A Rider from Afar

Charley noticed some movement from afar, and within a few minutes she could just make out in the distance, a rider approaching the homestead below. She watched as the figure dismounted and went to the door, and then alighted his horse once again.

“Perhaps he is delivering the mail”, she said cheerily to Toby, who had forsaken his crimson gum leaf for a smooth bark-less stick, that he started to draw in the dirt with.

“Oh look, he is coming this way” she said, trying to get her young son’s attention.

The rider wore a long oilskin coat and hat that shone in the sun - it was near impossible to make out his age from the distance. He had long boots, and a saddle bag to match, and a dappled dark brown horse.

“That is my favourite kind of horse”, Charley said to her boy. He nodded, absorbed in his artwork.

“I think I will get you a hat like that.” she said, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

“He can have mine”, came a voice from behind.

It was the rider, who appeared very suddenly at the back of them.

This voice was all too familiar. Charley turned to face him.

His long hair was tied back, his once beard was but a shadow. He looked well.

“Francis?” she said questioningly -

“Yes,” he said softly with a smile “Pietro found his way home at last.”

Francis had managed to reclaim his body the moment his father had withdrawn.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Gum Leaf Tune

Charley had a tight grip around Toby’s waist, as he sat balanced on the thick wooden post, watching the smelly sheep graze. His chubby legs swung to and fro, and in his grasp was some long grass he wanted to feed them with.

Both she and her young son had been staying with the newlywed Johnstone couple.

The days had been hot, and thick with insects, and the unholy fumes of dung and diesel, yet the two newcomers had settled in for their holiday with great zeal.

She had wandered into a paddock which looked out over the rolling hills, with a glittering dam to the right, shouldered by willows, and a winding road from the left, some dozy cows, and huddles of tall grey green gums.

Her little boy was preoccupied with a leaf - his grandfather had been playing a tune with one just the night before, and he was trying to get music to squeak out of his.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Lights Out

Pietro had been exhausted by centuries of activity and needed the replenishment that only a cosmic stay could give. Perhaps this time? It certainly explained a lot about his behavior now.

Being exiled into service at the seaside Hotel had been fine for a while, but once again, the familiar loneliness had exceeded the novelty of being once more a man.

The action of the intoxicants soon persuaded Pietro, that his very soul was fading; and worse than that bewilderment, was that he no longer cared to live at all anymore.

In spirit form, Francis stood by the bedside ready to catch his father as he flew out from the cocaine-strangled corpse he had become.

“Papa, I have come to fetch you” he said tenderly, as the pulsing light lifted up and out, and into the greater …..


- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

An Eternal Dance on Earth

Two young women, trailing skimpy couture, scurried hurriedly from the chaotic room; one tipping the concierge to call for an ambulance before joining her thinly dressed friend in the taxi that was waiting at the front of the Grand hotel.

Pietro-Chips had a acquired a taste for partying of late. After his shift he would find a vacant suite and invite guests to stay over - and they would embellish their fantasies with what alcohol and barbiturates they could muster.

Francis had been horrified at his father’s recklessness. He had been drawn to watch over him from the very moment he had departed his dear body at the bottom of the cliff.

One reason for this had been the natural attachment Francis had formed to his physical self. The very molecules in his body were his, and magnetically, inherently, they sought out his presence. And so, Pietro became like a living ‘mummified’ corpse - an astral attraction for its owner no longer inhabiting it.

Apart from this, Francis had made a promise many a lifetime, to help his father out from this eternal dance on Earth that he had been caught in. He desired to help Pietro find a gateway finally through to the Heavens - for that healing rest, that this soul did long for.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

His Gypsy Room

The thread in Granoldi’s saffron robe glimmered as the candlelight danced across his gypsy room. Puck tickled his nose with a peacock plume so as to wake him slowly.

There was a bowl of diamonds on his bedside table, and a half eaten rhubarb pie.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

A Faerie Bear

Puck pressed pass the clown. Side by side, he was twice his size.

There was a trailer on the edge, made up like a Gypsy’s caravan. A sign in gold, above the arched door, read: “The Great Granoldi”.

He knocked loudly three times and then entered. The great Granoldi was sleeping rather heavily, just as the midget had said.

He was - is - a Faerie Bear, not native to this realm, but having wandered from his own, this immortal chose to live in the Earthly space. That is, for the most part; for while he slumbers he returns to his homeland to roam the magical forests there.

“Does he understand any language?”

“Oh, he understands all language, but never learnt to speak more than a few.”

“But why stay here then?”

“I asked him that not so long ago, and he had answered: 'because it was amusing'. Bears are pretty phlegmatic you know.”


- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Coming to see the Bear

The acrobat leapt down, landing hard upon the teflon floor.

“Why is it that so many Elves end up working in entertainment?” Puck mused to himself.

The contortionist was looking over his shoulder at him - all knew Puck, and rightly so, for he owned this circus, as well as the freehold to the riverbank it was perched upon.

“I’ve come to see the Bear,” Puck mumbled under his breath.

“I’m afraid to say that he is sleeping Sir. You know that oldy - nothing will rouse him when the winds from the north come to get ‘im.”

Puck ignored this. The midget was, after all, a compulsive liar.


- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances