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Day 23, Part 2

“This is unacceptable!” Shouts, you-guessed-who, that one person. “l am outraged at the amount of pure sarcasm and nostalgia in the soup! l can’t take it anymore!”

The cook is flustered. “Sir, we had a problem with the sarcasm this morning, it was running out of control, we couldn't do a thing about it!”

Who knew that a bit of a light bulb could contain so much sarcasm and nostalgia?

“This is unbelievable!” Shouts that one person. He tends to shout a lot. “l demand to see management! And in fact,” He leans closer to the cook, who can smell the air atoms on his breath. “l will personally see that this hotel IS SHUT DOWN! By the Intergalactic Committee of Nosy People!” The cook pales. The Intergalactic Committee of Nosy People? This-this could mean the end as a hotel for the Hotel Le’Faye. “Sir, we-” But that one person is gone, off to find management.

“l felt so horribly depressed.” That one person complains to The Teller. “l knew at once that it was an overdose of nostalgia in the soup. What if l miss my flight to the Grand Cookie Eating Contest? Do you know the effects would be chaotic?”

The Teller tries not to yawn and leans against the goldfish table. “Is it really that big of a matter?” She mutters.

“IT IS. I AM ALREADY LATE.”

The Teller jerks awake. That one person is late? In her haste to run after that one person, she upturns the table with the goldfish tank and sends it spilling across the floor. The goldfish flop around, the transform into scorpions, as all goldfish do after their water is removed because really, all goldfish are scorpions at heart.  The scorpions quickly scuttle away, and we will soon find out what they're up to. Meanwhile, that one person is dashing madly towards the Hotel’s carnival. He jumps on the carousel, as it starts spinning madly and then suddenly disappears. This is of course how all of the Hotel guests get in and out of the Hotel, as it doesn’t have a front door yet. That would be installed after The Teller let people who actually existed into the Hotel. But that one person is late. Far, far too late for that one person. Things were not looking bright. All the cookies were eaten. All the bridges built and everything had been conquered. Oh dear. That one person, later that day, sends a message to the intergalactic committee of nosy people. We don’t know what it says because the intergalaticommietee of nosy people ate it, but we think it was along something along the lines of shutting the Hotel down to Earth at 221b Baker Street because of an over regulated amount of sarcasm and nostalgia in the soup. A hotel  like this could not be open any longer. The intergala committee of nosy people send a resentive to the Hotel.

The scorpions that we promised to tell you about are scattling along the hallways of the Hotel. They are fairly small, a dusty yellow color, and hail from your great aunt’s broom closet. Their mission is only one thing. And that is to terrorize the staff and guests of the Hotel. The first person they find scream. The second person yelps, the third snarls, number four whimper, five growls six sniffs and seven is stung by the scorpion. We don’t know what happened to them, because right the the repsetive of the intergalactic committee of nosy people enters and blocks our spying cameras that are everywhere. The representative of ICNP glances around nervously. “Take me to your leader!” She commands a bemused light bulb hanging idly from the corner of the ceiling like a spider.
“l said, take me to your leader!” The representative of ICNP is frustrated. The light bulb is as well. She huffs and marchs into the larger room. “Take me to your leader!” She commands a mote of dust. It doesn't answer. She marches on, and almost steps on a scorpion. “Ah! Take me to your leader! Right now! l demand it!” The scorpion ignores her.

After a bit of poking round the repistive of ICNP hunts The Teller up. “Aha! Found you. l am a representative of  the Intergalactic Committee of Nosy People. l have come to stick my nose into everyone else’s business. Now, show me your kitchens.” The Teller doesn't like this turn of events. She doesn’t want a nosy person looking into the Hotel’s soup. No not at all. “The, er, kitchens are this why.” Pointing towards a trapdoor in the ceiling. The repisitie of ICNP exames her notes. “l don’t think so.” She mumbles. “The kitchen is right over…...Here!” She runs off to the real kitchen.

“Er, no! That isn’t the real kitchen!” But The Teller is too late to stop the representative of ICNP. She opens the kitchen door, and immediately a scorpion jumps onto her. The Teller jumps out of the way not a second too soon to get run over by the reistiveaie of ICNP. “There’s-a-scorpion-in-my-hair! There’s-scorpion-in-my-hair!” The door bangs shut.

Things in fact did not go well after that.  The repistenditve of ICNP reports to the ICNP that the Hotel is scorpion infested and should be shut down on the doblue.     Things are down hill after that. The staff are fired, the light bulbs disappear, no one knows how, and the Hotel is grounded at 221b Baker Street. That’s the end of it all. Or so they thought.

****

Somebody watches the old light bulb flicker like a heartbeat.

On. Off. On. Off. It’s hypnotizing. On. Off. On. And off again. And on….And not off. IT’S WORKING. IT’S REALLY WORKING.

She jumps up and runs out of the room.

In the kitchen, Silvery is sniffing the pot of cream of mushroom soup. She is to say, hungry. Very hungry. And gosh, that soup does smell good, no one will mind at all is she…...Merely tips it over….Will they?

Spyro is also hungry. He is always hungry. And at this moment, he wanders over to the kitchen. Aha, soup. Silvery is nowhere to be seen. Spyro licks his chops and sniffs the pot of soup. He gingerly picks it up…...But tips over the ceiling tiles and the soup spills all over the place, burning like acid. Silvery yelps as it touches and she watches in fascination and horror the part of her that is touching the soup turns into silver foxgloves that slowly float around in the air, like leaves falling from a tree, until there is simply nothing left of her…...Just some floating flowers, dripping with ink.

In one of the many rooms there is a burning light bulb. The light that will never go out.

~~~~~~~

R.I.P. Silvery Ink. Rest in inky foxgloves. 

Top top.

Didn't TTT die already?

Unless I counted wrong, aren't Somebody and Spyro the only ones left?

(Note: l may run this again summer ‘16. No promises, but keep your eyes open.)

Day 24

The plaques beside the rooms now read thus.

Room 1

Your Worst Nightmare

Weirdness

Somebody

An Idea of A Universe

Room 2

2,000 words

CAPS LOCK

Writer's Block

Writer’s Free

All The Writers Fly Away

Room 3

Pie

Cake

Your Math Professor

Roar

Room 4 & 5

Spyro

Emptiness

Regret

A Passing Memory

Room E=mc2

Lawn Mower

A Rabbit

Your Other Math Professor

2+2=5

They are a dull silver that still gleams somehow, the words etched the color of pea green soup. They are a eyesore, yet no one seems to want to do anything starting the second that they appeared at the crack of midnight.

Spyro is terribly upset with his roommates. Why couldn’t he be roomed with Pie and Cake again? Who re-wrote the plaques, anyways? Why does he have to even acknowledge that they exist? He can merely claim that he can’t see them and therefore does not exist. Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

The purple dragon mopes around the hallway. Things are looking dull. Dull and dusty and very unpleasant altogether.

Somebody is feeling rather the same way, however there being a difference as she happens to know something that Spyro doesn’t. Spyro knows, he had from the beginning, that people were getting murdered and disappearing and many strange things were going on, but in the case of such people, *ahem* dragons as he, who accepts what is given to them on a silver platter, however strange it may be, because they do not wonder what the meaning of life is and all that nonsense. They merely think that donuts are the best thing that could ever happen to one.

Somebody, however, knows that the unavoidable is coming and, well, unavoidable, so better get it over with. Mind as well put out the facts.

Over the stay at the Hotel, from the very start, people have been murdered. They disappear, and as it seems, the rest of them go on their happy way in life, trying not to notice. They know each other, right? None of them could've done this. Truth be told, it was easy at the start. To ignore those who had gone, as there were many others, but one by one, they go. You can’t deny that there were six people with you and now there’s five, that nothing is going on. People are dying all around you, and you just want to escape alive and forget, yet forgetting has never been so hard.

Until only two are left. One of them. It was one of them. There’s no hiding from this now.

Spyro wishes that  he could. Life had never been very hard to him, he wishes that it didn’t have to be like this. Wishing gets you nowhere. There’s so many things to regret, to wish, but it can’t do anything.

If only hope was solid,but hope is a thing with feathers and it flies easily away.

The dragon turns around and begins to walk.  Time and space mean nothing in this place, yet it is like an eternity and a thousand miles until he reaches his destination.

Somebody knows. She stays seated in the shadows, patient but waiting. Hand over hand, she tosses a knife, almost sad with it’s dull but sharp gleam like a predator. This thing was meant to destroy, to feel blood upon it’s blade. That is it’s purpose in life. It almost hums in her hand, eager.

Nevertheless, Spyro is a dragon. A formidable one at that.

He opens his wings wipe and flaps them, if only to feel a last bit of wind in his sails before sailing off the edge of the world. The wind rustles the carpet, the chandelier that Spyro nearly hits.

He knows that Somebody is there.

If this were a movie, the sound of a piano's plinking sadly in the background would be enough to set the mood. The pace would increase as Somebody steps from the shadows and faces Spyro, making a sense of hopelessness and determination, and grim duty. They lock eyes as the cymbals clash softly and a drum beating slowly and steadily the only sound.And maybe, that moment, they hear music akin to the one described. Music can do many things. Music can make you braver. Spyro lunges forward, teeth snapping, but Somebody jumps out of the way. She twirls the knife. Music can make you do odd things.

Somebody leaps forward, seeming to fly. The knife, driven by the force of the leap, sinks into Spyro’s chest, parting the purple scales.

The dragon roars. Music can give you courage to do what you are afraid of. Music can give hope to those is lurk, hurting, on the fringes of action. Dragon blood spills across the floor. That great heart, the heart of a dragon, the golden, majestic heart of a noble dragon, can be broken. With something like a knife.

Music can make you bolder. Music can draw those from the shadows, who are powerful but crippled.

Somebody watches, panting, as the purple dragon breathes heavily. But from the fringes of reality,  someone watches as well. Someone who shouldn't properly be alive.The someone who gave hope. Someone who has been battered and hurt and tossed around in this stormy life. Someone who you very well remember. Someone who has come back.

Spyro roars, and twists his head around, glowering at Somebody. He is growing weak, but he knows that he can still take action. If he is to die, he will take Somebody with him.

With a well aimed jet of flame, the landing above them begins to ignite, cinders and sparks falling down like snow.

They watch each other warily, fire now raging all around them. Spyro can a part of him, the part of fire, longing to join the flames in their wild dance.

The room around Somebody, and Spyro begins to spin, the walls changing into a dozen different places, the fire still raging in everyone one.The control room, the library, the kitchen, the great hall, the submarine, until it’s just a whirl of things gone by, of places that we never stayed long enough for this short life. The dragon blinks, his large emerald eyes starting to glaze over. The rooms slows like a carousel and stops at the old, dusty, torn apart, main room, part hotel and part spaceship.  

Spyro blinks, then closes his eyes. The fire dances around him, then takes him with them.

But O heart! heart! heart!

   O the bleeding drops of red,

   Where on the deck my Captain lies,

    Fallen cold and dead.

Here Captain! Dear father!

   This arm beneath your head!

   It is some dream that on the deck,

   You’ve fallen cold and dead.

The body of the dragon start to turn into a purple smoke. And then it drifts away. The fire quiets down a bit, slowing into bright red embers. The fire remembers.

And so it’s over. It is really over. The knife clatters to the floor, a loud sound in this quiet, quiet, and dead place. There is no life here, there is no future. Everyone is dead. Most everyone, that is. Somebody picks up the knife, turns, takes one last look around, at the glowing embers of the fire that strangely look, for a moment, like a dragon. She then marches towards the door. She places a hand on the knob and slowly, ever so slowly turns it and pushes the door open.

Dark night air gently whispers through the door in the Hotel, cold and crisp, with the sweet smell of wood smoke. She steps out into the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

R.I.P. Spyro. Rest in peace. May your fire be ever bright and light your way.

EPILOGUE

There is a feeling, a feeling that has no word to describe it. It is the feeling of danger and victory and adventure, that you have gone somewhere unexplored and you have come back, alive. The feeling of doing something great. Few, if ever, have this feeling, as few, if any, dare to go beyond what is set of for them, dare to the impossible.

Somebody knows what this feels like. One step after another bring her farther from the Hotel. It is night, the air is cold, the sky scattered with shattered shards of light. She only looks back once, staring for a long moment at the Hotel Le’Faye. It looks old and tired, like it has had a hard lot in life, but now that’s over, because it is dying, like everyone else who had stayed within it’s walls. And then she turns around. The world is before her. She did, as we very well know, do something terrible as murdering all your friends, but that’s over. She survived this, she survived the Hotel and got out, but with the price of others dying. You only have one life to live. Better live it on the edge.

She has her life ahead of her, the whole world to discover. She survived this, she can survive more.

As she feet thud quietly against the ground, the skies and galaxies swirl over while the world sleeps, as the hotel disappears in the distance, she resolves, that she will never look back anymore. Her friends are gone. Her way with the Hotel now parts.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

In the dying Hotel, a cloaked figure is sitting in a chair overlooking the control panel. She is holding a book, and laughing. The book is entitled, “Spaceship Navigation Basics.”

“The irony.”

She has come from the fringes of reality, the grey space between life and death, what is real and what is not. She was of another world, another universe, but she returned to this place. It is dead in here, true, but there is someone is not supposed to the properly alive.

The Teller stands up and looks around. “l will miss you, m’dear. But there is nothing here for me now.” With that, she raises her hand and drops the hood from her face. She smiles ruefully, the shrugs of the rest of the cloak. It falls to the ground, a lifeless pile of black fabric.

“There is a time to move on.” She says to herself. She goes to a door, one that we have never seen before, and opens it into a different universe, not this one. She does not say good bye but she does look back, if for a second before leaving, dropping into another world, another life. The door clicks shut.

There are many lives, many stories to tell, many places to go. You only can do a fraction of what there is to do. You can only meet so many people. You can only try to do so many things and dare to do so many before you stumble and make a horrible decision.   But sometimes, you need to forget, to run away from what your bad choices made. You need to leave behind all the pain and disaster that you caused. You don’t stay and try to help it all, and look it in the face. You need to move on. Because that’s what you do.

In one room, a single light bulb burns brightly. A German history book flaps around it like a moth, going in endless circles forever. In another, a pile of glowing green glass trembles slightly, embers flicker with fiery life.  Things are not as dead as they seem. But they are dying. The Hotel has one last wish, as everyone is gone now, before it dies.

Those fickle rocket boosters, who were forever not working, slowly starts up, with a rhythmic clink clink. Blue flames spout from underneath the Hotel, making it hover a few feet above its foundation, stirring up dust and dirt, like the Hotel had sat there for a thousand years.

3…..2…..1……

Lift off.