Fragment story 2: Victorian SF

I'm still not sure what this was turning out to be. Though I still like a lot of the language in it. And I keep coming back to it as something I want to expand. It dates from July 2003 when I was in the Merrill Library in Toronto.


It's always impossible to know how and where to begin with such things. While the outcome of my adventures, if they may be called such, are almost certainly well known, but I am at a loss to best describe when it was they began. Some could say that it was when I ventured forth from university whilst others might suggest a correlation with meeting Mr. Pensnave.

But personally I associate them with one of the most mundane of activiteis, the washing of one's hands. In fact, I specifically remember on that second of June, which was my birthday, I was forced to the washroom after spilling the ink for my new pen.

As I ran cool water over my soiled hand, I watched the ink blend into and colour the water a greyish tinge. With some bemuesement I noted that the dye did not quickly dissipate in the liquid, but rather maintained a mass and then spread through, like a multitude of tendrils. Absolutely reminding me of the fearsome octopus and the way it envelopes its prey into its net.

It was then that I heard my friends calling for me from the garden. I emptied the basin, dried my hands, nad ventured out to accompany them. They were still quite merry from earlier on in the party, but clearly things were becoming more sedate with the approaching evening.

And while some may label me sexist for this opinion, I may say my male friends were putting on a wonderful appearance that night. They had made the most delightful food for us, including a cream cake that I know Harold brought since he knew it to be my favorite. In addition to tis they were dressed in their best suits. Honestly, had we not been such good friends there were one or two there which I had considered potentially worth pursuing. However now, I am glad that I did not, seeing as such a pairing would have almost certainly kept me safely at home.

After I had wished my friends off to a good evening, I decided that I would retire rather than engage in a thorough cleaning. It was my birthday after all! So I quickly moved the mess into the kitchen and went up to my room and prepared to sleep. That night, as I slept, a strange vision came to me. I saw the cloud of ink from when I had washed my hands earlier.

Again, it billowed and curled before my eyes. But instead of seeming as it had, it began to turn over in my mind's eye. Thus appearing as a large ball suspended on strings. It floated and fell through my dreams in a sort of almost mystical fashion. Something about this seemed enchanting on its own, and it caused me to wonder whether such a device were possible. At least for decorative purposes.

The next morning I awoke invigorated, and yet over-excited. My dream vision had left me curious and eager to experiment with my own method of achieving the same effect. So first, I went back to the ink and the water. With dropping careful dots of ink I watched it spread and fall in almost a cascade fashion. So clearly, with what I remembered from university, the ink was, while heavier than the water, light enough to be suspended for a short while. I assumed that this was because the ink was hotter than the water. It had been left in the warm conservatory nearly all day, and the water was still relatively cool.

...

And that's all I got through at this point. I know I had a full story together, and it too had come to me in a dream. I just need to work through the rest, though I sometimes wonder if it would be as good if I had written it in one go.