Augusta Writers: The two moved with ease across space, atop of time and into the Continuum to land with a thud at the feet of the Philosopher. The crowd gathered to look upon the new Reader and pray for his safety. There were so many questions heaped at the Writer, that she refused to answer any for fear that she would be able to answer none.
Dumfries asked, “Does he understand?”
“Is he alive?” shouted Alexi.
John implored of her, “What will you do next?”
“How will you prepare for what’s coming?” asked Myrtle.
She continued to stare at the young man, whom in his first outing, was outed, touted and now, at the foothold of his future, doubted.
At last, the great Philosopher spoke, “What say you Writer?”
There was much to say and much to be said, but in an effort to move them forward, there were structural frames that needed review. The introduction of new players in the quest was daunting, especially with Lilith on board using Azazel as a tracker. Granted there had to be conflict for the Reader to turn the page, but did any of this make sense?
“I say, let’s give them what they want!” she yelled upwards to reach the ears of the Great One. The crowd gasped, followed my mumblings and rumbling, she was not deterred. “If they want him, let them come and get him! We are in control of the WORDS, we are the keepers of TALES, and we are the SCRIVENERS!”
The rallying cry brought taps, yells and spewing of support for the Writer’s bold words. She was shaking in her books, but there could be not resolution without taking them to this climatic moment. They would take the fight to Stoph; this was it. There was no more running, no more feeble attempts to keep pace with a world who soaked it up in 50 shades and spit it out fifty shades darker, feeling this was quality. The Scriveners had enough of sparkling demons who now bandied about in the daylight fornicating with subspecies and breeding insolence while naming it as Popular. The Scribes were sickened with mass production of word porn and labeled it as erotic. “Enough,” the Writer shouted to the crowded that had since tripled since her arrival.
“These Readers must crave more, they must want more, but to understand, they must read more!”
There were nods and agreements from the crowd, and a lone voice could be heard from the corner, “How?” the voice asked, “How do we make them want better? How do we make them join our fight?”
The Writer smiled at the group, “easy my friends, we make them come to us!” She continued with ease as she explained that it was the job of the Scriveners to not only continue to create exciting strings of words, but to teach the Readers, what was quality, what was standard, and what was good. “There is no good, without Evil, and we have here,” she pointed to the napping soul at her feet, “is a good one. He will make a great Scribe, then a great Writer, and an even greater Scrivener!”
There was no need to say the next words because they all knew what was to come, they knew he first had to eradicate the evil that forced bad habits. The time had come to hit the pinnacle of the journey. She woke the Reader, who after a fluttering of lids, took to his feet and looked about the lobby.
His face said more than his lips could produce as his imagination kicked in. He identified the great ones in the room. There were historians like Franklin, Jefferson, and Nostradamus. He spotted Aristole, Moses, and St Peter. There were favorites from every millennia to include Richard Wright, Charles Dickens, Arthur Conan Doyle and so many more. The crowd waited for him to speak and gasped when he asked, “What the f*ck?”
The Writer was not an illusion or a faint echo of life, she was standing here and smiling at him. “It is time to kick some ass, Sydney, I hope you are ready?”
Sparks began to light up the sky and each was aware the Azazel had tracked them down, but those Demons would not be allowed to enter these hallowed halls.
The Writer extended her hand and the Reader placed his hand in hers. With her staff, she tapped the ground three times, and each thud, “In the beginning, there was the Word….” The group chanted the mantra after each time the staff landed on the marble.
In one motion, they left the Continuum, returning to space, transcending time to land in front of Stoph and Lilith while the Writer used her staff to smack Azazel on the nose, “bad dog,” she whispered as she sprinkled the demi demon with a powered substance that made him disappear.
She looked at Lilith, “It has been 3000 years too long, let’s end this now.”
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- Entry Number 3: The Reader and Writer Meet (assistaugusta.wordpress.com)
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