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Chimera - Prologue


L. K. Clementine

C. P. Ameriqueia






noun: chimera; plural noun: chimeras; noun: chimaera; plural noun: chimaeras

1.   (in Greek mythology) a fire-breathing female monster with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a serpent's tail.

2.   any mythical animal with parts taken from various animals. 

3.   a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve.

When the boundaries between reality and fantasy align. 



         Tears stung his eyes as he worked.


        His fingers bled as he drew the circle, mingling with the chalk and with the residues that clung to the rooftop on which he was drawing his circle. He intermittently stopped to refer to the book, the old, dusty thing he had found in Casper’s shop. He had spent hours in that shop, his eyes a little glazed at the wonder of all the old books that he found, the nature of their magic to him as they opened a world of escape and peace that he could not find yet on his own. He loved those worlds, where no one tormented him, where he could be the hero and have so much strength that no one ever shoved him against a locker or dragged him into the girl’s bathroom, to leave him in there with their screams and accusations.


        No one would ever again grab the sides of his trousers and yank them to his ankles. No, he would make sure that today could never happen again.


        In Casper’s shop, deep and buried within the books that created worlds for him, he was safe. But today, he didn’t feel safe and he didn’t want to be swallowed up by those worlds. He wanted revenge and he wanted the world to be over. He wanted lightning to strike them, earthquakes to swallow them, and a tsunami to sweep them away. But all he could do was cry angrily, his face streaked with soot from the dirt on the rooftop as he sketched out the spell from the very old book he had found deep in the bowels of Casper’s old book store.


        Most days, he would have only wanted to believe it would work, but today, he could have no doubts. Today, just for today, his belief was driven by his hatred, burning from deep within him as he cursed those who humiliated him. He called forth all of the belief he could muster, even though he would most likely do this futile thing and only make this dramatic gesture rather than finding within him real magic. But today, he believed…he believed he could change the world with chalk, candles and words.


        His fingers bled as the chalk grew short and his nails dragged against the rough surface of the roof. He drew the symbols as they were shown within the book, his blood mingling with the residue on the top of the building. The factory was a place where candles and scented sachets for ladies’ closets had been constructed, which had left residues which were filled with strange properties from all of the aromas and dried herbs that had been used to make the candles. Within the residue were also chemical compounds that had not been in use for years, some of which belonged to dangerous mixtures that no longer were deemed fit for the public.


        The factory, in its first incarnation, was a place where a newspaper had been run on a press, its repeating patterns providing inks that were made of all kinds of natural substances, also no longer used in the modern world. One time, Johnny Cateris had run across this roof, his hands clutching a bag of gold dust that he had stolen from the vault at his employer’s office. The dust had floated around that bag as it should not have been used for such a fine substance. Minute specks of it fell from it before it fell from his hands as the men grabbed him and tossed him from the building, but not before they had punched him in the mouth hard enough for blood to fly out from his lips, splattering a part of the roof.


         Gold dust, old blood in the cracks of the rooftop, herbs, and scented wax, natural inks, all filled with rich and old mystery all combined with the blood that scraped from his fingers as he drew his symbol. It was a mix that could never have been imagined, properties that would have had a hard time falling together accidentally. All of which were not to be found within the pages of the book, but were needed to make the spell work and for some reason existed in this space and this time. And the fae, they too existed and whispered and laughed at the pretty boy who was crying and trying to change the world. And in this moment, as he lit the candles, arranged around the symbol that was drawn with natural and earthly elements, all of which were beyond his knowledge, he mumbled the words, somehow feeling them tumble from his lips in perfect intonation, these words igniting the gold, the blood and the magic held within the symbol. It could have never happened in another place or another time, and without the help of the wicked creatures that sat, twisting their head in amusement at the boy in despair. They granted him his wicked wish, and the world was torn in two.


        A green light ignited in the center of the symbol, then expanded over the whole of it. The light spread throughout the rooftop, knocking its maker off his feet and dropping him into unconsciousness. He dreamed the dreams of books filled with all the wondrous stories he had loved in his life. All the heroes and villains he had hoped to become and had hoped to vanquish were filling his mind, which in turn were becoming a reality. The green light spread quickly over his new Earth, until much of it was engulfed. As phantasmal energy erupted, it caused a crack in the fabric of reality, splitting the world asunder, that went unnoticed or unheard by anyone but the two architects of this moment. In that second, a phasing took place randomly keeping some people in the original world, and others sent to a different place, very similar to the first, but filled with the essence of his dreams.


        Then both worlds stopped, untouched, unmoving, without a speck of dust falling or a moment of disturbance, for a hundred years. No one aged, no one moved, and nothing changed as the people of the old and new were in stasis, without change, and without knowing the passage of time. When the worlds awoke, dazed, and trying to find ways to move forward in the fog of a past that had been altered, changed, so that one world accommodated the losses of so many of its people without knowing, and the other accommodated the newness of a world that had not existed before this time, he awoke and found that no one could ever harm him again, such was the magical power that coursed through his veins.


        The worlds awoke, and the two wicked creatures shrieked with glee, rubbing their hands and running off into this wilderness that was born of dreams. They knew the havoc that they had let be wrought at the hands of the young boy and they laughed with the terrible wonder of it all. Wondering if their master had made it into this world, they giggled madly, knowing he would punish them if he caught them. It was their nature, though, to cause trouble. But this was more than even they were allowed, so much more. They ran almost mad into the forest, this almost jungle that hung with ivy.


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Butterfly Collage



C. P. Ameriqueia

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