The unofficial epilogue of the period.

(Burst – A History of the Period by Trent Lewin can be found within the depths of Trent Lewin’s blog at Trent’s four-part series inspired this simple epilogue, while Trent himself inspired me to write. Nuff said.)

The simple dot at the end of this string of words is a distant descendant of that heroic armless period which rose into existence before the invention of the first closed fist. Small and round-bodied, seemingly insignificant, greatly outnumbered by his one-armed half-brothers, the commas, who hardly let a word in edgeways, the simplicity of this dot is his greatest weapon. He always manages to have the last word. Almost…

“A weapon?” you may ask in disbelief, as if a tiny dot presented any kind of a target for attack. Yet there was indeed a mortal enemy, smudging at the edges of reality with a relish for obliterating small dots.

Before the History of the Period, this tiny dot of an ancient ancestor climbed a hill into the dying rays of a setting sun, to stake a claim to the planet in whose image he was shaped. The circle of the sun sank into the vast sphere of the horizon, and the dot felt at one with the roundness of his universe. As darkness once again threatened to overwhelm him, he called valiantly into the night sky with the whole of his being. With a great whooshing a billion dots ripped cleanly out of the blackness of space leaving a sparkling brightness sprinkled in their absence. In one moment, the dot amassed a billion friends on Earth, and conquered the vanquishing darkness.

For many years, the tiny dots lived without fear, until someone took a very close look at them. How round, how perfectly symmetrical, incomprehensibly so. Suddenly their numbers grew less as handfuls of them were plucked from the grassy hills to be enslaved in caves where they were glued on to the cold rocky walls to punctuate stories to little boys and girls who loved to stay up until the stars came out and twinkled.


How one of these ancient dots materialized on to an un-extraordinary sheep farmer’s manuscript, many centuries later in Pamir, no-one ever really came to know. A certain few guessed that the remaining handful of tiny dots in their fervent passion for freedom re-learned how to whoosh briefly upwards, in a great struggle against the gravity of their dwindling circumstances, and ride the thermal currents of the lower atmospheres, some landing here, some alighting there, at the whim and fancy of the fickle weather. Who is to say whether the sheep farmer’s simple mark may have been blown in, shivering, on a snowy gust of wind, happy to find rest in a natural position at the end of the farmer’s dying sentence.

So, the epilogue becomes a prologue… (This four part series eventually contains mature themes. Children check with your parents first.)

(To Trenton, I am sadly lacking in historical fact, and geographical location! It’s a start though, and I enjoyed it. How about a Part Five and the gracious return of a much appreciated gauntlet…)

Maid in Bedlam

I like this!

“I love my love, because I know my love loves me”

I signed up for GoodReads, and found that my favourite books that came to mind, were audio books, or stories I had heard over the radio as a kid.

This is leading me down a different path of thought… and I started exploring SoundCloud to see if I could find the elusive thing I am searching for, seeking, on the verge of finding.

There is so much potential in blogland, and when connected with social media…. to make something amazing.

Something new.

Something not done before.

I seek…

and I will find.

The Kingdom Where Peace and Happiness Abound

Copyright (c) 2013 Anasera Trifonoff All rights reserved. (An exception to the Creative Commons license on this blog!) All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No bears or children were hurt in the making of this fairytale.

Little Saro walked into the forest with news to tell the bears about the golden Palace of the King, and the beautiful Kingdom of Peace he was building for his loyal subjects.   Eyes wide with child-like wonder, she looked at the beautiful City one last time before she turned and entered the dark forest.

All the bears were invited to enter the gates of the glorious City, and Saro was ready to pass on this happy invitation to all the bears, big and small, who lived in the dark wild forest.

Saro came across many bears who had no interest in the invitation, but welcomed her to join their wild bear parties.  Saro quickly tired of trying to find opportunities to speak with them.  So, she left in search of another kind of bear, a bear who would listen.

She wandered a long time through the dark, wild winter of the forest. Searching, and searching, until at last, a Big Bear coming out of hibernation saw her, bedraggled and weary, and offered her his old cave to keep her warm and dry.  She gladly accepted.  She was sure this was a bear who might accept the King’s invitation!

For many a day, Big Bear and Saro spoke about all manner of things.  Big Bear shared in all good things with Little Saro.  He showed her how to find the best berries, and shared his hard-earned pawfuls of honey with her, straight from the buzzing hive.

Big Bear even tried to teach her how to fish, bear-style, but she was only a little girl, and simply couldn’t learn how.

Then, one day, after many a talk about the beautiful Kingdom where Peace and Happiness Abound, Big Bear stood up on his hind legs, and looked at Saro very hard, before announcing that she must surely be one of those Hunters reported to be reaching into the heart of the forest. And surely Little Saro must be about to kill him!  Then he turned his back and loped off, never to be seen again.

Little Saro kept in touch with the other bears who lived close-by, but they did not show any interest in the King’s invitation. Then, one day, as she sat in the mouth of the old cave, another girl, and a boy, came up close to meet her.  They were happy, and smiled as they spoke of the wonderful new Kingdom which their King was building, and how she was invited too!

Saro blinked bearishly in the dark of her cave, uncertain of whether Big Bear was right about Hunters, and worried that this boy and girl might want to kill her. Or perhaps they wanted to hunt down Big Bear, as he had feared!

She determined to test out whether it were true.  The more she tested, the more she knew.

The boy and and girl kept coming to visit, and they brought other friends like them too. They kept inviting Saro to meet with them in a clearing in the deep, wild, dark woods.  And presently, Saro accepted.

The clearing was beautiful.  Sunlight streamed into the glorious, green-carpeted gathering. Many boys and girls smiled, and spoke to each other, and introduced themselves kindly to Saro, and all spoke of the Wonderful Invitations which they held in precious armfuls ready to give out.

Saro kept looking for hidden signs of Hunters, but found that others were assigned the job of checking for Hunters. A group of the smartest, strongest, most loving and kind-hearted boys were honoured to be chosen for this role.  They carefully checked every member of the gathering to make sure no-one carried knives or guns.

And others were assigned to travel back and forth to the Palace Gate to bring more supplies, and, of course, invitations to every kind of bear imaginable.

The more Saro met with them, attended their gatherings, and spoke with them about their work, the more she began to notice how similar they were to herself. Perhaps the bears were wrong, she thought warily. They had told her there was nothing more to life than finding berries, and sweeping out the cave. They had not listened to her about the Precious Kingdom, where Peace and Happiness Abound. Saro now puzzled, “Why?”

Even Big Bear, who had shared everything with her, and provided her with his old warm cave, had wished that she would stop speaking about the King from outside the forest, whom Big Bear did not believe existed. “There is only the forest, and bears, and wolves!” he declared.

Saro wondered at this little group in the clearing – they all had bundles of invitations, and never ceased in happily giving them out. They kept up their spirits by meeting together regularly, some every day, and reminding each other of the Happy Kingdom which was near completion.

Little Saro forgot her bearishness, and felt the comfort of being near this bunch of boys and girls who seemed just like her.

Although Saro forgot her bearish ways, some of the boys and girls still thought she really was a strange kind of bear.  Spending so much time alone in the deep, dark, wild, tangled forest with the gruff, rough bears had made Saro strangely tangled and rough and tough too!

They would not allow her to join in with the other boys and girls, as they learned how to walk in a group, and visit many bears in one day. How to speak cheerfully and give out invitations to the wonderful new Kingdom, getting closer to completion day by day.

Saro started to despair. How would she convince them that she was one of them, but had only invited bears by word of mouth, and only those few who showed interest, at that.

She looked at herself – the wildly tangled forest hair, and the scruffy old leaves that made do for clothes, and the scars and scratches from tangles with bears and other wild forest folk.

Her heart weakened as the older boys still eyed her with suspicion even after she scrubbed and trimmed and found new clothes from the places some of the kinder girls whispered of quietly.

Now Saro discovered the unkindness of other boys and girls who wished she were still in rags and tatters, because they were forgetting who they were, emissaries of the Kindly King.

Little Saro’s heart began to break. How she remembered kindly Big Bear.  How she longed for his friendly, accepting company. How she wished he had stayed.

Big Bear had been certain of Hunters, and now it seemed, there was something worse than Hunters here. Hunters wanted meat, and fur to keep warm, and some hunted just for the kill. But Hunters were not emissaries of the King Himself, and if a bear were shot by one of their foul arrows, he could be raised to life according to his kindly bear deeds.

Some of these worse-than-Hunters were blocking the doors to the Kingdom, and crushing her soul, while proudly wearing the King’s name on their brow. She saw them look down their noses at the bears, and toss the invitations down at their feet, or clutch them tightly to their chest, not willing to give them away.

These would not last as long as an ignorant Hunter, Saro supposed, as she heard fast hoof-beats approaching, and saw the messenger from the Palace Guard, with a sword at the ready to clear the King’s name from the brow of the unworthy.

Little Saro crumpled as she sighed her heart-broken sigh. She had seen all, from the King’s own Palace and grounds, to the forest beyond.  All things lay bare and exposed before her, and she yearned to be by the King.

The Prince Himself arrived on his white steed, and picked Little Saro up off the ground.


"Come, Rejoice Little Saro,
  and Come Be With Me,
    You'll find refreshment for your thirsty Soul.

 Drink deep,
     Pure and true,
        the word I bring to you -
You will find your heart's desire."


And as she slipped out of life, into death’s cold hand, the Prince galloped ever faster to reach a golden tower where Saro would live once more.

The Author, his Pen, and the Book

The Author, his Pen, and the Book. OM at HarsH ReaLiTy has outdone himself, in my opinion!

I Looove this portrait of an author.  From the startling incongruity of the BIC pen, through the four jars of coloured ink, filled with ingredients of life… to the ending which offers hope, and also an enigma!

via The Author, his Pen, and the Book.

PS. This is my first ‘Press This’ post, and I am curious to see how it turns out.

The Three-Legged Dog

Ta-Daaah!  My very first audio book, ever!  Love to hear your comments.  My sister’s comments crack me up on this.  When you get to the name on the dog’s collar, think ‘Tripod!’

This one goes out to all the kids out there, and all those who like digging for meaning in children’s stories.  What meaning does this story hold for you?

One day…. I may put this book into print.

“One day… there was a Dog. The Dog had no home.  Nobody loved the Dog.  The Dog had only three legs.  The Dog lost one leg in an unfortunate accident…”  ~The Three-Legged Dog, by Anasera Trifonoff

Go on, have a listen 🙂