” Thistledown, thistledown, a writer’s legion.
Where am I standing, is it near a book light?
The sky bellows blue and gooey stuff tonight.
Thistledown, thistledown sparked by needin’.
Whence came the cast out angle from Hell?
Whence came the brokedown who only fell?
Whence came the cats that could not tell?
Whence came the pencils that wove a spell?
Thistledown, thistledown sing me a story.
Sure as I’m sparked, I’ll need more glory.
Thistledown, thistledown write me a name.
One as great as a player of the great game.
Life in a postage box, and broken refrain.
Simple pie plates, arranged in fiery pain.
A campaign of villainy and simplicity plain.
One more hill, and the war shall be won.
Thistledown, thistledown what has been done?
Where have the true born heroes been spun?
Can they be far, or are they truly North?
Time tick slows, and the hour grows cold.
Moments away, from what I am told.
Each and every one, bottled and sold.
Thistledown, thistledown I now grow old…….”
“What’s that you’re singing?” I asked my newest traveling companion.
“Oh, it’s just a wee tune that my pappy used to sing to us young ‘uns when we were smaller. Said it was a family tradition, handed down by the generations. I think he made it up, and just wanted us to hand it down to our generations.” Again, that askance look from him, as if questioning what he took for verifiable truth that might be questioned.
“That’s good, then. When traditions are lacking, build your own, right? God, I don’t even know if my family has any traditions. I can’t even picture my father’s face, my mother’s hair, whether or not I have any siblings to speak of even. Do I have kids? How is it that I can’t remember any details of my existence, yet I can recall how to speak English, and even know that that is the name of the language of which I am speaking?” That last part came out sort of as a yell, one which I had thrown equally at both Cloud and Shadow. They were silent, but they shrugged again, in that gesture I was beginning to associate with most of their responses: To the point, the point of ‘I don’t know’.
“Well, as I mentioned already, it’s about the trauma. Something about the transition from there to here, has forced you to essentially begin again. But, realistically, you can’t do that, if you don’t have some basic skills. So, I believe it is safe to assume that anything you were capable of before, you are capable of now, just that certain details have been removed. Whether temporary or permanent, remains to be seen.”
“I’m sorry; I mean not to bear ill news. That is usually my sister Terrorwhipper’s bailiwick, not mine; she has a sick fascination with that sort of thing. On the brighter side, though, this does mean that all those things that you probably felt bad or incapable of, are now no longer relevant. You can re-invent yourself. Let’s start with a name. What are we going to call you?” Thistledown looked up at me expectantly. Even Cloud and Shadow seemed more subdued. I thought furiously. I mulled over a few choices and immediately discarded most.
“All right. I shall henceforth be called Boris.” Cloud and Shadow beamed with a bright show of what could only be called a happy dance. It was disconcerting in the least to see either attempting to do a dance of happiness. Very, weird.
“That’s what you come up with? You have six billion possible choices to choose from and that’s what you drop out of your cerebellum? Well, ok; who am I to judge? Boris it is. Although, I’m inclined to believe you’ll pick up some more colourful additions. So. Boris. Where are we off to, then?”
“Hunh?” I flummoxed over that. “I thought you were going to pick a destination.” I looked across the horizon in all directions. Nothing but sand, sky and sunlight. There was a bit of a beaten path, which we were currently walking along on, but it was merely hardened sand that looked like many other people had already walked across it numerous times.
“Why would I set the course of this here boat race? It’s your journey; I’m just along for the fun.” He bowed with a flourish, indicating the path that we were already on
“Uh, where are we heading if we keep going along this path?”
“Ah, we will come across a town named Tintagimenal; you’ll love it. Not a single soul there named Boris.”
“Oh, ok; that sounds like a nice place. “