History

The Snake and the Apple

The poison fruit

Snake snakety snake man

Memoires of an Incubus

I'm hardly an incubus! This is fruitless. Pun intended. Why are titles so difficult. It's not like anyone is going to read this. Ever. Maybe. What if someone finds it when I'm dead?! Oh, good lord above. I -do- need a title. If I am to write my life, as it is, has been and maybe will be, I shall have to be more creative. I have creativity coming out of me like a neglected cow's udder. Shudder. Oh haaa. How funny thoust be-est. I have neither the energy nor time this evening for these absurdities.

I used to have so much time. I wrote reams. Page after page. Ink staining my fingers, an ache between my shoulders. It was a good ache. The ache of time well spent and creativity abound. Sat in the attics of the houses I bounced between. Flick, you were so kind.

I am drying up in my ageing. The older I get, the more withered and dusty my mind becomes. I shall have to get juicy again. How does one get juicy? Well, we know one way, but that is work. Effort. Sometimes entirely not worth the coin provided. Sour. Acrid.

Like the gentleman that tasted of ash and putrid meat. I may gag again. He liked that, though, paid extra. It's the little things.

Money is no little matter.

Ooooh Flick. How I miss you. You left me here, alone, and without my innards to complete myself. Part of me is missing. It shall always be missing. I have not thought of you often enough, and also too often. I hope the other side is pleasant enough. Perhaps I shall write a dramatic novel about the afterlife and someone that might walk twixt the realms? Too fanciful? Sacrilegious? Scandalous? Perhaps. It's something to think on.

To better things. To better work. More jobs. Mindful enterprises. Connections. Forgetting more of the past. I have forgotten enough already. Why can I not remember? Aren't we are human beings supposed to draw our wisdom from experiences? If I know not where I come from, how can I ever be wise? Perhaps wisdom will not be my gift. Perhaps it will be some other magical thing?

It does little good to dwell. Though I remember the apples. Always the apples. The dreams of them, baskets and baskets of them, red and shining. Some rotten, some with wee beasties crawling from their holes. Hands picking them, shining them, tossing them upon piles.

I know it means something? Maybe it doesn't. Who knows. The same mystery needing unravelling. My seventh year was my best Flick. It is when I met you. Your kindness, your energy. Taking me in, almost raising me. (I still feel flat and unrisen).

That is when I began. Where my story starts. In those reeking streets, your big steady hands, encircling mine. You lead me into the warm. Into safety. Gave me sustenance, purpose, work. I worked hard for you, and we grew together. Though your Pa was less than overjoyed, he guided us both, but you were my solace. Rest well friend.

I will never forget you. Yet another letter you will never read.


Your Ever Faithful, Newt x

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On the ok side of desperately poor, Cornelius (or Newt as everyone he cares to respond to call him) is a little dollop of chaos in a human suit. He wanders the streets of the East End, hoping to find some work to sink his teeth into. He has been involved in some petty, and sometimes some medium crime. His heart is good, at its core. But like anything good and soft should have, its shell is quite thick and corse. Like a boiled sweet filled with a gooey centre, you have to suck pretty hard to get there.

He does not suffer fools. Unless he is paid to. He is happy to be paid to do almost anything. Within (some dubious) reason. Creative and sardonically comic, he can be the life and soul of the party, or he can sit on the sidelines and drink it all in. Chameleon in nature and with an aptitude for getting into sticky situations, he is in search of a purpose. He remembers little of his childhood. He was taken in at age seven by a kind cobbler and his son Felix. Felix passed away in a wagon accident when Newt was 19 and the pain is still quite raw.

He is a fairly skilled pickpocket, grifter and "escort" for whomever takes a fancy to him that evening, regardless of age or gender. Money is money. Perhaps he will find a group to belong to, or perhaps he already has!