*This chapter is part of "The Small Town Magic Arc." This saga began with Chapter 134*

Cyclo waved his right hand over himself, resulting in all of his cuts and bruises disappearing. He then stood up and stared at Rick and Essie triumphantly.

"This isn't ideal, but I'm sure your magical abilities aren't unlimited." Rick countered verbally.

"True, but do you think you're the only one that has healing items bud?" Cyclo answered while summoning a bottle with a light blue liquid in it. "I have a large supply of ether that I can turn to for replenishing my magic when it runs low. And I can also show you some more healing items in my possession if you wish!"

"Still not a problem for us." Essie said boldly. "If this comes down to being a battle of endurance, Rick and I will prevail, no matter what it takes!"

"You teens have spunk, but I can tell you're bluffing." Cyclo sneered. "However, fighting till one of us runs out of resources was never your intention. No, I believe you were just starting things off till the grown ups in your group were ready to take me on."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Rick lied, embarrassed on how obvious he actually came off trying to deny Cyclo's accusation.

"Sorry kid, you're not fooling me. The other mage over there isn't just shielding your pirate leader, the mayor and his daughter with that force field. She is also powering up some other kind of magic, a very powerful attack I am presuming. Am I right, sweetheart?"

"Sorry Pirate, it looks like he's on to us." Cerissa said softly. "I am almost ready though, so we should be ok."

"No worries Cerissa!" The Pirate replied enthusiastically. "You, Rick, and Essie did great! Don't you worry Mayor Aplonica and Tamma, we've still got this!"

"Of course." Tamma smiled appreciatively. "I have always believed in you guys. Don't worry dad, we'll be just fine."

"Will you though?" Cyclo mocked. "You may be in a force field darling, but are you sure that your friend's spell is truly keeping you safe? Here, let me show you what I mean."

Jahno's eyes turned dark red, and he lunged at Tamma, gripping her neck tightly. He then gripped his own neck with his other hand, grinning ear to ear.

"Tamma!" Rick and Essie cried out, as Cyclo laughed maniacally. Cerissa and the Pirate also looked on with expressions of horror.

"Checkmate heroes, your feeble coup is finished!" Cyclo jeered. "Now if you don't want me to snap the necks of the mayor and his lovely daughter, I suggest you negotiate with me immediately!"

To be continued....

Sundays might have congregations in the backyard. Old Don and Elliot might go looking at the fences today, where Don fires up the BBQ and Elliot mixes pancakes. All this might happen as the basement ink’s dried pigment meets mucus.

Look where Don’s heading.

The walls flanking the stairway to the underground were bare, but the dust particles on rough bricks shimmered. Near the ink pot, a decomposing paper was seen.

-------------------------

14/03/1983

Dear Elliot,

I know you aren’t well without my blood. But I’m kind of running low. Mom says I’m getting skinny, but I won’t let you starve. Today, I cut Sarah’s leg and collected at least a litre.

Ellie, I didn’t kill your sister. She hanged herself.

I hope to come back before the blood curdles.

Take care,

Don K.

-------------------------

The creases on Don’s face overlapped one another, and his eyebrows melted. The excess skin on his neck weighed upon his jawline. He placed the page on an intriguingly empty shelf amidst the mess. He went back looking for a grill grate.

Don gazed around. Every bit of intention for coming there faded. Burning memories don’t survive time though something that appeared indifferent from a wood plank did. Dust introduced by the unanticipated movements made a light trail to it, bright enough to grab Don’s attention.

Only the first page read, “Settling at Manim shall change everything.”

Don grabbed the ink pot from the front and found a corner where he could sit. He lowered himself down halfway and fell the other half. A splinter lay along the dust tracks, which tasted salty when bitten to make a sharp edge. He spat on the ink to dissolve the pigment and wrote on the pages delicately.

Her blood-dressed pancakes weren’t popular, so she dissolved Sarah’s blood in the batter. They stopped coming after they found out. Sundays got lonely, and she stored the rest in vials.

Don was a little sick that day. Elliot took out an old vial and invited Henry, Sarah’s son, the next Sunday. They were to remember his teenage mother, but sadly, Don didn’t live for it. Two pancakes were made that day—one for Elliot, the other for Henry.

*This chapter is part of "The Small Town Magic Arc." This saga began with Chapter 134*

"Ha ha ha ha, she may be hot, but she isn't superior!" Cyclo jeered. "But once you are done relying on her magic, and I have crushed you permanently, maybe I will keep her as a second bride to go along with Tamma."

"No you won't!" Rick snarled as he charged at his foe. Cyclo pointed at Rick and fired an icy blast at him, but it bounced off his armor. Rick answered with a sword slash to the right arm of the monster, not deep enough to remove the limb, but enough to cause his enemy to scream in pain. Cyclo countered by pointing at him and firing a lighting bolt, which also bounced off of Rick's armor. Rick slashed at Cyclo's left leg, leaving another deep cut that resulted in more screams of agony. Once he regained his composure, Cyclo pointed at Rick and blasted him into the air with a gale spell.

"Looks like the buffs are down already!" Essie cried out. "Don't worry Rick, I've got you!"

Rick appeared next to Essie, and he once again caught her as she began to lose consciousness. He summoned a blue grenade into his hand, and threw it down to heal them both.

"Thanks Essie, sorry to tax you so much." Rick apologized softly. "My refills arrived at the perfect time at least."

"That's good." Essie said weakly, smiling despite needing support from Rick to stand up.

"Well well well, you've drained your girl's magic so much that your healing items aren't enough anymore!" Cyclo laughed. "What an awful boyfriend you are!"

"Here Essie, I'll give you another one." Rick said kindly as he ignored Cyclo and summoned another blue grenade. He tossed it down, and this time Essie's strength was completely restored.

"I think it's time to admit that this fight is over kids!" Cyclo declared. "You were in over your heads from the beginning, and your situation is only getting worse. Time to let the grown ups in your crew step in and take over!"

"That's rich coming from you." Rick replied boldly. "If you had a mirror, you would be able to see that you aren't looking all that great yourself!"

"True, you both did inflict some bruises, and those sword strikes are quite severe." Cyclo replied, smiling while wincing from his injuries. "But, did you both forget that you're not the only ones that have healing abilities?"

To be continued....

As a virtual armchair voyager (since disposable income tight, which pinched finances made manifold more challenging cuz this Macbook Pro on the fritz), hence I truthfully sojourn within the realm of imagination.

Soon after mine eyes shut tight, thence a deep sleep-induced reverie evoked the following imaginative vision.

“Neilos” (that longest river in the world i.e. The Nile, constituted the bedrock of countless civilizations since time immemorial) beckoned with Nike inducing joyous seduction as sleep quickly enveloped this traveler.

Music plucked by angelic minstrels ordained a heavenly sojourn, whence this miner for rich sun kissed tapestry became woven within the warp and woof of an illuminating unforgettable lifelike vision harbored to spill forth sans this flash flooded fiction pertaining to water and travel.

This weather-beaten well taut master ship builder relinquished his foray and fate into the wiry muscled young gendarme, who soundlessly plunked the knifed edge chafed hand upon the well worn smoothed gripped handle.

Bowsprit intricately finessed carved from ancient trees, where broadsided boded berth bade farewell the shores of Timbuktu, where Nike guided the prowess manned dhow, a skilled heir of a boatswain villager.

He adroitly plied the oarlocks while time seemed to stand still, while this scrivener rapt quietly, plentifully ordained, nestling most languidly kneading jubilantly inexorable heavenly goodness.

Analogous to being swaddled, ensconced and cocooned in this surreal make believe imaginary vision quest, this fictitious foray carried me along an idyllic serpentine course all the while aimlessly bumping calmly down thee eminence grise fabled major waterway seemingly fawning, expressing and doting anthropomorphically like upon my person.

The diatribe of lapping muddy waters bristles thistledown, which estuarine biota releases a soundless cloud of pearl jam feathery fluff became admixed with an entrenched profound state of rest.

A visage of military might extant from when bipedal hominids inhabited this lush land knocked jocosely inside head grimacing faces eschewed disrupting comatose benumbed anatomy.

While submerged within the bowels of an enchanting flight of fancy vis a vis whet dreams made, the luminous grandeur fueling empires danced chimerically below awareness.

Aside from a silent movie spanning millennia (extolling the virtues and vices of magnificent peoples incumbent with storied histories), an immediate raft of details pronounced themselves upon me mind.

How about I share some details somatically gleaned? Okay.

An average of 2,830 cubic meters per second of rich silt forms an alluvial plain that spreads outward in a fan shape from sedimentary deposit whereby ancient Egyptian civilizations got built.

Like a skein of swiftly tailored harried styled Chantilly laced raiment of the finest couture wove from the weft of finest webbing, geographical splendour adorned arid topography imbuing invaluable ingredients loosely dangling, and like the aorta pumping blood at the nape of the neck, yet in this analogous context engendered engineering feats without guilt.

A panoply of regal queenly pageants paraded behind closed eyelids, where I bore witnessed within spelling binding near hallucinated uber visage cleft the nooks and crannies comprising cerebral hemispheres, whereby artisans, craftsmen, early geographers illustrated in frieze and drape frozen timeless statuary exhibiting the phenomenal abilities to the hilt

Associated from mainspring within the Idyllic Fertile Crescent swollen like a plump grape which longest river often overflows the banks whereby coveted materiel gets spilt.

Buzzards hard feeding the rift valley and allowing, enabling and providing peoples to dominate flooding the history of mankind with accomplishments that marvel even today epitomized by innovations - alphabets, wheelwrights, pyramids, etc lives did create.

Lo how ingenious complex edifices punctuated the cerulean sky. Albeit slave labor cost many lives, one could not inhale with awe at incredulous architecture.

Huge blocks of stone weighing many a ton heaved with the heft and might of strapping youths formerly baffled historians (including myself – an amateur anthropologist and polymath to boot), the daunting mystery of unsung forced laborers, whose imprimatur lived on with signature mortise and tenon.

The whipped wide workers intricately laid jumbo pieces of a jigsaw puzzle a perfect fit with near geometric exactitude that rank as wonders of the world.

Faint hints of daily trials and tribulations recorded for posterity in clay.

or shards of broken pottery pieced together coupling revelations a mosaic plate, which functional artifacts provided dietary staples from god’s populace did pray.

Translucent lustrous holographs superimposed (as one might experience Virtual Reality) overlaid sans palimpsest fashion concomitant with the ebb and flow of the most mighty mellifluous Magi.

Upon awakening from a supreme stupor (treasuring the stipend of mental submergence encompassing grandeur inculcating mankind), exuberance abounded to revisit sacred ex spans sieve sands of time.

The rain poured down in torrents, drumming against the windows as if trying to break through, while inside, I sat motionless, staring at the flickering candle that seemed to hold the last shred of warmth in the cold, silent room. Every drop felt like a heartbeat, a reminder that the world outside was still alive, even if everything inside felt like it had stopped.

*This chapter is part of "The Small Town Magic Arc." This saga began with Chapter 134*

Now that the smoke had cleared, Cyclo stood before his opponents flashing a toothy grin. Even with the bruises all over his body from the attacks of the skeletal limbs Essie had summoned, he appeared to be ready to fight once again.

"That was the most powerful poison spell I had....." Essie said defeatedly as tears filled her eyes. "I'm so sorry everyone, I thought this would end the battle...."

Cyclo fell to the ground laughing uncontrollably. Once he regained his composure, he stood back up to address the mage.

"Against an enemy as weak as yourself sweetie, it could have worked. But against me, an enemy that surpasses you in every way possible, your spell could do nothing. And I took in more than enough of your poison to prove it worthless."

"Don't sweat it Essie, it's ok." Rick said softly. "I just requested some more blue grenades that should be on their way to my helmet's inventory in five minutes. And you still have plenty of great spells to bring to the table. He talks a big game, but look how beat up he looks! I doubt he is feeling as good as he says he is."

"Thank you Rick." Essie said sweetly as she hugged him. Besides natural endorphins from the embrace, Rick felt his abilities heighten again from the power of mage's embrace. Essie then held a glowing hand over Rick before letting him go.

"I added some buffs to protect you from ice, fire, lighting, wind, poison, and Earth spells." Essie said as her heart melting smile shone once again. "They should last as long as the power up from mage's embrace. If he has any other magic that doesn't fall into those categories, I'll pull you back over here and give you buffs for those too!"

Essie began to fall again, but Rick once again caught her. He then threw down another blue grenade to restore his precious friend's strength.

"You're too kind hun, but I don't want you to overdo it." Rick said tenderly. "You've done enough, and I will make sure I make these gifts you've given me count. Alright Cyclo, I'll show you how superior Essie truly is to you!"

To be continued....

Osborne Reynolds, the Ninteenth Century scientist, lived his life in turbulence.

His "number," i.e., the "Reynolds Number," is the ratio of inertial forces to viscous forces within a fluid subjected to different fluid velocities.

You don't have to remember that.

At a low Reynolds Number, flows tend to be laminar—sheet-like; alternatively, a high Reynolds number portends for a flow that is turbulent.

You don't have to remember that, either.

Any bonafide turbulence involves intersection of different fluid speeds and directions. The chaos that results can even counter the direction of the flow, creating eddy currents.

That's funny, because my name is Eddie, and I am unable to go with the flow.Like my name, eddy currents churn the flow and increase the risk of cavitation. Not good.

That's what you should remember!

I take blood pressure medications because the eddy currents in my arteries risk cavitation, especially in my brain—relevant because of something that happened to me just this morning.

Right after my morning coffee (which, unfortunately, raised my Reynolds' Number), I was minding my own business, walking the short walk to work. Distance from work, pursposely orchestrated when considering a mortgage, can favorably impact one's Reynolds Number. Mine was short, countering my coffee-induced Reynolds Number increase.

That's when I crossed paths with my ex-wife.

It had been a particularly acrimonious divorce, fraught with bad arithmetic relegating me from the royalty of my castle (as, per Sir Edward Coke in 1604, when he wrote, “Every man’s home is his castle").

She approached. With another man on her arm. They looked good. Even royal. I retreated into my serfdom and my number rose.

"Hey," she offered with a wry smile, "how's it going?" For the record, wry raises the Reynolds Number.

Turbulence ensued.

Cavitation began. And while a cavity in your tooth, among the teeth you gnash, can be filled to make the tooth right, especially the eye tooth I would have willingly given up to never seen her again, cavitation in the brain is not so remediable.

I could have recovered from my stroke, but the fact that if I died, she'd get over it fast, pushed my number to the point where I did just that.

As the future folds in upon itself, I find myself drinking in the sky in all its glory - be it brilliant, clear blue; dotted with puffy, cotton clouds; steel gray or midnight black with pinpoints of light twinkling from a distant past.

I can't help but feel insignificant: a speck of meaningless, purposeless life in a vast universe that remains incomprehensible to my small mind, has no end in space or time, indeed, is infinite, sitting above me in shades of blues, grays and blacks that may only exist in my mind.

I was hoping my heartfelt apology, cooking your favorite dinner and letting you have ultimate control of the t.v. remote for the rest of the month would make amends. But upon opening the pantry and seeing you bought Unfrosted Strawberry Pop Tarts, it sent a clear, passive-aggressive message that you’re still mad at me.