The Crystalline

a short story

A spare fifteen minutes to post this latest piece. It's a story! Maybe you'll like it! It's dedicated to my friend Flip who has an impressively fine-tuned Magnolia radar.

Doreen's magnolia was gone. I stared at the pointed tips and hard lines of branches that only yesterday curved and splayed freely — that bowed and rose with the wind, like a hundred arms of disciples deep in worship.

"Doreen's magnolia's gone," I shouted so he'd hear from upstairs.

"Oh no. Christ, she'll be sad."

Later, I called in on Doreen on my way to the makeshift market that’d taken the place of the High Street. No one knew why, but the shops went all at once — so now, businesses gathered under the heavy army canvas each day instead. Tabletops of tins and vegetables, paints, paper, pills... Bread beneath blankets... Balance scales and a sack made do for the Post Office.

"Doreen, your tree. I'm so sorry." I put my hand on her arm, and tried to look into her eyes so she could see my own heartbreak, but her gaze couldn't meet mine.

"Don't know what'll be next now. That's that isn't it. It's creeping closer and closer."

"There's no knowing." I said.

She sighed, eyes kept low so as not to catch the sight of her front patio's former glory, now made wretched and still.

"The sun still rises, though."

"It does." I said.

"So we’ve no good reason but to keep going."

"That's it." I said.

"I'll get used to it. At least it's not me as some statue."

"That's true." I said.

"Thank you for calling in. I'll be okay. Think I'll just… Just potter here today."

"Good idea." I said.

Her hand gave the slightest wave.

"Bye, love."

"Bye, Doreen."

I bought what I needed from the little of what they had and took the long way home. Lots of people preferred to stay in now The Crystalline had been confirmed, so instead of passing fellow wanderers, I passed the world — interrupting its shadows with my slow paced silhouette.

The badger hole was still soft.

I'd always check if I was passing. Though today, somehow, it was bigger and for whatever reason I went right up close to its opening.

Faint, but sure enough, I heard voices.

What... What's...? Who's there?

Craning to hear more, I saw a distant orange glow.

I meant to flip over, but instead slid headfirst on my front, carried through a feather-lined tunnel to whatever was below.

No heads turned as I arrived, my landing padded by a great mossed cushion.

However, a woman soon appeared by my side presenting me with a dress that could have been one of Doreen's magnolias: its skirt a puff of cream and pale pink, the sleeves neat and green as fresh leaves.

As I looked up, children danced eating choux buns, adults tore into buttered scones. Sage leaves and catkins covered the walls. Ferns and curled mushrooms sprung from corners. The woman beckoned me closer, wrapping my shoulders in sheepskin and handing me a mug of some hot, foamy lilac she pointed upwards:

"It's not real." She said.

"It's not." I said.