The Loft of Souls
Excerpt 7 from W900
Detritus had coated every nook and cranny in the deepest realm of the loft; attempting to hide the events of previous time, from the gaze of the present. He’d intended to keep it clean and tidy but over the years he’d just fallen into opening the door and stashing stuff in anywhere he could. The days, months and years had casually slipped by and his once sharper memories had naturally faded. Yet, as he slowly worked his way through the layers of the long-kept debris in this Loft of Souls, his recollective power’s increased and a touch of clarity began to emerge. Things began to fall into coherent pathways that had real memories attached to them, like spiritual sign posts. With all this mind furniture whirling around in his now bizarrely organised cerebellum, dates, times and places began to make themselves clearly known to him.
‘Whoa, in the zone, dude,’ his giddy mind silently cried and he went to look for somewhere to sit down for a while.
It was a strange state of melancholia that was stalking him in here, deep within the grey dust of some distant memory-land recollections. They were delaying the progress of finding Godzilla and whatever else it was that he was attempting to do. To try and break its spell, Hovis looked around for something to focus his gaze upon, to prevent his mind from wandering further into some nostalgia fueled netherworld.
Cheech, sensing his masters’ distress, pushed his head under Hovis’ hand and subconsciously, Hovis began to stroke him.