I was wandering through this decrepit old house of mine, exploring the dusty and shadowy places I haven’t visited in a while. Amazed at how sprawling this place has become, reaching out in so many different directions at once! I came across a forgotten wing, and paused… remembering.
It was here I used to play a lot, seeking answers, and dreaming of all I wanted. I studied and read, meditated and prayed, pursuing change for change’s sake. “Yeah. And where did that get you?,” I laughed at myself, knowing full well the practiced response, “Here and now, of course!”
“Of course!,…” So arrogant that sounds! But it isn’t intended to read that way. A statement of fact. Indisputable. Absolute. For what else is there? Ever? Real-ly?
As I strolled past a darkened room, shades drawn tight against the approaching gloom, slight movement caught my eye. It was enough to draw me in, curiosity alight. “Hello?,” I called out as I entered the room. “Anyone in here?”
“Other than you?”
Laughing, I turned toward the voice that had spoken. “Is that even possible? Since this is my space?”
“Hmmm,” she responded, careful, deliberate. “Is this the beginning of one of your infamous debates?”
“Hardly,” I chuckled, as my sight zeroed in on the shadowy figure lounging in a comfortable chair. “I’m not feeling a need to explore things too deeply. Just a tad bit nostalgic as I pass through this wing.”
“Whew…,” came the sigh, a sound of relief. “Then feel free to join me, thanks and please.”
“Interesting order,” I murmured to myself, but being the only One present made that distinction utterly pointless. “Do you live here?,” I thought to ask, politely inquiring.
A full-bellied giggle was her initial response, with an eventual verbal follow-up. “But, of course!,” she answered, delight still evident, her smile beaming from every syllable. “Are you saying that you don’t recognize me?… Or are you choosing to deny what has become too familiar?”
“And what, pray tell, is your role in this house? That you sit in the dark and amuse yourself?”
“I am Protector and Guardian of all that you see. A Keeper of Secrets. A Caretaker with Keys…”
“A perfect analogy, if I say so myself. You certainly have a gift for expressing yourself!”
“I’ve learned from the best,” was her reasoned response. “Words are a tool to be used with respect.”
Laughing, I followed her lead, knowing there was no coincidence in our meeting. “So… now that you’ve captured my attention and captivated my wit, what did you want me to discover here?”
She waved vaguely at the window, but spoke bluntly and clear, “the shades may be drawn, the light may be gone, but Life still goes on… beyond this wall.”
“Yes,” I whispered, barely a sound. “I’m well aware of that, my friend.”
And tears silently began to fall…
Rising, exhausted, I prepared to take leave, but she had one more point to make, it seemed.
“You know who I am, then?,” she asked quite directly.
“But, of course,” I responded with a touch of old arrogance. “You select my perceptions, as Perception Selector, protecting me from what I choose not to see.”
“Also your Interpreter, your Lens and your Focus,” she added for clarity’s sake. “Why not just call me your personal Interceptor?”
I turned for the door, ignoring her laughter, eager to leave this place and find some distraction.
“And denial is more than just a river in Egypt!,” she called after me. “That never really gets old, does it?,” I heard her chuckling.
(602 words)
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https://blogbattlers.wordpress.com/2019/08/13/blogbattle-stories-intercept/
the otherhood of one 
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I liked how the story became more of a poem once the Interceptor made her entrance. Very interesting symbolism here. I’m not sure if the narrator is dreaming or only lost in her thoughts, but her ‘confrontation’ is one many people can identify with. Nice job!
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Thanks! Yeah, the poetic prose can sometimes be obnoxious, but it kinda works here, especially during the bantering phase. I find it shows up in my writing when I’m tagged into something I personally need to hear/ read. That sing-song quality, the meter and rhythm all work to engage my attention and help me remember it. It also sometimes shows up when my poetry muse feels neglected and decides to hijack a perfectly good story to get my attention.
I’m always about symbolism, and a house is often used to signify the self. So essentially the narrator is kind of lost in thought, but personifying certain aspects to better know her self. In this case, she’s clearly in denial about something.
Or… I could just be making this stuff up; I’m known to do that, you know… Lol! 😉
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Very intriguing Lisa. At first I though ghost, then part of her personality talking to itself. Perhaps a lingering memory from the last time she visited that wing. I often think of ghost memories held by old houses and rooms. Hanging onto their history long after inhabitants move on or depart the world. I could see me in this along those lines too. Same feelings generated visiting old monuments and knowing once they were thriving places filled with people who thought their place in the world would never end. Time the antagonist.
Lovely piece once again and so glad you found time to join in…now about that tea….
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Thank you, Gary. And I agree that memories are a lot like ghosts – strong impressions left here by another time. The best ones are the ones who teach us something relevant to our own time; that is, most likely, why we do in fact remember them. It’s how we learn, after all, and our ability to do so is what still gives me hope.
Time the antagonist. Yes! And the teacher. And the comforter at times, as it dulls our memories eventually… 😁
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Very much so. Great material for fiction writers too. I read something a while back that impressed me with the history held inside a house like lingering spirits. Not liking the new occupants as they wanted to remodel it. It gave the house a consciousness accumulated by all the previous occupants. It’s something I explore a lot too.
It’s always good to take a time out now and then to visit memories and appreciate them. Too many now live day to day and forget the good times. As you say, from them come lessons and hope.
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Oh… and the kettle is on. Just waiting for the water to boil… 😉 I’ve got my eye on it, so eventually, right?
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