By Julie Wornan
Dear Stranger,
Can I say that you swept me off my feet?
You came to me in the night, but I was not yet asleep. Wordlessly, you invited me to climb onto your back and you rode me over the moon-emblazoned river, over the woods beyond, up over a glistening mountain peak, around the mountain and back over the woods and river and home. I clung onto your furry feathery back and I was not frightened. At all. You gentled me down into my bed and you left through the window as you had come. I fell asleep at once. I knew it was not a dream, because in the morning I awoke clutching a silvery green feather. I put it on my dressing table.
The next night, you came and carried me away in your strong arms and sat me on a magical seesaw. You took the other side. The seesaw went up up up into the sky, then down again to bounce on our leafy lawn, then up again toward the singing stars, and down and up. The night wind caressed my cheeks. When you saw me shiver, you tossed me a silken scarf to wrap round my neck. It kept me warm. I laughed with delight. When you were silhouetted against the starry sky I tried to make out your form. A giant caterpillar with antennae and arms? A bear with six pointy ears? No, I must have imagined those. Then down and up until my fingers were weary with the hanging on and my thighs ached. When I felt overcome with fatigue, you catapulted me gently through my bedroom window and into bed to a delicious sleep in which the whirling stars kept me company all night.
My fingers and thighs still ached in the morning but only for a little while. I found the scarf on the floor next to my bed, where I must have tossed it. I put it on my dressing table near the feather.
You did not come the following night.
But the night after that, you slipped into my bed beside me and gave me such a furry feathery tickle all over that I laughed and cried with delight. We shared our joy. Wordlessly.
You did not come the next night. But when I awoke, on my night table there was a little box tied with a pale pink silky ribbon. I opened it. Inside was a rose. A fresh living fragrant rose, although it had no stem. I shut my eyes and inhaled its perfume. When I looked again closely, I saw a red ruby stone in the shape of a question mark nestling in the heart of the rose. I understood your question.
I put the rose on my dressing table with the feather and the scarf.
I thought of you all day and all night in my dreams and then all the next day. At bedtime, I answered you. I wrote NO in large letters on a sheet of brown wrapping paper and spread it out on the foot of my bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
I am sorry, my unknown friend.
One day, if I say Yes, it will be to a human man. We will share our laughter and tears, our quarrels and tender love, for as long as our mortal time will permit.
That's how it has to be.
I don't know if you can read this letter. I don't know how to send it to you. I will place it on my dressing table next to the feather, the scarf and the rose. Somehow, I know that you will read it and understand it.
Thank you for your kindness and your treats. The memories will not fade. I hope that you too will think of me sometimes as your path weaves onward through time and space.
Tenderly,
Your Marianne
About the Author
I'm a native New Yorker but my home is in France. After I retired as a computer programmer, I discovered the delight of writing for those irrational beings called People. I think of fantasy as a window into another reality. And, I like to write very short stories because Small is Beautiful. Some of my work has appeared on Bewildering Stories <http://www.bewilderingstories.com/> and AntipodeanSF <http://www.antisf.com/>.
If you like my stories, you can download my e-book titled "The Mutual Reverse See," from www.amazon.fr/The-Mutual-Reverse-See-ebook/dp/B007VDEHHQ
Photography is another hobby of mine. You can see some of my photo compositions on http://www.flickr.com/photos/julieeiluj/ .
I feel deep concern about the future of our one and only planet. (You do too, right?). So I wrote a graphic novel, "Saving Our Planet," to explain climate change to young people. It's available on amazon in 4 languages. And a song, "The Change of Climate", to the tune of "The Sound of Silence"; you can listen to it here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tY5MKPGr8RA>.
Brian Biswas lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA.
Tara Campbell is an award-winning writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, fiction co-editor at Barrelhouse, and graduate of American University's MFA in Creative Writing.
Sarah Jane Justice is an Adelaide-based fiction writer, poet, musician and spoken word artist.
Emma Louise Gill (she/her) is a British-Australian spec fic writer and consumer of vast amounts of coffee. Brought up on a diet of English lit, she rebelled and now spends her time writing explosive space opera and other fantastical things in
My time at Nambucca Valley Community Radio began back in 2016 after moving into the area from Sydney.
Geraldine Borella writes fiction for children, young adults and adults. Her work has been published by Deadset Press, IFWG Publishing, Wombat Books/Rhiza Edge, AHWA/Midnight Echo, Antipodean SF, Shacklebound Books, Black Ink Fiction, Paramour Ink Fiction, House of Loki and Raven & Drake
Mark is an astrophysicist and space scientist who worked on the Cassini/Huygens mission to Saturn. Following this he worked in computer consultancy, engineering, and high energy research (with a stint at the JET Fusion Torus).
Ed lives with his wife plus a magical assortment of native animals in tropical North Queensland.
Barry Yedvobnick is a recently retired Biology Professor. He performed molecular biology and genetic research, and taught, at Emory University in Atlanta for 34 years. He is new to fiction writing, and enjoys taking real science a step or two beyond its known boundaries in his
Tim Borella is an Australian author, mainly of short speculative fiction published in anthologies, online and in podcasts.
Merri Andrew writes poetry and short fiction, some of which has appeared in Cordite, Be:longing, Baby Teeth and Islet, among other places.
Alistair Lloyd is a Melbourne based writer and narrator who has been consuming good quality science fiction and fantasy most of his life.