smiled sweetly. "Not quite, Dec. But very close."
It was the Millennium Lord.


END OF PART 1. ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=88 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=87 Sat, 21 May 2011 22:08:29 GMT *Later on the morning of March 11th.* *Present : The Head Physician, April, December, Tuesday, Chronobitch nurses.* *Venue : The Neuro-Chronological Institute* Later on the morning of March 11th.


Present : The Head Physician, April, December, Tuesday, Chronobitch nurses.


Venue : The Neuro-Chronological Institute




"You can go now," I said curtly to the various Chronobitch nurses who stood whispering to each other in a huddle by the window.

They looked a little affronted, until the Head Physician nodded to them, after which they bowed their heads and scurried away with nary a backward glance.

I sat in a chair next to April's bed and looked at what was left of him. It was not a pretty sight. Everything possible had been done to make him comfortable, but it was pitifully little, in all truth.

His hands, legs and head had been strapped to the bed, more for the staff's safety than for his, I felt.

His skin had erupted in dozens of places and was still doing so, spilling out numbers, millions of them, which briefly glowed and spat, then vanished like the bubbles from a child's soap pipe.

His face was a horror show of impossible numerical permutations, his eyes flashed like a steroid-driven calculator, his teeth were an ever-changing array of arithmetically derived possibilities.

And then he relaxed and spoke thus :8+5+3+3+6=25, fuck 2+5=7."

I started at sound of his voice, but was baffled by what I heard and my heart sank.
He was going, would soon be gone and nobody any the wiser as to what had happened to him in the Pond , nor what had happened to Cal, nor why the leakage of Time had apparently ceased.

The Head Physician leant over and wiped April's pulsing brow with something cooling, took his pulse, then sighed and shook his head.

April lay quietly now, numbers still emerging from his shattered body, but with much less force and the thrashing limbs had given up the unequal fight. He lay there, eyes closed, dying.

"Gematria," said Tuesday quietly. I looked quizzically at her.
" The ancient Jewish tradition of assigning mystical meaning to words based on their numerical values."
A pause. "He said "hello"."

My mind raced.
"Can you speak to him in this ....Gematrian ?"

She half-smiled, then shook her head. "Too complicated for me, the maths are ....well, too complicated."

"FUCK IT!" I yelled and smashed my fist into the wall, breaking the plaster and two knuckles in the process.
I bit my lip with pain, even as the damaged bones and tissue began to heal. Yup, told you we had some rather cool powers. They also include-

"Calm down, dear," said April and he opened his eyes.
I forgot about my injured hand and pulled my chair closer to him.

"April?"
"It is I..." A faint smile.

"Can you tell me what happened in the Pond ?"
"Yes. But you must stay silent and not interrupt. I... don't know how much longer I can hold on."

I stood up, looking at him. Earlier, I had described him to you as a tall man, powerfully built, exceptionally handsome, with an entrancing smile when he chose.

What lay before me now was a mockery of a man.
He had lost six inches in height and roughly 50% of his body mass.
His skin was torn and blistered, laying bare the bones beneath, which twitched quietly with digital disturbance. He radiated waves of intense heat.
I turned to Tuesday.

"Get rid of the quack. Then summon the Chief ChronoDog."

She hesitated, then did what I so rudely ordered, leaving me alone with April.

"Speak," I said. And so he did.

(What follows is not a verbatim transcript and makes no allowance for his faltering, thin voice, nor the long pauses between sentences. It is though, as faithful as my memory allows.)

" At first, I couldn't see anything. Just a maelstrom of numbers. I lost all sense of direction....couldn't tell up from down, left from right. And although I could breathe, it felt as if, with every breath, I was ingesting something quite alien, quite hostile. And then I touched bottom and began to look around.

"The Pond appears to be made of some kind of volcanic lava, tough but very brittle and much broader than it appears from the surface. For the first five minutes or so, I wandered around aimlessly, looking for anything which seemed wrong. Then -"

At this point, April was consumed by a fit of coughing, which brought forth a sudden spate of numbers from his ruptured body.

I waited patiently. Eventually, he carried on.

"Then I found what seemed to be a wall and so I followed it, using only touch to guide me. I was starting to have difficulty breathing when I found Cal...."

Here he paused, sucking in air, before continuing.

"At first, all I could make out was a vague cruciform figure, black against white. As I got closer, I realised it was a man. And finally, I saw it was Cal. Or what was left of him.

"Dec, it was frightful, quite horrific. He was quite dead, of course, but worse was what was happening to his body. It was being slowly absorbed and turned into rock,....and in so doing, sealing the hole through which Time was escaping.
From the degree of intensity of the hardening and the way it radiated outwards from his chest, I would guess that the hole was no more than roughly a foot wide and maybe six inches tall. His extremities were still....recognisable, just. Especially his face. His anguished, agonised face."

Tears streamed from April's eyes and next to me Tuesday sobbed quietly.

I hadn't heard her enter, so mesmerised was I by April's account.
I was vaguely aware that January and the Chief ChronoDog had also entered the room, but my attention was solely on April.

"I wasted precious minutes, trying to wrest his body from the rock until it sank in, until I realised the futility of my actions. His clock was utterly stopped and even should I succeed in obtaining his corpse, I would merely open up the hole, which he had given up his life to block."

His voice was now little more than a whisper and of a sudden, there was a vicious eruption of numbers out of every orifice, causing his shattered body to spasm and buck in what was clearly the most agonising pain.

Eventually it subsided and he turned his face toward me.
"Forgive me....Dec....for all my actions in my Time. Please..........?"

I shook my head.
"There is nothing to forgive, April. You are ...the bravest month."

He smiled - or at least, attempted to.
"A favour, then...?"
"Name it," I answered.

A beautiful, fully formed, old April smile fleetingly mended that ruined face.

"A last glass of that excellent brandy of yours?"
I grinned back at him, then turned to Tuesday but she was already leaving the room.

The Chief Dog muttered something about March and January opened his mouth, but I held up my hand to silence them.

April was still grinning at me and fixing my eyes with his own, so piercing, so blue, so peaceful now, when she returned and wordlessly handed me a large glass, half full.

I took it, sighed deeply, then drank it down in one gulp.
April's clock had stopped some 60 seconds before.

***************************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=87 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=86 Sun, 08 May 2011 21:22:43 GMT *Expedition : Dawn, 11th March* *Present : December, April, Tuesday.* *Venue : The Pond* Expedition : Dawn, 11th March


Present : December, April, Tuesday.


Venue : The Pond




The path to the Pond is a grim place at the best of times. With a massive hangover and only an hour's sleep, it is truly awful.

Having said that, April seemed suspiciously cheerful, whilst Tuesday was her usual capable, self-contained self.

She had arrived at dawn, as promised and woke me from a drunken doze with a disapproving look and a cup of tea.

I dressed slowly, taking large sips, then walked into main apartment.
April was sat up, sipping from the brandy decanter and looking very sprightly - considering.
I glared at them both.
"Let's go."

After a while of stumbling through the semi-darkness of the tunnels, two things became apparent to me.
April's gaiety had subsided somewhat.
And the temperature below ground was considerably cooler than on our last visit.

For safeties sake, I had collared a Chronodog to lead us, not because I didn't know the way, but because I had a feeling he might come in useful. Oh, how right I was. For once.

And so we arrived at the Pond. It still foamed and raged, but not nearly so much as before. A frown disturbed my beautiful brow.

We three stood looking for a moment, then I glanced at April. He nodded, a half-smile lighting up his face.
"Time to go to work, Dec," he grinned. And with that, he began to strip off his clothes.

Tuesday looked away, out of decency and I moved closer to him.
"Remember - you have 15 minutes. That is all." I hesitated, confused by my feelings for once.

"Good luck, " I said lamely, unable to express quite what I felt. He nodded, took a deep breath, then dived into the Pond and was lost to sight immediately.

For a moment, we stared into the depths, trying to see something, anything, but the Pond held its secrets close.


After a while, I walked off and sat down on a rock, pondering things. And then I noticed something strange. The surface of the Pond had settled even more and was now barely moving.

Before I could point this out to Tuesday, she clutched my arm and pointed.
"D'you see ? The level." I followed her gaze and saw that the it was now on a par with GMT. And rising.

"Well, well," I murmured, then looked at my watch. Five minutes since April had dived in. Given it was a heart-clock, however, I checked Tuesday's, which only served to confirm mine. Another oddity.

We sat in silence for a while, me with my thoughts and Tuesday with hers. Something seemed wrong and yet at the same time, curiously right.

It made me uneasy, very uneasy.

I checked the watches again ; ten minutes gone and no sign of him. The surface of the Pond was now quite placid and a glance at the level showed it to be steadily increasing.

Even more worrying. I do not like things which I do not fully understand, which seem beyond my control. And these events fell slap bang into that category.

I checked the watches again; thirteen minutes gone. I lit a cigarette, ignoring Tuesday's disapproving look and stared at the Pond.
The Chronodog gave a discreet cough and pointed at the notice stating that "Smoking is absolutely forbidden here." I gave him my coldest stare until he shuffled his feet and looked away nervously.

It was now twenty minutes since April had dived in and I began to despair. There was no coming back from this for him, the physiological changes would, by now, be tearing him apart. And painfully.

What in all Time was happening, I wondered ? First Friday's death, then Cal's vanishing trick and now this. Not to mention March's mysterious "illness".
There would be hell to pay about all this, once higher authorities had been informed. I shuddered at how the Centurion would react to the news.

Then Tuesday touched my arm and nodded towards the surface of the Pond. Something was suddenly causing it to ripple and foam aggressively and it reminded me irresistibly of a deep-sea fisherman trying to land his shark.

And then April's head broke the surface, followed by a hand, flapping uselessly, before he sank beneath the surface again.

"Shit!" I started to undress, but the Chronodog beat me to it. Without even stopping to disrobe, he leapt into the Pond and for a moment, all we could see were his up-ended feet as he groped for April.

Then he broke the surface again, one arm around April's neck, the other paddling furiously towards the bank.

Between us, Tuesday and I managed to haul them ashore, me cursing furiously at the extraordinary weight of the Dog and April combined, Tuesday hanging onto my legs for dear life.

The Dog was bleeding badly, almost naked despite his short time in the Pond, with what looked like carpet burns on his arms and legs, but he would live. (The forces do not like artificial attachments of any kind and react with a ferocity that has to be seen to believed. As I had just done.)

April was shaking uncontrollably, his limbs thrashing about like an epileptic, his eyes starting out of his head. And there was something else, something deeply unpleasant.

The flesh on his whole body was expanding and contracting, as if something beneath it was desperately trying to break out.
And it seemed to me that I could see things racing about madly, impossible things, digital things, writhing and wriggling just under the surface.

I shook my head and got a grip.
"You - go and get some help." This to the Dog, who nodded and raced off down the tunnel.

"Woman - help me clothe him." For April was like ice to the touch and the rippling, pulsing flesh was horrific to the eye.
It was tricky, but somehow we managed to get some trousers on him and his cloak around his torso. Behind me, I could hear the thump of many Dogs' feet as they raced towards us.

And then he stopped shaking and sat up, fixing me with cold eyes.
"I found the leak," he said, somehow managing a wry grin, like the April we all knew and had disliked. Up until today.

"Never mind that now, " I replied, helping him to his feet. He grabbed my head and looked deep into my eyes.

"No. Listen to me. It's important. I found something else, as well."
He succumbed to a short burst of shaking, then shook his head and grinned broadly.

"I found Cal."

**************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=86 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=85 Sat, 23 Apr 2011 23:30:55 GMT _*Hiatus.*_ April finally fell asleep about 3am, smashing a valuable 16th century balloon glass as he did so. I made him comfortable and covered him with a shroud stolen from Gethsemane, an act which caused my lips to twitch with barely suppressed humour. Tuesday swept up the shards with... Hiatus.


April finally fell asleep about 3am, smashing a valuable 16th century balloon glass as he did so.
I made him comfortable and covered him with a shroud stolen from Gethsemane, an act which caused my lips to twitch with barely suppressed humour.

Tuesday swept up the shards with a broom, just like any good wife would do and I was about to make just such an observation when the full import of my thinking struck me dumb.

What the hell was I doing ?

Me, December, the Eldest Month, The Coldest Month, mooning over a woman like a love-sick teenager.

I slumped down into my favourite chair and sucked on the brandy decanter, watching Tuesday as she did what all women throughout Time have done - clear up after men.

And yet, she was no ordinary woman. She was a Chrono, a Regulator, a Perennial who had powers no mortal could conceive.

Then she ruined the illusion by kicking me hard on the leg.
"Lift your feet. I need to get those shards of glass from under them." So I did what all men throughout Time have done - meekly obey a woman.

When I was finally allowed to put my feet down, I glanced across at April, who was snoring for England under his shroud.

Could he do it, when at dawn tomorrow, he stood naked above the Pond ?
Should he do it, or was it a pointless exercise in futility ?

Was I wrong to ask him to do it ? Should I have first invoked a higher power, such as the Decadent or the Centurion ?

And so I brooded, until I became aware that Tuesday was standing before me, with her coat on.

"I'm going back to my apartment to sleep. I'll be here at dawn. Goodnight."
And with that she turned away.
I thought about saying something, then realised it would be useless.

Feeling suddenly angry I stood up, paced around the room for a while, then gave April a hefty kick on the leg which dangled down from the couch. He grunted, grinned inanely, then started snoring again.

I stumbled into the bedroom, muttering to myself the way old/young men do when they are thwarted.

The room was as I left it; bed un-made, glasses everywhere, ashtrays full and the air thick with - what ?
Smoke, sweat, alcohol and bodily fluids; yes.
But there was something else, something which at first I struggled to recognise.

And then it hit me.
It was the scent of a woman. Intoxicating, mesmerising, overwhelming.

I sat down abruptly on the bed, suddenly feeling a little weak at the knees.

Damn her.
Damn her through all Time.


********************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=85 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=84 Sun, 10 Apr 2011 21:26:48 GMT In Camera meeting; 10th March, late evening.


Present : December, April, Tuesday.


Venue : December's apartments




I watched, mildly amused, as April rummaged through the humidor until he found my finest Cohibas, (which were given to me by Castro himself) then selected an even finer Napoleonic brandy and poured himself a very large one into my very largest balloon glass.
There was a bowl of shelled plovers eggs on the sideboard which he collected as he swept past to my dining table.

He was a tall man, powerfully built, exceptionally handsome, with an entrancing smile when he chose.
Yet through it all ran a rich vein of cruelty that could not be hidden for long.

He sat down at the table, swung his booted feet up on it, plopped an egg into his mouth, then took a large swallow of brandy, before letting out a long, satisfied sigh of approval.

He saw me looking at him and grinned.
"A condemned man is always allowed a hearty last meal, ain't that so, Dec?"


Under the circumstances, I ignored the over-familiarity, for I had indeed almost certainly condemned him to death.

He nodded towards Tuesday and muttered, through a mouthful of plover's egg, "What's with the muffin ?"
I said nothing, waiting and watching. Tuesday merely stared, those coal-black eyes fixed steadily on April.

"Have you been to the Pond before, April? I asked.
He shook his head and blew smoke rings, affecting an air of nonchalance which was let down by the nervous tic in his left eyelid.

For a moment I hesitated - had I made a bad choice ?
Then I mentally shrugged. Too late now.

"I will guide you. You should enter the Pond naked. You will have roughly 15 minutes before the forces at work there begin to corrode your body. Fatally."
I watched him carefully as I spoke, but detected no reluctance at all, no sudden cowardice or fear. If anything, he seemed curiously enlivened.

I continued.
"All I wish you to do is to find the leak, then report back to me. We will then consider what action to take."

Even as I spoke, I saw that he relished the task ahead and even welcomed it. Eternal life held no more thrills for him, no more pleasures he hadn't already tasted a million times before, no more excitement.
All at once, the arrogant façade vanished and he leant forward, intrigued.
"Tell me more, Dec."

So I did. As Tuesday sat silently staring into the distance, I told him bluntly the truth about what he was going to endure.

"The process by which seconds and minutes are refreshed and exchanged is, of necessity, fairly crude. It does not discriminate because it does not need to; it never has to deal with anything more complicated than the smallest particles of Time."

I paused to take a sip of my brandy and a plover's egg, barely noticing as Tuesday brushed it lightly with celery salt.
It did not escape April's eye though and of a sudden, he seemed to regard me with something approaching respect.

"Now. You've heard of mechanically reclaimed meat ? A process where animal bones are forced under pressure through a sieve to strip them of all possible edible flesh ? A similar process takes place in the Pond. So you may imagine what would happen to a complex body such as a perennial. The Pond would be in turns confused, then suspicious, then hostile. It would, in short, attempt to to break you down into simple particles of time, The Minutes and Seconds for which it was designed to cope. It would fail, of course, but by the time it gave up, your clock would be utterly and finally stopped."

I fell silent, wondering if I had said too much. April's cigar had gone out and he laid it down on the table, absent-mindedly.

Suddenly, I felt utterly exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, ideally with my head nestling between Tuesday's beautiful breasts, a thought which immediately woke me up, in more ways than one.

"Okay," I said, louder than perhaps I intended.

"Two more things. 1. You do not have to do this and I will understand completely if you refuse. 2. I emphasise again; you have just 15 minutes before irreversible damage to your existence takes place. Whatever you see, or think you see or simply guess at, you must get out and report back or your life will have been lost to no purpose. Do you understand me, April ?"

Even as I spoke, I became vaguely aware that Tuesday was looking at me curiously and I wondered why.
April knocked back the last of his brandy and grinned crookedly.

"Two things. I wouldn't dream of backing out, since you make it sound so inviting. After all, who wants to live forever ?"
I studied him intently. All the old insouciance was back, no trace of the earlier nerves on display.
I arched an eyebrow. "And the second ?"
He laughed, a deep, rich, merry laugh which warmed my heart.

"I'd like another brandy, if that's permitted."
I poured it myself, an extra, extra large one.




*********************************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=84 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=83 Sun, 03 Apr 2011 21:32:21 GMT *Ad Hoc meeting : March 10th* *Present : The Months, The Yearling, the Chief Chronodog.* *Absent : The Calendarist, March.*

Ad Hoc meeting : March 10th


Present : The Months, The Yearling, the Chief Chronodog.


Absent : The Calendarist, March.


Chairman : The Eldest Month


I was the last to arrive and I was in no mood to be trifled with by anybody.
Which is why I walked straight up to The Yearling and punched him in the face as hard as I could.
He went down like a whore at a stag night and took no further part in the meeting.

Then I turned to the assembled Months, who were horrified - all except Nov, who grinned openly.
"Sit... down," I ordered and they did, although the Chief Dog seemed disposed to argue.
I glared at him and he dropped his eyes.

In the absence of the Calendarist, the eldest Month was in command and that was me. I know what you're going to say. Surely January was the oldest Month ?

Nope. Ever since the birth of the Nazarine and the beginning of Anno Domini, December has been the Elder, the Senior, the poor sod who has to take responsibility for the Year, in the absence of the Calendarist.
And absent he most certainly was.

Nothing had been heard or seen of him since that night he had left the Residence in a state of high distress. The Chronos were confused, bewildered, scared, worried and much more besides.

And then there was Tuesday. As if I didn't have enough on my plate, I now had her to consider.

You see, I had indeed lied to her last night, thrice; two were lies of omission, the other a lie of commission.
I knew perfectly well who Friday's father was and I also knew how and why he was made a Day of The Week.

I then compounded these errors by taking her to my bed and lying with her, again, so to speak.

When I left her to covene this meeting, she was sound asleep and snoring gently.
A pleasant, feminine snoring, not the bestial grunting of a man. It pleased me strangely and I ruminated on this as I made my way to the meeting.

Even I, a creation of Time, was not entirely immune to mortal feelings and I sensed an instinct to protect her that almost overwhelmed me, until I got a grip.

I am, by nature and inclination, an indolent creature, fond of my creature comforts, slow to anger and reasonably tolerant of others. I had no desire to be a "Leader", whatever that means, and certainly no wish to become emotionally entangled with anyone; least of all with anyone of the opposite sex.

And yet here I was, smiling like a foolish youth at the memory of her sweet lips and about to command the Chronologists to follow my orders.
It was confusing and troubling, which explains why I marched in to the meeting in such a pugnacious mood and dealt so summarily with the idiot Yearling.

And then I dealt with the assembled dignitaries equally harshly.

"You," I snarled, pointing at the Chief Chronodog. He jumped, never having been addressed in so peremptory a fashion before.
"Close off all exits from the Residence and instruct the Guardian to allow nobody entrance from the Outside."
He swallowed hard and jumped to his feet. "Yes sir !" he shouted and stumbled out of the room.
I looked coldly around the shocked faces and pointed at January.

"You. Go and find out what exactly is wrong with March." When he merely sat there and blinked, I added curtly, "And do it now."

In a kind of trance, he rose and headed for the door, pausing only once to glance curiously at me for a moment, before shaking his head slightly as if somewhat bemused.

You're not the only one, chum, I thought, a little feverishly.


I sat down abruptly and stared at April. Eliot had called him "the cruellest month" and not without reason. Now he met my glance steadily, with a faint grin, a twist of the lips, which told me all I needed to know.

He was very brave, extremely brave; but it was a bravery, a courage, which came from a simple lack of any feeling or emotion.
He just didn't care; about anyone or anything. Least of all himself.
He was the perfect choice for the task I had in mind.

"And what do you have in mind...sir ?" he asked softly, having read my look correctly.
I held his gaze.
"I wish you to go swimming, April. In The Pond. And I wish you to find the leak. Then plug it."




************************************************** ********* ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=83 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=82 Mon, 14 Mar 2011 22:51:43 GMT In camera meeting : March 8th


Present : December, Tuesday


" Which Month was Friday's father ? Why could he not be left alone in ignorance ? How did he become a Day ? And where is Cal ?"
She was relentless, her eyes burning with passion. She had knocked on the door of my suite and marched in without so much as a "Good evening, pretty boy."

Stalling for time, I replied," Which question do you want answered first?"
"Where is Cal ?" she said, without hesitating.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully.
"Which Month was Friday's father ?" she continued.
"It could have been any of them," I responded, equally truthfully.
"How did he become a Day ?" she went on.
"I ...don't know," I lied, lamely.
She paused, regarding me with pure contempt.
"You don't know much, do you?" she taunted.
I stared back at her, unblinking.

"Whereas you seem to know far too much, petal. For a Day."
That stopped her.
She actually blushed, for a moment.

"I...I have connections," she muttered eventually, staring down at her feet, like a guilty schoolgirl.
I felt a vague stirring, as I suddenly realised she was rather, well, attractive.

About five-foot six, slim, blonde hair and a very trim figure.
Only her pitch-black eyes spoiled the picture, although even they had a certain dark charm, if I am to be totally honest. Irritated with myself, I gestured towards a comfy armchair.

"Would you like a drink ?" I said.
She nodded and sat down tentatively on the edge of the seat.
I poured two large snifters of an 18th century cognac, my especial favourite, looted from some French duke's cellar during The Revolution.

(Which, I'm sorry to say, I had a hand in starting. Sorry because the place was a damn sight more civilised when the aristos were cruel but had exquisite taste, the poor were brutal and ignorant and nobody lived much longer than 35. Orders are orders, though.)

I handed a glass to Tuesday, who knocked it back in one gulp, to my utter dismay.
"There was one question you didn't answer," she suddenly said and I tensed up.
"Why could he not be left alone in ignorance?"
Inwardly, I felt a huge sense of relief that she omitted to ask the really tricky question. The question I had been dreading.

Outwardly, I shrugged.
"Too dangerous. Although he was born of mortal woman, he is a creation of Time. As he became sentient, he would feel the difference and become aware of certain powers, as would other mortals he associated with. He would have been tempted to use them without fully understanding them. And the mortals would brand him a sorcerer and burn him. Or the modern-day equivalent. Parade him on a reality TV show, probably."

She fell silent and I relaxed a little. She was far too intelligent to be a mere Day, I reflected and a moment later, she proved it.
"Who am I?" she asked and my watch raced.
"You are a creation of The Time Lord, as are we all," I replied immediately.
"Who am I?" she repeated with an alarming intensity.
I began to get slightly irritated with it.
"I just told you," I replied somewhat curtly.
There was to be no let up, though.

"Why," she said through gritted teeth," Am I the only woman Chrono ?"
That is it, enough is enough, I thought and became suddenly reckless.

"Why ? I'll tell you why, woman. Because He realised He'd made a dreadful mistake. Women are neurotic, hysterical on a monthly basis and worst of all, they inevitably want children. Which is the one thing we absolutely cannot allow in a Chronologist. There - happy now?"

I regretted those words even before they were out, but it was too late.
For a brief moment, she glared at me with sheer venom, before bursting into tears.
And then I made it even worse.

And then, as the old song goes, I kissed her.


********************************************* ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=82 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=81 Mon, 07 Mar 2011 22:58:36 GMT Hiatus


Many things need explaining now, not the least of which is the Residence, where all Time is regulated, where all the Regulators live and beneath which lies The Pond.

It isn't hard to find the entrance, but getting in is another matter altogether.

On Marylebone High Street in London, there is a Greek restaurant called The Hellenic. Right next door is a small, rather seedy shop, which claims to sell "military antiquities", by which is meant officers holsters, dubious looking binoculars, rusty bayonets, faded sepia pictures of long-dead soldiers and other such melancholy curiosities.
(Almost all of which are fakes, or replicas or other forgeries; except the hip-bone of Adolph Hitler, which I know is real because I put it there.)

On entering, an old man with a limp and a cleft palate awaits you. He is known as The Guardian.
Should you be a genuine customer, interested in a battered WW1 German helmet, you will be politely told that, alas, it is sold. As in fact is every item on display in the window and in the shop.

Baffled, most visitors leave feeling slightly cross, not unnaturally.

However, were you to ask him the simple question, "Do you have the time?", you would be ushered through a side door where a Chronodog would escort you into The Residence proper.
(Normally, it's a very secure procedure but it did fail once, when an elderly lady who was slowly losing her wits, blundered in and asked The Question, in all innocence.
She was duly allowed to enter and promptly went completely insane. She now resides in her own comfortable little cottage on the estate, watched over lovingly day and night by Chronobitches. It was clearly inadvisable to allow her back into Real Time.)

You know the Arabian Nights tale of the small tent which, once entered, revealed a huge, sprawling palace with gardens and fountains ?
No ? Ok, think instead of the Tardis.
That's the Residence.

4,000 acres of luxurious accommodation, bars and brothels, art galleries, orchards and hothouses, lawns and lakes, desert islands worthy of Crusoe and a first-class cricket pitch.
A bizarre mixture of baroque, neoclassical, Palladian, Art Deco and Stalinesque architecture, (that's the barracks housing the Chronodogs) it is a product of the whimsy and passions of two millennia of cultural looting and pillaging by, well.....er...us.

The main building is where the Regulators live in considerable luxury and lack for no creature comforts, except maybe the company of women.
Hence the brothels, which are run by Chronodogs and manned (if that is the right word) by drugged mortals who are rewarded handsomely for their unwilling and unconscious services, which last only long enough for them to be set up for life, detoxed and sent back.

(You've doubtless heard all the stories from people who claim to have been abducted by aliens and "probed" ? I shall say no more.)

For obvious reasons, contact with Real Time is needed, but carefully monitored.
Outside of the Residence, no Regulator is allowed to have mortal relationships of any kind, other than strictly business.
It wouldn't be fair, it wouldn't be ethical and it wouldn't be practical.

I know, I know. I can hear the question hovering on your lips.
"So how can Friday be half-mortal ?" you wonder.

I shall tell you, but to do so I have to take you back in time, metaphorically speaking.
I am my own father. And grandfather. And great-grandfather. And so on, as far back as you care to go. I have never known a "mother's" love and frankly, do not miss it one jot. I am born of Time and happy to be so.

Every now and then I am "renewed" and may choose to alter my appearance to reflect my age as I choose to look. For decades, I remained a fresh-faced twenty-five year-old, tall, blonde of hair, blue of eye and fair of face.
Recently, I have allowed myself to mature to a rogueish-looking forty-five, the kind of cad and bounder you would never, ever trust with your beautiful teenage daughter.

But enough about me; Friday's Chrono-father was an unknown Month who fell fatally in love with a female mortal from one of the Residence's brothels. Whilst not unusual in itself, what followed was shocking and utterly wrong.

When her time was up and she was returned to the outside, he found her loss intolerable.
And so he crossed the line and the tragedy began. He saw the woman frequently, though furtively, engaging in unprotected physical congress each time, with the inevitable result.

She of course was completely unaware of her lover's true identity and therefore deliriously happy.
Until she gave birth to the anomaly now known as Friday. She died almost immediately afterwards, from "complications", leaving a squalling, puking infant and a heart-broken Month.

Something had to be done with awkward infant and so he was placed with one Sarah Mumbless, a decent and discreet woman with a child of her own, Martha.
Until, that is, he was old enough to be taken into the Residence and informed of his descent and his destiny, by The Calendarist.

Which Month was his father ?
Why could he not be left alone in ignorance ?
And how did he become a Day ?
All will be revealed, Dear Readers. Have patience.


************************************************** * ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=81 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=80 Tue, 08 Feb 2011 23:24:09 GMT *In camera meeting : 6th March* *Present : The Calendarist, December, Tuesday.* As I looked at what Cal had become, I found myself pondering the idea of mortality for possibly the first time in my long existence. The events of the last week had reduced him to a mere shade of his... In camera meeting : 6th March


Present : The Calendarist, December, Tuesday.


As I looked at what Cal had become, I found myself pondering the idea of mortality for possibly the first time in my long existence.

The events of the last week had reduced him to a mere shade of his former self ; weak, pale, shrunken.
The three of us had convened in my suite, there to discuss what must be done, but it became blindingly obvious that Cal would play little or no part in whatever happened next.

He sat there, gripping tightly to a glass of brandy which he never touched, a dreamy, far away look in his eyes.

"I remember Friday when he was just a child, a fledgling Day. His mother was a mortal, did you know that ? When her time ran out, somewhat prematurely, he was raised by Sarah Mumbless and played with Sarah's daughter, Martha.

"When he eventually realised who and what he was, he was very confused and angry. He wanted no part of it, of Time. He simply wanted to be mortal and to be with Martha."

Cal was weeping steadily now, his rheumy eyes gumming up as the memories of a long, long lifetime battered and bruised him.

"Those of us born to Time can have no real conception of what it is like to be part-mortal. It fell to me to explain that henceforth, he must have no contact with the mortal world, other than that which was strictly neccessary for his work. No ties, no friends, no relationships of any kind. I can't help but feel that this conflict is what led him to stop his own clock...."

An uncomfortable silence fell.
I stole a glance at Tuesday, who registered no emotion whatsoever, the callous bitch.

I sipped my brandy and waited.

Cal finally wiped his eyes and stood up, tall and straight.
"I'm tired now. I'm going to bed. Sleep well...."

He turned to go, but Tuesday coughed and caught his eye.
"Don't we have something to talk about, sir ?"

Cal paused and considered this for a moment.
"I'm sure you two do. Good luck."

And with that he walked out of the room, out of the residence and out of our lives.


*********************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=80 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=79 Mon, 31 Jan 2011 15:53:53 GMT *Panic meeting : 5th March* *Present : The Yearling, (part-time)The Calendarist, The Months, Tuesday, The Chief Constable of the Chronodogs* *Absent through illness : March*
Panic meeting : 5th March


Present : The Yearling, (part-time)The Calendarist, The Months, Tuesday, The Chief Constable of the Chronodogs


Absent through illness : March


The Yearling was, to be blunt, completely pissed.
Dragged out of an opium den after a lunch which lasted three days, he hadn't a clue where he was, who he was or what he was. Or more amusingly, what time it was.

He tried to grope Tuesday the moment he saw her, was kicked soundly in the delicate parts, urinated over the Chief Constable's hat, then threw up into the port decanter, which I have to admit showed an accuracy which was quite astonishing. If rather annoying for those of us who like a good port.

Nobody said a word.
Eventually, he collapsed into a corner and fell asleep.

After a moment, The Calendarist stood. He seemed shrunken, diminished; all his old authority and gravitas appeared to have drained away from him following that hideous evening at The Pond.
He spoke slowly, in such a low voice that we had to strain to hear.

Without any preamble, he described the meeting between the three of us, then what we had discovered on visiting The Pond.

At this point, he was obliged to officially explain the existence of the wretched pool to the rest of them, who were suitably astonished, surprised and so on, though a certain artificiality in some of their responses led me to suspect that I wasn't the only one who knew "things".

The Chief Constable alone remained unmoved, though as his dogs protected The Pond, this was only to be expected.

The information which really knocked all of them for six was that The Pond was leaking Time like a rich man leaks money at a casino.
I'd had a while to absorb the news and consider the implications, but for them, it must literally have seemed like the end of the world. Certainly their world.

When the hubbub died down a little, The Calendarist raised a hand for silence and was about to speak some more, when there was a brisk knock at the door, followed by the appearance of a Senior Dog who bowed to the company, then handed a note to the Chief Constable and whispered in his ear.

He glanced at it, started, then read it again before handing it to Cal and whispering something in his ear.
The Calendarist read it slowly, nodding occasionally as if its contents came as no surprise to him.

My mind - and my heart watch - raced. What now, I wondered ?

Cal look around the room and I suddenly noticed there was a tear slowly rolling down his cheek.
"This is a confession, from Friday, extracted without duress. I shall read it aloud." And he did.


"I, The Day of The Week known as Friday, do swear to the following :


1. In the first two months of this year, I did knowingly and with personal gain aforethought, secrete, then give, two days worth of Seconds to Martha Mumbless, a maiden of this district, who wished the time to spend with her dying mother, my former nanny. Though I received no payment for this act, I gained from the pleasure it brought them both and, ultimately, to myself.


2. I had hoped my action would escape undue attention, but upon realising from certain friends that it had not, I destroyed my records in a futile attempt to avoid prosecution.


I now accept full responsibility for my actions and can only offer my abject apologies for such un-Timely behaviour.
Yours, in resignation,
Friday."


Well, well, well, I thought to myself. That's all very well. But.....

The room exploded as the other Months bombarded Cal and the Chief Constable with questions, all of which missed the point. Only Tuesday and I stayed aloof from the baying.

Finally, January's shrill voice cut through.
"Where is the bloody bastard ? What a coward. Why does not he appear in person to explain himself to his betters, eh ?"

Cal smiled a smile of such icy tenderness, that my heart watch sped up.
"He can't. Friday has gone. He stopped his own clock voluntarily."

That shut them all up.
A self-termination hadn't occurred since Sinday lost his personal battle with Monday, all those centuries ago.
(You've never heard of Sinday ? Have a think !)

It was my old friend November who brought us back to the present time.
He coughed.
"Um, two days...bad. But...two days not explain eight days lost. Nor leaking Pond."

(Sorry about his English, Nov is half Finnish. Don't ask.)
He continued.
"How bad is Time now, please ?"

For a long moment, Cal said nothing.
Then he laid the Sacred Scroll on the table. It was open at 2010, revealing all the blank Fridays.
He sighed heavily.

"See for yourselves...."
And he turned the page, to reveal 2011.
Which was totally blank.

The Yearling stirred and looked around vacantly, a cheery smile on his face.
"Hullo ! Anyone fancy going clubbing ?"




******************************************** ]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=79 https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=78 Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:59:34 GMT Hiatus




The Pond. How to explain it troubles me somewhat, if I'm honest.
It is at once both simplicity itself and yet more complex than Fermat's famous Last Theorem.

Y'see, contrary to popular belief, time does not pass. Nor does it heal. Nor can it be killed, or wasted, or served, or saved, or any of the other cliches.

Time simply is, then it isn't.
And when it isn't, guess what happens to it ?
No ?

Then I'll tell you : it goes to The Pond. And once there, is re-cycled.
We are talking here only of minutes and seconds, all others being perrenials and absolute.
Though as always, some are more absolute than others.

Think of it as a primeval soup, where beneath the surface, living things heave and swarm and struggle for life.
Except that, in normal times, the surface of this soup is as calm and serene as a millpond.

Seconds are absorbed, cleansed and re-born, some as Minutes.
Minutes are absorbed, cleansed and re-born, some as Seconds.

Time, at least in this sense, does indeed pass, to the mortal heart.

From The Pond comes the renewed particles needed to keep the pulse of life beating and vibrant, to sustain the mistaken belief of mortals that time is everlasting and eternal and will alway come to their rescue, somehow, some way.

Idiots. Dear, romantic idiots. I despair of you all, at times. You cling to the most idiotic beliefs simply because they comfort you in your hours of need, something which is perfectly understandable in children, but not in supposedly mature adults.

But I digress; as mentioned, The Pond is normally calm and peaceful on the surface, whilst all beneath is turmoil.

Yet now, according to Cal, it was as a raging sea, spitting and foaming with a fury which terrified him.
Frankly, it even terrified me and I haven't been scared for a long time; centuries, in fact.

Tuesday seemed unconcerned. Whilst Cal and I sat in silence, taking it in turns to suck on the bottle, she sat looking coldly from one of us to the other, until finally, she lost patience.

"Oh get a grip, you two," she snapped, which made us both sit up.

She glared at us. A mere Day ! Glaring at us ?? I could see that Cal did take this very kindly and neither did I. But before either of us could say anything, it continued.

(Sorry, but I can no longer define her as female. There is nothing feminine about a woman on a mission.)

"Stop drinking yourself into a stupour and act! We need to visit The Pond and verify the facts. Now."

So commandingly was this delivered that we both involuntarily stood up and headed for the door, before I remembered myself, nipped back and grabbed the brandy bottle, stuffing in the cork and stowing it safely in my cloak pocket.

You never know, you know. And I was right.

As we passed through pitch dark tunnels and a myriad subterranean pathways and bridges guarded by unseen chronodogs and worse, the shape of the bottle was some comfort to me. Only some.

I had been here once before, guided by a rogue dog with an addiction to Rolex and that was scary enough.
This was much, much worse.

Cal was used to it of course, but I sensed that even our cute little Day was losing its nerve a touch, which made me giggle somewhat.

Served me right then, when I smacked my head on the low roof of the final passage and emerged dazed and confused on the banks of The Pond itself.

Cal stopped as if shot. "No, no," he whispered, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

Tuesday went white.

I clutched a hand to my head and felt sick at the sight of the blood on it.
Then I looked.

The Pond was indeed a raging sea; tossing, spuming, foaming, angry.
"Wow!" I managed.

Tuesday said, "That is worrying."
Cal, horror-stricken, merely pointed at something.

Tuesday looked perplexed. "What?"

Cal turned to face us and suddenly seemed like a man drained of all hope.
"The...the level. Look at the level."

We both looked, but didn't immediately see.
"It has dropped below GMT and is receding as I speak....LOOK!"

And we did.
And we saw.

It was Tuesday who spoke first.
"It's...leaking. Time is leaking away."

Cal nodded.

I groped in my cloak and pulled out the bottle.

"Give me that," demanded Tuesday harshly.


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]]> Archangel https://www.sparkyslider.co.uk/entry.php?b=78