LaF Round One: Page Three

Dawn creeps over the horizon,
heralding the rise of the sun.
Its rays warm the land,
burning away the mist.
The forest's fog lingers,
guarded by the canopies
of ancient oaks.

No such light beams down
into Aeja's secluded room.
No windows admit the world
into her stony lair.
A lone light flickers
from the stove.
Upon its surface rests a glass,
filled with a tinted liquid.
It bubbles slowly,
turning to steam
and fading away.

A shrill ringing shatters the serenity.
Aeja bolts upright in confusion,
bashing her head on a wooden beam.
She turns and stumbles from the bed,
trying to find the source
of the maddening sound.

A red light blinks on the desk.
Dazed and confused,
she sharply backhands it.
The ringing ceases abruptly,
replaced by a familiar voice.

"Guests, rise and shine!
The day's looking quite fine.
No need to go and shy away-
we're having a nice social today.
Come on down to the buffet.
It's quite good, should so I say.
Not one, no, but two!
Pick whichever one suits you.
One is right here in the halls.
The other is out by the falls."

The Thief's voice ceases abruptly.
Aeja groans and fumbles with the lamp,
struggling to turn its tiny knob
between her calloused fingers.
With a muffled click,
light floods into the room.

Dull voices filter in through the door,
drifting upon the still air
like boats lost at sea.

"What's going on?"
"What time is it?"
"Can't I sleep more?"
"Do they have donuts?"

She draws up to the pinhole,
peeking into the hall.
A steady trickle of creatures flows past.
Their fleeting visages vanish too soon
to be studied
observed
analyzed
and remembered.
They fade away
like stars in day.

One room down-
in the room of one hundred and twenty six-
a white-furred prairie dog stands on a bed.
Her eyes burn with impatience,
matched by her twitching foot
and her rather shrill voice.

"Haydn! Haydn!
Get up, it's morning!
Aren't you gonna get up?
Hey! Haydn!
C'mon, it's morning!"

A brown creature,
almost twice the height of the prairie dog
rolls from under the sheets,
falling unceremoniously onto the floor.
He squirms for a moment,
then lies still.

"Fine then!"
shouts the small creature.

She procures a tin whistle,
swiftly playing a shrill F-sharp.

"Fine, Cozz, I'm up!"
shouts the marmot.

"You should be!
They're having breakfast now.
Maybe this isn't gonna
be so bad."

"I hope."

"That doesn't matter.
C'mon, let's go.
We'll show them."

Haydn arises with much difficulty,
stumbling over his bulky satchel.
He slings it onto his shoulder
and walks to the towering door.
Cozzolani leaps onto his shoulders,
grasping the doorknob
with her tiny paws.
She wrestles it open after a moment,
letting the door swing wide
as she jumps down.

"You don't have to do that,"
groans Haydn.

The clamor of the halls grows louder-
just shy of a scream.
They venture into the corridor,
melding with the stream.

They pass by Aeja's door.
It swings wide a moment later,
admitting the lizard into the hall.
She too joins the flow-
the passing of creatures
bound for an uncertain fate.

She slips into the stairwell,
scuttling down the steps.
The jolts of the hard tiles
wear at her malformed bones.
Her clawed feet click as she descends,
filling the narrow stairwell with sound.
Others pass her by,
but she acknowledges not their presence.
Her slitted, yellow eyes
lie sheltered beneath her hood.

She reaches the ground floor
as the doors of the distant elevator
slide open noisily
like ungreased wagon-wheels.
A veritable horde bursts forth,
spilling out into the hall.

Haydn and Cozzolani scurry to the side,
stricken by a sudden urge to hide.
They dart through a door,
then collapse upon the floor.

"This is crazy."
moans Haydn.
"That thing shouldn't carry
so many of us at once."

"But you didn't want
to take the stairs,
you said,"
chides Cozzolani.
"You're too tired,
you said."

"It's too early!"

"Says you,
sleepyhead."

Haydn sits up and peers about.
The room stretches thirty by forty feet,
scattered with tables and chairs-
sixteen off-white tablecloths in all.
Each table has four chairs,
four plates,
four forks,
four knives,
and four spoons.

Several doors swing open,
admitting a number of guests.
As if on cue,
a tan form drops from the ceiling,
fluttering to a halt upon a table.

"Oh, good, you're all here.
I was worried I'd been unclear,"
speaks the Thief
in his sly voice.
"A few dozen friends and then some?
Oh, how perfect- not off by one.
I want you all to meet a fellow guest.
First one, perhaps, then all the rest.
Come find your table and have a seat,
and please do be ready to meet and greet."

A crow flutters from a table,
drawing the eyes of the crowd
away from the Thief.
Thirty-two folded cards
and then some more
all lie all about,
each marked with a name
scrawled in flowing, elegant print.