Return-Path: Received: by inigo.Data-IO.COM (4.1/SMI-4.1) id AA16229; Wed, 4 May 94 14:10:54 PDT Message-Id: <9405042110.AA16229@inigo.Data-IO.COM> To: kjc@cs.rutgers.edu Cc: cdr@livingston.com, li@inigo Subject: That dream story I was telling you about... Date: Wed, 04 May 94 14:10:37 -0700 From: li@inigo She remembered after class after all the other students had gone away, given up or leaving in disgust. Her brother sitting there scribbling away constantly, and saying in a perfectly even voice, "This picture is going to be a mess." She had gone over to look over his shoulder and, sure enough it was a mess; but standing out from the scribbles, like a bias relief was the Ming vase everyone had been trying to capture. each detail, each curve, each glint of the light perfectly captured in the midst of smudges, scribbles and at an angle off from square on the paper. Even now, as she remembered it, she could not say how it had been done. only that it had been. by him. --- for the lack of a prejorative, she had lost a lover for life; but gained her brother... i think that at that point she'd just found out something that had destroyed her romance with someone but had furthered the mystery quite well. The main story is that her genius older brother had died and she is following the trail of his death. he had always been the genius of the family, and she the one with the lack of self esteem an the wish that she were 'as smart' as he. he dies because he's so smart. she, they don't care about as much. wandering about like a lost puppy dog. but she manages to piece it together even as she doesn't believe that she has pieced it together. and the biggest feelings through this was that throat aching sorrow, that loss of something like a Ming vase broken, smashed and forever lost... And I clearly remember feeling that sorrow, admiring it as something Gaiman had fashioned the way he usually does, and being sorry that I probably wouldn't see the end of the story as he would have written it if he hadn't died... ---- Liralen