FF: Flight of (the) Fancy 6; Sirius' Death-Journal cont'd

[msbeadsley]

No: HPFGUIDX 81089

Sirius Black, death-journal entry dated deathday plus ?; entry #6

Well. Some time has gone by since I last thought to set anything down 
for posterity, or what passes for posterity here, or for future 
reflection backwards. Since I haven't slept, or let's say, knocked 
myself unconscious lurching headlong into impossibilities, I don't 
really have a sense of days anymore.

I've been busy. That's so odd to say! And so good. I have a body 
again, although I'm fully aware it's a self-driven construct. It 
seemed to come with clothes I'm comfortable wearing. I have 
surroundings, after considerable trial and error: a modest flat of 
two rooms, one of which is library/workspace/lounging area with a few 
pieces of boring furniture, and the other of which was something I 
thought up out of self-defense: Mac's domain, which is too taken up 
with his concerns (and racket) to be of much other use to me. No 
kitchen, no bath; I don't get hungry or need facilities. Although I 
might try to arrange something eventually along those lines, I don't 
really feel the lack so far.

I have fingers again, now, too. Mac proved it to me not long ago by 
chewing on them with rather more enthusiasm than I cared for. (I 
*think* he meant it affectionately.) He really is an amazing amount 
of company; he makes me laugh, and is very emotional and responsive, 
even sometimes when I'd rather be concentrating on self-constructing 
myself some scenery which includes more than the insides of four-
walled rooms; I'm thinking eventually I may try to illusion myself a 
seaside resort. For now I'm illusioning parrot food (nuts, seeds, and 
fruit), unillusioning bird droppings, and reconstructing the chair 
Mac keeps chewing to bits which I keep on his half of the flat.

I have caught myself wondering if I could write a letter and have Mac 
deliver it to someone else on this side of the veil. Right now I am 
content with what I have managed up to now. I don't doubt I'll have 
more ambition shortly, but for now I don't. And I am trying to 
remember all the words to that song, although I don't think I can 
teach it to Mac; he shows absolutely no inclination to speak in 
anything but macaw, in spite of the close attention he pays me when I 
speak. He is particularly fascinated when I laugh and makes a sort of 
barking noise (another bond between us) in response, which I think is 
his version of joining in. I have sung a bit of lyric to him a time 
or two, and he bobs his head in time with the (I use the term 
loosely) music. Very silly, very excitable. And very useful in 
keeping my spirits (ha!) up. (How can anyone be blue in the face of 
all that unapologetic *red*?) It is slowly coming to me just how much 
pain I was in, just how isolated I was, and for how long.

S.B.

[Sandy aka "msbeadsley"]