27 | March | 2013 | Golden Star Poetry

The Floating Duchess of Biggleswade, by Edgar P. Roger-Fitzwalden 1 (and Golden Star Poetry)

It was snowing outside, and Laura was only half awake. or half asleep- but she was an optimist, and always was one, so to her she was nearly half-awake, and not the other way around. Once she regained consciousness, she groped for the lamp shade to turn it on, but only swished at the air where she so often felt something. But how? “where is the lamp?” she asked out loud. ” It’s…” she struggled for the right word, since ” lost” did not seem to fit the situation. Her lamp could not be lost, nor was such an idea possible. It was there last night, so surely it had to be here this morning. “p’raps I’ve been dreaming. Yes!” , she thought , ” I must be dreaming! S’pose I’m lucid..”. Suddenly, she became very exited, for it had been a very long time since she had last had a lucid dream. Quickly, she thought of flying, worried that her lucid state would fade, but did not stir the slightest bit. She was definitely not dreaming.

Laura flopped back onto her bed. “then how?…” She thought, incredulously. ” My lamp doesn’t have legs, and it doesn’t have arms, so what in heaven’s name happened to it? A robber stole into my room in the middle of the night, perhaps? “But no”, she remembered ” that couldn’t have happened! oh, heavens no! I’m the lightest sleeper around! you can’t wave a feather over my face without startling me! well, no matter, I shall take a look around to see if everything is in order”. To Laura’s shock, this was absolutely not the case. Every single lamp and electronic item had either lost a bulb, gotten smashed into pieces, or been thrown away altogether. The floor was littered with random piles of nic nac, bric-a-brack, bone-china platters, and deed settlement papers, among other things. “WHAT?!? Laura shrieked” WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?!? WHO’S BEEN IN THIS HOUSE?!?” she moaned, falling onto a partially ripped chaise lounge. “I just wanted to be a simple HOUSE WIFE! OH XAVIER! XAVIER!” she wailed, chanting her husband’s name, (who, as it seemed, was not going to appear any time soon).

Trying to regain composure she dabbed her eyes, got up, and tip-toed out the french doors and into the patio. For a second, she froze. Not only could she see clouds all around her, but, she realized, she was In them! her entire house, and the patio garden, was in the air! 2

x x x x x x x x x x x

“I must be going mad!”, thought Laura “One moment my lamp has gone on holiday, and the next, my house is floating above the ground!” “heavens help me! I’ve gone hopping mad! Insane! off my rocker! lost my marbles!-” ” you haven’t lost your marbles, madam.” said a voice. Laura jumped. ” Blame me if you want to throw someone under the bus. But it certainly isn’t you.” Suddenly, a well dressed gentleman with light brown curls and soft hazel eyes stepped out of the corner hedge in the garden, where, apparently, he had been hiding. He smiled at Laura, then turned around and looked up at the sky. slowly he turned back again and looked directly into Laura’s eyes. “Isn’t this just lovely? I know I’m having a splendid time! “, he said, cocking his head sideways “Aren’t you?”

FOOTNOTES

1-Edgar P. Roger-Fitzwalden is a Oxford student who currently resides on a cheap little flat in Northampton. He is your typical college student who chooses to spend his time by playing World of Warcraft, shopping at Waitrose, watching football on the telly with his mates, and running after his secret admirer, Harriet Braddock, who, according to Ed, does not know that he exists-and rightly so, for he is simply a character spun from my imagination and is not an actual living entity.

2 this story was later made into an animated short by a dastardly movie company called pix-something, loosely basing it off of this story by Edgar P. Roger-Fitzwalden And Golden star poetry. 3

3 disregard all other footnotes. they were a horrid attempt at nonficionalizing a fictional idea, and therefore have been written for the enjoyment of the reader only.