Fanciful & Unfounded III

Journal Assignment: #3 Transfished

A setting is the basis for your story. Without a setting a character means nothing. I now entreat you to draw up your background.

-Professor Brink

“If you feed Rutgers, you can borrow my car,” Jameson offered desperately.

“Any time?” Alexa clarified.

“Sure,” he said.

“Done!” She responded heartily, shaking his hand.

“Here’s this,” he said pulling a crumpled paper from his back pocket, “and you’re going to need these,” he said pressing a set of keys into her hand.

-The next day-

Alexa took a right on Plymouth Street and sauntered down the sidewalk that lead to Jamie’s house (The den of the hungry fish), kicking at the amber and crimson leaves that drifted into her path. The wind whipped the leaves into an excitement, folding them around her skirt and prompting her to button her sweater higher. Jameson’s house rose like a castle, distinct from the other dwellings. Alexa stoped. Its majestic façade spoke of decades past and decadence forgotten.

She leapt on to the porch and searched for the key Jamie had given her. It seemed like a lost cause, but then she remembered that she had laced it into her shoe for safekeeping. Pulling the tool away from her laces, she fit it into the lock. After a few fruitless attempts, the aged door opened to her with a welcoming screech. Inside was a small anteroom featuring seven antique brass mailboxes; the final one marked “THIRD FLOOR MAN CAVE”. Alexa opened the inside door and jogged up two flights of gleaming onyx stone. She reached the final landing, caught her breath, and sought Jameson’s door key. La port swung open and she stumbled over something soft and damp. It caught her foot!

The velociraptor had her! It was all over. Alexa dug deep to remember a prayer – any prayer! But she couldn’t. She really should have gone to Hebrew School. Then she could have had a Bat Mitzvah. Bat Mitzvahs were cool. She’d gone to plenty, but never really got it together to have one herself. That was probably why God was smiting her.

She took a deep breath and prepared to look her tormentor in the face. She inhaled, and her nose filled with the sweet essence of Vomi de Chien*. She looked. Ah! God! Worse than she had thought! The predator was a dilapidated running shoe, still warm and wet from Jameson’s morning run.

Shaking like a wet dog, Alexa went in search of the Fish. “Rutgers!” Alexa called. The being did not respond. Soon her feet touched on something thick and familiar. It was the Oriental rug from Jamie’s parents’ house. In fact, this was the very rug Jameson used to wear as a cape when they played together as children, and he insisted on being King Louis XIV. Two other relics of her childhood resided in the same room, a chestnut leather couch and a handsome recliner of the same hue. Both of these were Jameson’s by inheritance. The rest of the floor, unobstructed by Jamie’s rug, was hardwood and pleasantly warm.

As Alexa continued her search for Rutgers, she passed a small kitchen table and four chairs. A torrent of light flooded the apartment illumining its spotless tabletop. Jamie and his roommates kept this apartment so clean! At high school Jameson’s room had stored every scrap of paper and pointless trinket. The detritus of his life was haphazardly piled on every surface. Glancing in the direction of the light, Alexa squintingly noticed the wall was made of windows framed by lacquered red brick.

Turning away from the bright light, Alexa saw heavy yellow curtains in the opposite corner of the room. She bounded over, and drew away the curtains with a flourish (not unlike a magician). Perhaps this was the reposing place of fair Rutgers! No fish. A bed, instead, confronted her. This piece of sleeping furniture was from one of Versailles’ many boudoirs. On its’ headboard four Grecian warriors hunted a doe and each of the bed’s four legs terminated with the silvery protruding claws of a badger. The mattress of the lit was arrayed with a thick coverlet. Appliqués of transfixing numbers in a myriad of hypnotic colors covered this quilt. The bed summoned her.

Alexa took a nap.

When she awoke, the fish was gazing at her from his tank was atop a beat-up steamer trunk.

“Hello, Rutgers,” Alexa said sleepily. For this was certainly the picis she pursued, “I’m glad I found you!”

“I suffer from hunger,” the fish expressed.

“I know,” Alexa said soothingly, caressing the side of his golden aquarium. “I just need to find that paper Jameson gave me,” Alexa finished distractedly, feeling in her pocket for her fish-feeding instructions.

“I understand, Miss,” the fish said patiently. Then, in an attempt to be helpful, “You might spill a portion of the vermillion flakes from yonder receptical into my environs,” he suggested, swimming in the direction of a small container.

“Surely,” said Alexa, happy that she could serve the needs of so jovial and accommodating a fellow.

Her duty done, Alexa (now the serf Rutgers) left the imperial bedroom. She navigated around Jameson’s lovely sneakers.

“So long Sir Rutgers!” She called to her new master from the doorway, and left locking the door behind her.

All hail the resplendent Rutgers!

I don't know if this is really a setting, but I wrote it, and it's cool. Yeah. Hips like "yeah."

Love,

Alexa