fudgetusk
09-15-2025, 05:23 AM
The Berryessa Park Picnic
Morgana spooned coleslaw onto Art's plate and then onto her own. The warm breeze played with her long red fringe, as a wasp took some time to investigate the hamper nearby.
"Why is it called Berryessa park, Art?"
Art screwed up his mouth and set his eyes to peer up into the sky, or his internal self.
"Well...they might have named it after the lake just over the hill, I suppose."
"Oh. But what does Berryessa mean?"
"Dunno. Something to do with berries?"
Morgana flipped the wicker lid of the hamper and searched around for cutlery. She found them tucked down beside the container of chicken wings. She had made sure the spoons and forks were steel and not cheap plastic. Nothing worse than bendy forks and food.
"Shame Tiran couldn't come," Morgana said.
"He's too busy with that dog of his these days, since it nearly attacked his kid."
"I'm sure he's exaggerating about that. Darly is a nice dog, with me. Shall I get the chicken out?"
"Sure. I'm starving. I think I've become more greedy since becoming a full time carnivore."
Morgana fished the container of chicken wings out and pried the lid off. There were enough wings for three each. Just as well Tiran couldn't make it. She used a fork to stab one of the wings then transferred it to Art's plate. The plates were real ceramic too. No paper when she was around. She hated anything unreliable.
"I shall give you two wings for now and save one for later, okay?"
"Fine by me. Did Wogan get back to you about the interview? He's leaving it a bit late if he wants you on his show."
"It's just a podcast. We can record it anytime he's ready. He's really interested in my research, that's what counts."
"He's really into the feminine aspects of Norse Mythology? That makes two of you then. Did we bring any salt?"
Morgana tutted. She had forgotten the salt. Her memory was good for Norse runes but the simple things evaded her.
"Lots of people are into feminism AND lots of people are into mythology...you'll have to get along without the salt."
Art used his fingers to grab a chicken wing and took a bite. The wasp had come back, deciding that the hamper was interesting after all. Morgana wasn't fond of wasps. Nor was she taken by Art's use of his fingers when forks were handy.
"Lots of people are into mythology, true," Art said through a mouthful of chicken.
"AND feminism!"
"What website is he posting the podcast on?"
"Lots of them. All of them, I hope. My book could do with the publicity."
"I liked the bit about comparing Frigg to Venus. Very symbolic. Smacks of syncretism though, some might say."
She wasn't going to be goaded on her pet hobby; not today and not by Art.
"SOME might say all kinds of thing, Art. SOME might also be wrong."
"You're the boss. You're the scholar. What's for pudding?"
" A mere trifle, my lord. Or biscuits if you want that instead."
"Forsooth! A trifle will suffice my lady. Verily..."
Art burst into laughter. Morgana felt imaginary specks of chicken hit her face. The sun dimmed as a cloud masked it.
"Wogan liked my book, I think. He said it was a shame it had already been published because he wanted to write the introduction."
"He can write the intro to your next book about the correlations between sadism and origami."
"Funny."
"Masochism and crop rotation?"
"FUNNY!"
The sun's beam was reborn and Morgana felt it on her bare arms. A distant memory lit up in her mind, left a bright spark of emotion, and vanished again. The feeling remained, as mysterious and as unreliable as deja vu.
Art shifted on the blanket. He picked up a fork to tackle the coleslaw. A dark shape left the copse by their car.
"You should write a book, Art. Your dad was a poet. You could write about him. The personal touch."
Art swallowed. He had something to say.
"I'm a poet too."
"Yeah, but he was quite famous."
"I have a small following on the web. I'm known to publish now and then. 'Excalibur' was mentioned in a newspaper review last year. Why should my father get paper wasted on him? Trees should be used more wisely."
"So write about your father AND yourself. He must have influenced you."
"Probably. I never liked his haikus. Too poncey. Who writes about fish and stuff like that anymore? I'm more interested in mankind and mankind's demise. Just why are so many people using drugs that could kill them? Freud would love it. You know what he said about it?"
"Yes, I do."
"You know he had a name for it, this recklessness. He would love this modern world. He seemed to see ahead of himself. Better than that madman, Jung."
"Madman? I liked his synchronicity theory."
"Oh? Well, he believed in it but said it wasn't supernatural. Just WHAT was it then? Madman."
Art scratched his chin and tossed a chicken bone onto his plate with the other.
"Did we bring any fruit? I'm gasping for an onion."
"Onion?" Morgana smiled.
"I mean orange. Got any?"
"There's some seedless grapes."
"Mmm. The links between Bacchus and Chewbacca?"
"Who?
"Chewbacca. Big hairy dog-bear thing? Co-pilot of the Millenium Falcon? No? Wow!"
"I've heard of Tiw, but not Chewbacca. I don't watch sci fi. I prefer horror."
"But you knew it was sci fi." Art smiled broadly, nodding his head.
"I don't like Star Trek. Too smug. All the aliens are idiots and the humans all perfect."
"Captain Kirk, the racist? Have you noticed that the Star Fleet logo is a bishop's miter?"
"Someone's coming."
Art looked over his shoulder. A man dressed in black was strolling from the direction of the car. Something glinted in his hand.
"It's funny though, they never mention religion in Star Trek,"Art continued. He musn't show fear in front of Morgana. Not today. Not here.
"Who is it, Art?"
"You know who it is, Morgana. You've always known. We all have."
The man in black approached them and his face was as pale as a mask. The thing in his hand wasn't a gun or a knife. But he pointed it at them as if it were.
He spoke.
"It is time." His voice sounded like a recording. Warped by something old.
Art nodded at the man and the looked at Morgana. He smiled as best he could and stood up. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and rolled it back. He dug his fingers into the grassy earth and pulled a clod up. Lights appeared in the soil.
"You know the code," the man said.
"T4A? Is that right, Mordred?"
The man in black nodded.
Morgana screamed. Nobody who mattered could hear it.
Art tapped the code into the panel in the earth and there was another scream. But this was not a human scream. This was God screaming.
Berryessa park began to darken. Then the world followed suit. All was in shadow, except for the man in black. He began to shine brighter.
Art and Morgana felt their minds shrink. Their memories were switching off. Their names were lost to mythology.
The wasp stung Art on the hand and died.
[/INDENT][/INDENT]
Morgana spooned coleslaw onto Art's plate and then onto her own. The warm breeze played with her long red fringe, as a wasp took some time to investigate the hamper nearby.
"Why is it called Berryessa park, Art?"
Art screwed up his mouth and set his eyes to peer up into the sky, or his internal self.
"Well...they might have named it after the lake just over the hill, I suppose."
"Oh. But what does Berryessa mean?"
"Dunno. Something to do with berries?"
Morgana flipped the wicker lid of the hamper and searched around for cutlery. She found them tucked down beside the container of chicken wings. She had made sure the spoons and forks were steel and not cheap plastic. Nothing worse than bendy forks and food.
"Shame Tiran couldn't come," Morgana said.
"He's too busy with that dog of his these days, since it nearly attacked his kid."
"I'm sure he's exaggerating about that. Darly is a nice dog, with me. Shall I get the chicken out?"
"Sure. I'm starving. I think I've become more greedy since becoming a full time carnivore."
Morgana fished the container of chicken wings out and pried the lid off. There were enough wings for three each. Just as well Tiran couldn't make it. She used a fork to stab one of the wings then transferred it to Art's plate. The plates were real ceramic too. No paper when she was around. She hated anything unreliable.
"I shall give you two wings for now and save one for later, okay?"
"Fine by me. Did Wogan get back to you about the interview? He's leaving it a bit late if he wants you on his show."
"It's just a podcast. We can record it anytime he's ready. He's really interested in my research, that's what counts."
"He's really into the feminine aspects of Norse Mythology? That makes two of you then. Did we bring any salt?"
Morgana tutted. She had forgotten the salt. Her memory was good for Norse runes but the simple things evaded her.
"Lots of people are into feminism AND lots of people are into mythology...you'll have to get along without the salt."
Art used his fingers to grab a chicken wing and took a bite. The wasp had come back, deciding that the hamper was interesting after all. Morgana wasn't fond of wasps. Nor was she taken by Art's use of his fingers when forks were handy.
"Lots of people are into mythology, true," Art said through a mouthful of chicken.
"AND feminism!"
"What website is he posting the podcast on?"
"Lots of them. All of them, I hope. My book could do with the publicity."
"I liked the bit about comparing Frigg to Venus. Very symbolic. Smacks of syncretism though, some might say."
She wasn't going to be goaded on her pet hobby; not today and not by Art.
"SOME might say all kinds of thing, Art. SOME might also be wrong."
"You're the boss. You're the scholar. What's for pudding?"
" A mere trifle, my lord. Or biscuits if you want that instead."
"Forsooth! A trifle will suffice my lady. Verily..."
Art burst into laughter. Morgana felt imaginary specks of chicken hit her face. The sun dimmed as a cloud masked it.
"Wogan liked my book, I think. He said it was a shame it had already been published because he wanted to write the introduction."
"He can write the intro to your next book about the correlations between sadism and origami."
"Funny."
"Masochism and crop rotation?"
"FUNNY!"
The sun's beam was reborn and Morgana felt it on her bare arms. A distant memory lit up in her mind, left a bright spark of emotion, and vanished again. The feeling remained, as mysterious and as unreliable as deja vu.
Art shifted on the blanket. He picked up a fork to tackle the coleslaw. A dark shape left the copse by their car.
"You should write a book, Art. Your dad was a poet. You could write about him. The personal touch."
Art swallowed. He had something to say.
"I'm a poet too."
"Yeah, but he was quite famous."
"I have a small following on the web. I'm known to publish now and then. 'Excalibur' was mentioned in a newspaper review last year. Why should my father get paper wasted on him? Trees should be used more wisely."
"So write about your father AND yourself. He must have influenced you."
"Probably. I never liked his haikus. Too poncey. Who writes about fish and stuff like that anymore? I'm more interested in mankind and mankind's demise. Just why are so many people using drugs that could kill them? Freud would love it. You know what he said about it?"
"Yes, I do."
"You know he had a name for it, this recklessness. He would love this modern world. He seemed to see ahead of himself. Better than that madman, Jung."
"Madman? I liked his synchronicity theory."
"Oh? Well, he believed in it but said it wasn't supernatural. Just WHAT was it then? Madman."
Art scratched his chin and tossed a chicken bone onto his plate with the other.
"Did we bring any fruit? I'm gasping for an onion."
"Onion?" Morgana smiled.
"I mean orange. Got any?"
"There's some seedless grapes."
"Mmm. The links between Bacchus and Chewbacca?"
"Who?
"Chewbacca. Big hairy dog-bear thing? Co-pilot of the Millenium Falcon? No? Wow!"
"I've heard of Tiw, but not Chewbacca. I don't watch sci fi. I prefer horror."
"But you knew it was sci fi." Art smiled broadly, nodding his head.
"I don't like Star Trek. Too smug. All the aliens are idiots and the humans all perfect."
"Captain Kirk, the racist? Have you noticed that the Star Fleet logo is a bishop's miter?"
"Someone's coming."
Art looked over his shoulder. A man dressed in black was strolling from the direction of the car. Something glinted in his hand.
"It's funny though, they never mention religion in Star Trek,"Art continued. He musn't show fear in front of Morgana. Not today. Not here.
"Who is it, Art?"
"You know who it is, Morgana. You've always known. We all have."
The man in black approached them and his face was as pale as a mask. The thing in his hand wasn't a gun or a knife. But he pointed it at them as if it were.
He spoke.
"It is time." His voice sounded like a recording. Warped by something old.
Art nodded at the man and the looked at Morgana. He smiled as best he could and stood up. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and rolled it back. He dug his fingers into the grassy earth and pulled a clod up. Lights appeared in the soil.
"You know the code," the man said.
"T4A? Is that right, Mordred?"
The man in black nodded.
Morgana screamed. Nobody who mattered could hear it.
Art tapped the code into the panel in the earth and there was another scream. But this was not a human scream. This was God screaming.
Berryessa park began to darken. Then the world followed suit. All was in shadow, except for the man in black. He began to shine brighter.
Art and Morgana felt their minds shrink. Their memories were switching off. Their names were lost to mythology.
The wasp stung Art on the hand and died.
[/INDENT][/INDENT]