The Faux Pas Press #51

The Faux Pas Press #51

By Jason Fresh

The sorcerer who works in the season of fall is sweet enough for all, but compliments often fall – yep, just like leaves – off the back of the great genius Parley Angerbliss. Winter comes as no surprise but it is always clean, glistening white with the Witch of the North. And there he stands, Parley Angerbliss, top hat resting prayerfully in two curved hands, two hands ablaze with the timeless shift, vibrating on VHF. And there I am, disgusted with myself for having such an open mind, sucking on my bleeding thumbs and wondering if my time will come. And then there is a woman asking me to waltz - yep, the sorcerers from the South, all of them, at the same time asking me to dance. There are sorcerers all across the Fold in the Fabric of Night, standing at every juncture, moving me from mundane to mundane event. But I must ignore them, must move past them, must feel the frequency on which I was conjured. I must find the frequency. It could’ve been a joke told by Sriram, the guide from Visakhapatnam. Must have been is way of getting me out of his lounge, a lounge made Crimson. And for this I am grateful.
There is only one node to which I am requested, to which I am called, a place upon which I must fall – yep, just like a leaf. Its color is Topaz and its frequency is constant – not a joke. So, come with me, Uncle, Topaz Traveler, for our presence is requested at the West End of the Fold in the Fabric of Night - yep, lined with golden alabaster stone on frequencies of pure light.