Fishy

No one had ever said such a thing had existed, but no one had stated the contrary either. Which left him firmly with the conclusion that, though possible for such a thing to be it certainly was not yet. But if such was the case in this instance, what stopped such from being the case with everything?

              He brought a hand up to stroke his face, fingers tapping away against the desk as he considered the possibilities. If such things were true, then there were numerous things that might exist, but had simply not been found yet. In fact, nigh anything was real, and could simply be extremely skilled in matters of stealth and sorcery. How many things had escaped the grasp of documentation because of their quick wit, or agile speed? How many things had been too strong to be recorded, and let into the annals of history, and how many more would remain in the realms of the unknown?

               Part of him was tempted to pick up his quill, which sat at the corner of his desk, and begin penning the numerous possibilities that had yet to be seen. There would be more supplies required for such a task, of course. Numerous pages worth of paper would be needed and easily filled, pots upon pots of ink emptied, candles to burn throughout the late night hours as the ideas came, and foodstuffs to keep him well fed and able! His hand moved as if on instinct, grabbing for the colorful feather, so carefully crafted from some exotic expedition, forcing him to grab it and hold it at bay until he could collect his thoughts further.

  

             This was no time to begin such a project, not when his thoughts were so muddled and confused. Of course not! If anything, the fact that he had even considered engaging in such was just a sign of how far he had forced his mind to wander, and how desperate it had become to rest. Clinging onto such high fantasies of being able to just create things out of thin air, just because they had not been disproven in existence!

               A chill crept its way down his spine, closing in swiftly on his lower back, forcing him to twitch. How had he even managed to consider such blasphemy? His hands shot to his lips, shielding them, lest he let loose so much as a stutter of the cursed ideas. Even alone in this cramped office someone might hear him, as they wandered down the hall and past his long darkened door. From there it was only a matter of time until word had found its way to the hierarchs, and not long after he would have just been dismissed entirely!

              The very words they would spit at him, the very poison in their voices rang in his head. Lines of how the Historium was not a place for such nonsense, of how if he were to even consider such he might as well be nothing more than a storyteller in a village, cobbling together useless tales to amuse and appease some thirsty crowd. Perhaps an actor who spewed dramatized lies to an audience of idiots.

              He shuddered again, the same chill working its way back up to his brain. These were the things nightmares were made of. Things meant to wake one up in the middle of the night, sweat still beading down their face as the realization of reality slowly swept over them. A hand ran back across his head, though unlike when he had done so in his younger days it found much less hair. This was the work of ruin, and the work he could never commit to, and yet, these thoughts remained.

               “Curses upon you boy,” he muttered to himself, biting his tongue before his lips leapt into a frenzy and brought yet another possibility of undue attention.

               He could still see the child’s smug face, sitting so peacefully at his desk while his instructor wailed on and on about how improper such accusations were. It was beyond his realm of knowledge to assume the boy’s intentions, though. Perhaps he had meant the question innocently enough, wondering if somewhere in the world fantastical creatures could exist. Fish the size of men, who stood with a tall stature and were spotted, wandering this way and that with no need for the water. Birds with puffed feathers colored by rainbows themselves.

              But yet he could not bring himself to cease at the conclusion at the boy’s goals were so noble! He had been standing right there, watching as his own student, the boy’s instructor who was getting so much use out of his vocal cords. Just a few feet away, so it would have been so easy for the young lad to see the looks of horror upon his face as he considered the prospects presented before him. That there was somehow the chance that such things could be.

               His hands found their way to his face, smothering him for a moment, the only source of comfort he could give himself. His thoughts were bound to cycle as such for some time. Any prospects of sleep were bound to be in vain, and any hope of breaking away from this circle now was all but abandoned.

               There was just too much of a chance for him to lay them to rest entirely, yet there was no reason for him to cling to them as he did! Things were discovered all the time, yet prior to their discovery what was the chance they would have been scoffed at! If one were to describe half of the concepts and creatures in the Historiums libraries to those who were alive prior to their induction, they would have received the same cold, disgraceful greeting he would imagine for a playwright.

              Another idea found its way onto the center of the stage of his mind, to which he nodded furiously, as though it were a friend who had just appeared in his chamber to deliver a wonderful package. To banish these thoughts from his mind, they needed to be captured. To be captured, they needed to be written, and illustrated.

               He stood, approaching the door with the stance of one who meant to pick its lock, opening it as though he were a rogue sneaking through the halls. Soon enough, he would return with what he needed, ink, paper, and more. Once these things were banished, perhaps burned even, he could finally let the matter rest.