The Curious Appearence of Barnabus Lansky Installement #6

 June 14, 2013 10:15 am (or 6:20 am)
    The Story’s current stopped and the young girl twirled a fringe of her cloak between her fingers. She hugged her knees to her chest to control the tremors and rocked herself back and forth. A brief wind blew her hair away from her face, revealing her red eye, intent on the fire pit.
    A ring of square stones encircled a heap of ashes and burnt wood. A single flame sprung from a discarded stone, although the flame did not consume it.
    She was not cold, nor was the flame intended for warmth. In fact, if one held a hand to her forehead, it would feel hot as if with fever. The girl was sick, but not with any disease curable by medicine.
    A holographic image appeared within the flame. She saw three children sitting in a classroom, all staring at Barnabus. He looked like he did right as he left: standing stiffly, twirling his mustache. The girl closest to him vaunted a ridiculous smile. Not for long, she thought. The priestess saw a pen in the girl’s hand. That meant she was the one Barnabus would have to write out of the Real World’s story. Her gaze shifted to the right hand of the holograph. A tall boy and barefoot girl were stunned into statues of surprise. Every time, it was the same thing. Denial, shock, excitement, then Barnabus won them over with his charm and- their story ended. Three children would hardly be any match for even the fool, Barnabus Lansky.
    She saw the classroom door open. “You,” gasped a man, probably in his early forties. It only took her a second to focus on his face.
    “What?!” She lept up and away from the fire. “No. But how...” Dropping onto her hands and knees, she squinted into the flame.
    Could that really be Daniel Yates? She couldn’t believe it. Daniel Yates, of all people! The author of the Real World had a cruel sense of humor or else... this may be a chance for Barnabus to redeem himself. She held her breath. She dug her fingernails into her palms as the odd, happy girl handed Barnabus the pen. He began writing. Yes, yes. Finish it. Finish.
    Her body convulsed with fury when Daniel barreled into Barnabus. How dare he...! She snatched a burnt log a sent it hurling down the hillside. She hissed between her teeth as if her very breath were a spirit of wrath. After several deep breathes, she seated herself again by the fire.
    “Barnabus.” She sung, letting only a hint of anger seep into her melody. She knew it would be enough. “Barnabus.”
    Barnabus knew that tone. He hurled himself toward the pen, but the boy got to it first. The very idea of a young clod in possession of such a invaluable instrument sent a fresh set of tremors up her spine.
    “Barnabus, if you cannot handle the old man and three children, I will do it for you. I do have a way out. Heaven help you if I find you in the Real World.”