Good morning all. I always seem to move just a little slower on Mondays. Still at least I am moving. There is something to be said for that. So, Shall we get going with our morning prompt? I think it will help shake out some of the weekend mental dust. So lets give those brains a good shake shall we? Metaphorically speaking of course.
I like this. Admittedly I just felt like I was starting to get into the story when the timer went off. It’s one of those things where i feel like asking for just five more minutes.
Monday, August 29th: He consulted the primary sources.
He consulted the primary sources. The legends and stories associated with the island were so befuddled that he had no choice but to dive deep into the archives, searching for the truth.
‘It’s like no one could leave well enough alone,’ he thought as he closed the current book he was perusing. Each person who discussed the island seemed to take whatever legends and myths that came before and instead of just reporting them, they could not resist adding just a little something to the tale. Whether it was a need to add their own mark on the legend or to make the legend fit more concretely with the current political, social and moral attitudes of their time, none were able to resist.
‘Maybe it is a little bit of both,’ he said as he stood and stretched, preparing to go deeper. Getting to the source of the legends and myths was a lot like peeling an onion. He approached the legend he knew and found the papery skin nearly crumbling at his couch. Each layer he peeled took a little more effort and stripped away the details that generation added. What he was finding interesting was that even though people added to it a lot, there were things that people took out as well.
One generation seemed fixated on spices, while another thought them decadent and left them out of the tale all together. Some reveled in the dancing and freedom of personal expression while others seemed to fear such decadent and licentious behavior. It was as though a search for the story took him through the beliefs of each generation rather than showing him the true story of Isle Franitos.
‘I suppose they could have embellished it so they could fill in the gaps of what they took out. ‘
He re-shelved the volume he was using and began looking for the materials that generations author referenced. He had no fear that they would be here. The archives took material in, it did not let it go. Each item was magically copied. Anyone could bring anything to the archives door. Any scrap of paper, any book. It didn’t matter if it was banned or even incomplete, The person bringing it would be paid a small sum for their offering and it would become part of the archives. Over the years there had been beggars bringing small offerings they found and hoping for money for bread. There had been fearful scholars bringing their collections here rather than seeing them burned by a current dictate. Ewan had seen some of them before. Many were relieved to see the volumes to safety and several looked almost ashamed at receiving payment for them. There had even been people bringing old love letters from generations prior.
The archives was a magical space. It as sealed against enemies of the written word, whether that was politically based, religious, scientific or any other reason, the works were safe here for all eternity.
Ten til Midnight 