.: Entry Nine :.

My name is Elliot Parker

I am excited. I had that dream again. But that is not all I am excited about.

I think I might have mentioned what happens at the start of the dream. The rippling floors, the breaking away of the wood. The way it melts and crumbles. How it fades and falls from existence and replaces itself with bookshelves. The stained woods of antiques. The one that I am drawn to, always first. It has this carved wood. The old filigree claws. The green stained wood sanded and unvarnished. The walnut trinket box, so beautifully carved resting beside the first book I always touch. The box was different. The top part of the box, the top shelf of the box, sat uneven. The thimble tilted to the side, the tiny clothes piled to a corner. The threadbare velvet showing its faded pink. Pulling that top shelf away was something new. Something I hadn’t tried before. Something I shouldn’t have been able to change but I did. The layer below had something I recognised.

The jotter pad and pen. The cap was looser than I had it on. I flipped to the first page of the notebook. My own writing on the first line. “I am a deliberate creator.” I have to admit; I was impressed by my own neatness for a moment. But it was something two lines below my own writing that had my attention. Clearly written, with as much intention as I had, had to use to change the dream the first time. “SO AM I”

I had a response.

The understanding that I had of dreams had been torn apart by this place.

Here it was again. Something new. Not only did I have a response, this place was open, other people could come here. This isn’t just my place. That was one of those feelings that just felt a bit violating. Like this was my safe place, my safe place.

Another something new.

I changed the opening sequence.

My name is Elliot Parker and I changed something that should be impossible.

Not for the first time.

I changed the bulk of the dream. I did it. I broke it. I broke the big sequence that pulls me into the next world. I suppose a book is someone else’s world anyway. But this, this is, indescribable. I opened the other layer of the trinket box.

Now I know that someone else can come here, I am not the only one. I am not the only deliberate creator. If someone else can come here, can I find them in the real world? For a start, how do I find them?

That is, it. If there is someone else, surely they have a name. A man must have a name. If he is a man… but with that handwriting, my guess is a man. I could be wrong, but it just sort-of has an energy to it that just feels like it is almost definitely a man… I mean, it could be a man. I am sure it probably, most likely is a man.

“Who are you?” That’s it? That’s the only thing I am letting myself ask. The only thing I am daring to ask right now. There are many questions that I want to ask, believe me, questions that I should ask. But something is pulling me back from asking too much at once, from pushing for more information. One step at a time. I already changed too much. I mean I don’t even know just how much is safe to change. I don’t know. Just how much I can change in one go. What is possible? Well apparently, anything.

But this, this is till my dream, it is still my choice. This is still my safe place, my one place where I can ask the impossible to be possible. The one place I can find out what happens to the stowaway girl that climbs the rigging and reaches the birds nest. And that is where I get pulled into another world. That is what I want right now. I want to know what happens next to the stow away girl on the ship.

So what else do I do? I put the trinket box back together and put the notebook back on the top layer with the pen and close the lid. They will probably come back, whoever it is, and open the box and read my message. I hope they answer the question. It would be nice to have the name of the person invading my safe haven.

And there it is. The paperback book of my dreams. Sure of course that sounds absolutely ridiculous, I know? But that’s the thing, this is my dream. The paper, it has that old book feel, stiffened edges, yellowing paper. The cover that pretty faded green of the trees melting into the sea. That faded black ink.

My name is Elliot Parker and I am the stow away girl.

Pulled into this world, this time, it was different. The bird’s nest. The rough wood under my fingers, the knotted rope. It was clearer. The cold whip of the wind. The boat hitting each wave, each chopping slap on the hull. In all but one direction, the sea sweeping the world from existence. But that one corner of the world not just occupied by sea. That was the first time I have seen anything like it. A ship in the distance. It wasn’t right. The way it seemed to absorb the light from the rising sun. it made it look darker than jet black, if any such thing could be possible. If I could have flown from the bird’s nest to the deck I would have but I was being pulled away again. Dragged back into the room, the dream was beginning to dissolve from within the dream. Emerging from the book and landing on the hard wood floor hurt.

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

.: Entry Eight :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

One of my best friends is a bitch. But that is ok. It is, because, I am one too. But I am more than just that. I am so much more.

I was nervous today. I sent something to my friend, a glimpse of my new work. A little something, that I have been working on, not nearly as much as I should be. Anyway, so I sent a sneaky look through to Jonas. I wanted his opinion. And to be quite frank and honest I respect his opinion a tonne more than I would do of Clover’s thoughts on the matter. And for a guy who is a little withdrawn when it comes to praise, I was ecstatic to receive a message saying “I like the style. It is good, I like it.”

Yeah sure I know it sounds underwhelming to be ecstatic about; but he only gives praise when it’s hard earned.

Honestly, the man is a bloody enigma to me. For a girl who knows how to read people, he can still surprise me. Not because I don’t think he could do something, but because I want to be surprised. Because I want to hear the stories. Not because it’s a story, not because I want to know him inside and out, not because it’s when he tells me something new I get excited and find him even more interesting than normal. I love that he is someone that I am still reading that I am learning to read. Much, much quicker. I know there are some that I can read in an instant. I can know a reaction or what it is they are trying to hide when they lie without meaning to. That is the thing. I can read Jonas, fairly well, but it is only fairly well because, I don’t want to be able to read him as well as some. Not because I don’t like him. But because I think he likes it when he shows someone that he isn’t the guy that people expect him to be.

I can relate to that. I stopped wanting to fit in, to be what people expect me to be. That’s fine. It is fine by me if people judge me to be something I am not. Because the something that I am can hide safely. The knowledge I garner from appearing the shy unassuming type is great. The quiet and apparently seemingly incompetent type. I love it. I love being what people never anticipate.

I am Elliot Parker. I bring change. I am a deliberate creator.

I am so thankful that while I cannot speak it in so many words to Jonas, he just sort of knows that I am a quirky bundle of layers. He never demands explanation for anything seemingly random that I say.

He somehow knows it’s not as random as it seems.

My timing seems to be great though, I just seem to know when there is a dip in his energy. I somehow just seem to know the perfect time to tell him that I think he is great. Just when he needs the little pick-me-up.

See that’s another little problem you see. I seem to perform many little rescues during these dips in the moods, in the overall energy of the people I care about. I know their energies from hundreds of miles away, their unspoken thoughts that are troubling them. I know that I need to ask this specific question, or that one. It can be tricky. Because while I have this energy, this sense of knowing the truth of their energy that they are trying to hide, sometimes they are clinging to pretending it’s not there. But it is, both sides of the interaction know it’s there and my acknowledgement of it is not always welcome. But here I am.

I am always there, always listening, to the spoken and unspoken.

When it first started happening, that uneven energy, that need to speak the energy and to bring about a higher better energy, well I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know when the right time to say something was in perfect timing. It took a bit of time to adjust to and well that is when things got harder. Because I still don’t have it quite perfect. But I know, I have gathered some control over it. I know that I will keep getting better at it. I hate it at times, I can feel a lie before it’s even delivered. Friends and loved ones, they can’t hide and they often know that. But strangers, they have no idea that I already know.

But if I can bring about the better feeling energy how I do, I understand why I am turned to, why I am expected to make things at least feel better. I understand that. That is where the potential comes from though. I am in the position that if I can pin point a weak or negative energy I can change it, for better or worse. That is where the conscience takes over. Why it has to take over. Because, it is something I should not be consciously choosing, the choice on instinct is good, but that doesn’t mean my own energy doesn’t come into play. If I feel anger or agitation, that can change just how effective I am at bringing good change to someone else, their thoughts and energy.

That is why, my mental health, that is exactly why I have to be very careful. I have to choose the better feeling, healthier, happier choices all the time, consciously, because the faltering energy can easily become reflected in my own, from empathy or whatever you want to call it; but through that natural energy, it feels worse, it becomes easier to soak negative energies like a sponge. That is where my fear of being bad and doing bad comes from. My ability was weaker the first time. Now it is stronger, I have to be stronger.

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

.: Entry Seven :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

It happened again. I fell asleep, ok, I was tired and I had a nap, and I had that dream. I wasn’t prepared. I never know when to expect that dream, but there it was.

After climbing the rigging to the bird’s nest and looking out across the sea, being flung back into that room felt warm and safe again. Somehow feeling sea sick and adrenaline fuelled lingered as I wandered around the room. Running my fingers over books that felt so comfortingly familiar that I could curl up in a ball and read story after story until the light faded and the night ended.

It took a while to remember, to focus enough to remember the objects that I wanted, a pen and a notebook. I did it though. One of each. With the summoning of an energy I didn’t quite know, I did it.

It was a little spiral bound jotter notebook, with thin paper. The pen, just the average biro. The ink glistened, it was black but it had an eerie quality. I wrote the only words I could think of. “I am a deliberate creator.” In my tidiest hand-writing, which was a bit of a miracle. I tucked the pen into the spiral and left the open page exposed on the first shelf I am always drawn to. I just needed it to stay there, to not get dislodged. So I changed my mind, I pinned it in place with the little trinket box that I found the thimble and tiny clothes inside.

I didn’t stay in the dream beyond hoping that the notebook would stay in place. I was pulled rather unceremoniously into the waking world. The dream world fading like sand falling through the cracks.

And then it was gone. I felt myself pulled back to reality; kicking, screaming and sullen. I didn’t want to be awake.

The phone buzzing obnoxiously next to my head, that was the rude awakening.

So very uninvited.

My name Is Elliot Parker.

That damn Clover Rayder bitch woke me up. Do not wake me up from a good dream and expect a nice hello. Everyone knows that.

Clover however her call was pretty much pointless. I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know. Stan had told me that he told her that he has a crush on her. What I didn’t know, or want to know was her response.

After all, it is none of my business, no matter how much they seem to think it is. Just because I was stupid enough to introduce them. But that is ok, not because I want it to be, but because it has to be.

That is what they don’t tell you. Or perhaps it is what they tell you if you can read between the lines. A perfect life doesn’t exist. But making thousands of mistakes does. And the more mistakes you make you want to ask yourself one question. What did I learn? A better question is, have I made this mistake before? Why did I repeat it? What will stop me from repeating it?

That is when things get hard. And no, that is not a dirty joke.

Clover woke me up to tell me something important to her. It was important for her to tell me, she had what she wanted. A new consistent source of attention. An established crush. Harder to break, trickier to mess with. But still feeble enough that it can be unwound and destroyed if I chose to do it. Though I doubt she understands that that is what I interpreted her excitement as. Her excitement surface bound was “omg he likes me” another one to add to her list. Another poor soul from the tone of her voice and conversation likely to end up on the train tracks of the trail of broken hearts following after her.

I made a mistake. Introducing them. Waking up. Answering the phone. All of it a bit of a giant error.

But that’s ok. Its ok.

I don’t want this to be under my control. I want her to do it of her own reasoning. Not my adjustments, if that’s what we can call them. I want her to choose a decent guy, go for a decent guy and build a solid, healthy relationship. Even if it is with Stan.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I want to go back to sleep. I want to dream that dream again. I want to find out, I have to find out if someone else can get to that room.

But I can’t go to sleep. Can’t or won’t.

My nap has been interrupted and so has that dream. I want to go back and I need to, but there is not enough time left.

There is so much to do and so little time. If it wasn’t for the dreaming and the sleeping and the whole, you know, having a life thing I would be further than I am at the moment. I would have plotted more rather than sat here fantasising. Obsessing with that damn room. I mean, a dream is just a dream, right? Nothing more? But I just have the feeling that is wrong.

I can’t even begin to find a way to prove what I know.

Somehow, I know that Clover is going to end up with Stan, maybe not right away, but I know it. Somehow it just feels like, she might just listen to what I have said and give him a decent chance. She might. I hope she does. He is sweet and kind. She could do with just having the one boy who treats her well and shows her how true affection, love and care, she should know what that is like. Stan could give her that. I want that for her. The fairy story that she wants more than anything. Her prince charming. He could do that. He could be that, for her.

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

.: Entry Six :.

My name is Elliot Parker and I am a bitch.

It is true. So the whole avoiding Clover plan. That failed. I saw her. I hate her, kind of, I wish I really hated her, it’s hard. He likes her. Of course he does. I am the girl who gets friend zoned and she is the girl that gets the guys. The damsel in distress. And I am the one that is dependable, the one that looks after everyone else. I don’t know why I am letting this bother me. I am used to it. The girl who is the kooky, funny friend.

I am annoyed because he has genuine feelings for her, though he calls it a crush, and she is absorbing attention from other guys like she is a sponge. A decent guy and he’s still not her main focus. She goes to me to give it a shot with him even though we all know it’s her he wants and he has said as much. It’s frustrating. I have never set her up to fail. But it seems to be fun for her to set everyone else up to fail. The other guys she’s talking to but not really interested in, the ones she is leading on even though she “doesn’t really want a relationship with them”. Like seriously! I find a decent guy, she miraculously hits it off with him and becomes the guy she gets the most attention from that has a crush on her that is a good guy. I mean come on. Give a girl a break. Not all of us can play the sweet little damsel routine, some of us know how to survive in this world for real, without using it as a reason to be a victim of circumstance.

ARGH! It is so infuriating.

Look I am sorry. I am an awful friend. I am just… it’s annoying. She makes a big old show of it and rubs it in my face all the damn time… like really? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? Making a show of talking to him? And other guys hounding you… that’s like so classy…

My name is Elliot Parker, the queen of the friend zone.

I need to not be mad about the friend zone. I mean, I am, but I don’t have to be. They say great relationships can come from close friends. And with he who shall not be named, the friendship was just as on fire as the electricity and chemistry between us. That’s fine. I want that feeling again. That being drawn to someone feeling. The magnetism.

Clover seems to have some kind of magnetism. But her mind, that’s an easy to fuck with toy. It is. Just say things and the right way and you know you have cracked her by the smile that gives her away.

My super power? I read people like a book. Because I am a reader. Because I am a writer. Because I have no choice, I am a deliberate creator. How do you create without knowing the tools you have at your disposal? The answer? Messily. Most people, their intuition is a little voice or a slight suggestion. Mine might as well hold a megaphone to my ear and be screaming at me. That’s how this all began really. My intuition got louder. Harder to ignore. But when I began to listen, I was in the right place at the right time most of the time. I started to see the things that I needed to see. The world sort of yielded more opportunities to learn a bit more each time. The more I listened the clearer the intuition was. Before long, that was all I followed, it became almost an animal instinct, a drive to do a certain thing at a certain moment. It can be pretty hard to ignore; it feels unbearable to ignore. It feels like a physical pain when I ignore a tiny notion that seemingly would have no value, no use.

You see that same intuition, that’s telling me that Clover is playing a game. She is dangling the situation on a stick to get a response. To get a reaction. To find a reason to look like a victim, again. To have something she can use to garner attention.

That is the real reason I find it so irritating, because I know what it is she really wants. And I don’t want to give her what she wants anymore.

My name is Elliot parker, and I am not the girl I used to be.

For a long time, I caved in and gave people what they wanted from me. When I started saying “no”, people didn’t like the change. I had become someone else. My existence didn’t serve them anymore. It took a long time for that “no” to take effect. It took a long time to draw power from that first “no”. It is not a badge of honour. It is not a badge of pride. It is the first step, the first start to getting control of my life, to gaining control of myself.

People have two reactions to something they don’t understand; get rid of it, or, how do I use it and control it. Once that first no started relinquishing me from being controlled. That is when things became messy. Truly, messy. See all the times I had been lead to believe that I wasn’t good enough, that I had no potential. They were being proved wrong. All those words, that conditioning, the chains were being broken, because step by step and moment by moment I began to unlock what the conditioning had blocked me from. My natural abilities, my natural skills and talents.

Unlocking them one by one made the voice of intuition louder, my conscience stronger. And my understanding of all that I knew of the world faltered as I unlearned everything and began to learn who and what I really am.