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 |   Theses are my thoughts and ramblings as I forge my way through this thing they call life. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 25 CREATION SATURDAY! Put on your creative thinking caps You're headed down to Imagination Station to pick up your imaginary friend. Tell us about the friend - is it human? Humanoid? Animal? Talking banana? Three-headed monster who's afraid of heating blankets? What's their story? Likes/Dislikes? What name do they answer to? Why are they in your life? Don't forget to tell us how your friend ended up at the station in the first place! Interestingly enough, I don't think I had an imaginary friend as a child. I did talk to myself, but that was to myself not some figment of my imagination. So for today's blog I have to create someone or something that I must pick up at the Imagination Station. Sounds very Odyssey in nature. I do like talking to animals.... what about an animas? A definition: anima (ˈænɪmə) (in Jungian psychology) noun (Psychology) a. the feminine principle as present in the male unconscious b. the inner personality, which is in communication with the unconscious. See also animus [Latin: air, breath, spirit, feminine of animus] This was an interesting site: https://animalinyou.com/#home Looking things over I would say a mountain goat is closest to me. I can't get the personality test to work. As you can see I have gone off on so many tangents all the while thinking about what sort of thing I would encounter as a friend. So I may have make this more of a fictional account and not involve myself at all. So a story.... this could get a little long folks.... Duncan received a telegram shoved into the trashcan of his uncle's office. He had gone in there to get some piece and quiet from is obnoxious cousin, Ralph. On his hands and knees careful to avoid making any noise and draw attention, he made his way under the desk with one of his uncle's big volumes of encyclopedias. Seeing the slip of yellowed parchment, Duncan drew it out and flattened it out over his jean clad leg. The page was smooth despite the crumpled ball it had been crushed into. Adjusting his glasses he read the message three times before realizing that he was the boy the message was referring to. Dear Mr. Withers, It has come to our attention that Roberta and Jacob MacFee's son, Duncan, is in your custody. Now that he has reached his age of magical maturation, we will be expecting him to make his way by train to the Flemishing Academy. To make his transition easier we have sent his animal translator ahead. It will be waiting for him on Viscount Street in a shop called the Imagination Station. Please be advised that he will need to come to that address bringing a suitcase containing enough things for him to be away for an entire school year. Yours sincerely, Headmaster Hobbleden. Why had the message been crumpled and thrown away. His uncle had made a place for him here... even if it was only a small place. His aunt Rose had insisted they could not send him away. He was her sister's child after all, but still. He often found them staring at him with curious expressions. He had known no other life. Still his cousins Ralph and Ainsley were given so much more that he was. They went to a prestigious Huffington Academy, but he went to the local public school. They could do no wrong, yet he was held accountable for everything that did not go well, including much of what they did. He was sure his uncle was convinced that the recent school issues Ralph was dealing with had something to do with him. Had he been going to that Academy as well, he was sure to be the culprit. Still, here was the note. Crumpled and thrown away. Duncan bit his lip and considered his options. He could stay and endure his family's injustice or he could venture out to Viscount Street and see what all this was about. The hardest part was getting there without anyone knowing he'd gone. He was usually ignored, but whenever he tired to climb out onto the roof to get some piece and quiet someone always found him and dragged him back in. His cousins were forever telling on him or making up stories of things he had done, getting him grounded and locked up in the closet under the stairs. It was in that closet he managed to find a small suitcase. It would have to do. Duncan had snuck it up to his room and tucked it under his bed after he had tossed in the few t-shirts, pants, underwear and socks that he owned. It wasn't much, but it filled the wee suitcase and he had to sit on it for it to close. Into his backpack he tucked a few notebooks and a pen. he suspected he would need those for school. Whatever kind of school it was. The words 'magical maturation' played over in his mind and he wondered what that was all about. Still going would be an adventure and so much better that being the blamed houseboy here with his aunt and uncle's family. He planned his escape for the next evening. It was family movie night and his aunt and uncle were planning to take his cousins to the cinema. He would not be coming. He was not invited, he never was. They always gave him things to do to keep him home. They also never checked on him when they did get home. Duncan figured he could get out and see what all this was about at least. If it didn't pan out he could always climb up the trellis and swing back into his room. He had done it before and no one was more the wiser. * * * * * Viscount street was in the old part of town. Darkness lengthened the shadows and Duncan worried he would not find the shop open. Still, his curiosity kept him going. He found the shop; a tiny little shop, which he almost didn't notice. The buildings on either side of it were loud, boisterous pubs. The Imagination Station was only a faded blue door cut into the old crumbling wall. He spotted the sign only by squinting up at the brickwork above the door. Several large brawny men staggered out of one pub and leered at him. "There's a tastey bit." one of them slurred and the others laughed. When they began moving in his direction. One grabbed the front of his shirt just as Duncan made a grab for the handle of the door. The world turned sideways. It seemed to swirl past him pulling him into some kind of vortex. There was no time to scream. Before he knew it he was dropped onto a hard parquet floor looking up into the eyes of a kindly old man. "Ah, Mr. Duncan MacFee." the old man rumbled out in a heavy Scottish burr. "You've finally arrived." Duncan sat up and rubbed at his still swirling head. He eyed the man warily. "I see you've some kind of tussle with the brutes next door. I'll send Author out to deal with them." He glanced back into the shop and called out. Duncan's eyes widened at the sight of a large dog-like beast coming straight for him. "Not to worry lad. Arthur's as sweet as they come so long as you've got magical blood and don't yank his chain." Duncan did not see any chain. The old man barked out a laugh and added, "just a figure of speech, lad." Duncan swallowed down his nerves and now that his head didn't feel like it was going to pop off, he made to stand up. The old man reached out to give him a hand. "First time through that door takes out even the burliest of men." the old man told him. "I'm Angus MacKenzie. At your service." "Oh, how do you do?" Duncan squawked out remembering his manners. "Magical blood?" he asked as he watched Arthur slip out through the faded blue door. The one he seemed to just pass right through. Duncan swallowed staring at the spot where the dog had disappeared. "Aye, magical blood. You're father's blood runs thick with it." Duncan dragged his gaze back to the old man. His eyes wide and disbelieving. "Seems you don't know." the old man signed looking a might bit disappointed. "I didn't think your mother's family would pass that bit of information along. I'd hoped though, seeing as how you're here. Even if we were starting to wonder if you'd every come." "I found the telegram in the garbage." \Duncan said inanely as he let his gaze roam about the room. The place seemed locked in a time capsule. One some hundreds of years in the past. There were a few other people sitting at the bar and a few patrons at a table in the corner. "Is this the Imagination Station?" Duncan asked not sure what to think. "Oh, that would be down the street. That's Mr. Whittaker's shop. He'll be expecting you, but first... come have butterbeer." "A what?" "A butterbeer." "I'm not old enough to drink." Duncan told him. The old man chuckled, "no lad. Butterbeer is like a butterscotch milkshake or... like a rootbeer float, ya ken?" "Oh.... well... I haven't any money." "Not to worry. I'll set you up a tab. Besides I think the Headmaster may be paying for your first. Especially since you just got here." Duncan nodded still a little dazed by the novelty of it all. He pinched himself to make sure he really was awake and not just sleeping off somewhere. The old man noticed and laughed, "It's all real, lad. You'll see. Come sit up at the bar." Duncan slid up onto the stool and watched Angus fix the concoction that seemed to swirl within the mug. He wondered it he had hit his head when he'd landed. None of this seemed real and yet when he wrapped his fingers around the frosty glass and leaned in for a tentative sip he could not help smiling as the smooth, silky sweetness flooded over his parched tongue. It was delicious. It also seemed to revive him. "So where do I find this Imagination Station?" he asked Angus who was fixing another couple of drinks. He watched fascinated as the bottles tipped their liquid into mugs and spoons stirred without anyone holding on to them. "Will it still be open?' "Oh, yes. Mr. Whittaker will be expecting you. He has your animas." "My animas?' Angus smiled. His face crinkling up within the folds of skin as he gave Duncan a wink. "It's you link to the magical realm. It's been waiting for you." "But what is it?" "That you'll have to see for yourself lad. each of us has our own." he gestured toward the corner and Duncan could see a owl watching him. "That is the headmaster's." "It's an owl." "It is and a very powerful one as well." The owl seemed to wink as Duncan stared at him with his mouth falling open. "And Arthur?" "He's mine. Comes in mighty handy." When Duncan had finished his Butterbeer the owl swooped down off his perch and headed towards the far end of the bar. "You best follow him. He'll take you to the Imagination Station." Duncan thanked Angus and grabbing his suitcase and backpack that had appeared over by the door, ran to catch up to the majestic bird. He followed the owl through the tangle of streets that seemed like a medieval village. No one seemed to notice or care that he was following an owl. In fact, when he slowed down outside the shop, he noticed each person had some kind of animal close by them. There were rats and mice, snakes and birds, cats and dogs, but the one that stopped him up short was the tiger that walked along regally beside a woman wearing a fancy silk coat. As he stood their gawking at the sights before him, the door to the shop swung open and the little bell above the door drew him back into what he was about to do. He turned to look up into the face of a kindly older man with whiskers of white and a cat perched on his shoulder. "Mr. Duncan MacFee, I presume?" a lilting voice flowed out around him. Duncan could only nod. "Come in. come in. It is time to see what animal will bond to you." As Duncan followed the graceful older man, he asked, "What exactly is an animas?' "It is the inner personality, which is in communication with the unconscious. For men we have an animas a feminine principal to balance the male conscious. Women have an animus... the male principal that balances their female conscious. It may sound so profound, but your animas is a part of you. It comes to you when you reach a certain age. It will help guide you though the next phase of your life... your magical maturation." "I don't understand?' "Ah, your animas will help you with that." Duncan followed Mr. Whittaker back into a salon lit by candlelight and smelling of sage. He sat it the chair Mr. Whittaker gestured for him to take and he waited. Nervously. He watched the older man perform some kind of gravity defying hand dance. One that evoked all sorts of colours and objects to circulate the room. First they moved around Mr. Whittaker himself, but after a time they moved over Duncan who trembled first in fear, then as the fear abated, he began to smile and reach up into the swirling cyclone of colours and things. Wen Mr. Whittaker seemed satisfied, the cyclone of items and colours moved over to a cabinet and entered into the porous holes around its edges. Duncan watched mystified. He could not tear his gaze away even if he waned to. It was the softness of Mr. Whittaker's voice that lulled him back and told him to go open the cabinet. Duncan stood and following the directions he was given moved to stand in front of the cabinet. He repeated the phrase Mr. Whittaker told him to then, placing his hand on the handle he turned it to open the cabinet. Inside sat a snowy, white owl. It was about the size of Duncan's head. They blinked at each other. Duncan smiled grateful for such a lovely creature. "I would agree. I am glad I am not a snake or a rat either." Duncan heard inside his head he glanced back at the spot where Mr. Whittaker had been and found him gone. "I said that. We two are connected. You don't need to say a thing. A mere thought connects us." Duncan shot his gaze back to the small owl and the creature winked at him. "Yes, me." "Wow." Duncan said in a sigh as he moved back to let the bird emerge. The owl shook itself, then shifting to the cabinet's edge, it flew out to land on Duncan's outstretched arm. "I am Alaina. I am your animus, Duncan." "Are you real?" "Of course I am real." "So what now." he thought looking at the beautiful creature. "Now we figure out how to make our way. No turning back now." "I hope you know what you're doing?" "Oh, we'll got on just fine. First we'll need a place to roost for the night.... and a bed for you. Not to worry. We'll head up to the Academy tomorrow or the next after we get what we need here in town." |
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