There’s a place where, after the hours of moonlight, sunlight turns on directly overhead. Awake, the Listmaker scurries, hard at work, making list after list after list. Despite existing apart from time, the animals that live on the property keep him tethered to the various worlds that exist within time. The animal of choice is a small ladybug, or Ladybug, to which it is often referred. It’s a thing of true intelligence really, possessing the special gift of messenger, Ladybug rarely fails detection [awkward, I know, but I never resolved it before the end of the day] and when glanced upon, is always met with delight. A small muted ticking tocks over large across the entire worldscape of the Listmaker’s Ranch.
On any given day, the Listmaker will scribble down the instructions for any given person, including himself. Well, yes, he writes his own lists, but his importance revolves around his writing lists for others, namely, the others with the sorts of proclivity toward … control … control over the mind, will and actions of those … bound to time. But the mind is a difficult thing to possess, even by one’s own self. Nevertheless, the mind, existing in its own little world, draws upon the mind of every other thing in order to find an equilibrium, a co-existence, a sharing, almost, as if one could enter “the mind” of humanity. This, of course, defines the domain of the Listmaker.
Be warned. Those who have met him without understanding his power, inevitably die under the weight of his mind. Those who survive, they would rather die than tell you what they know about the Listmaker. The choice is yours, obviously. No one wants to ever encounter the Listmaker. But, if one were to encounter him, would you want to survive with your treason being the death of yourself as you know you, or would you rather find out whatever it is there is to be found out about the Listmaker and then, pass on into your next life right then and there?
via #WRTGPRAC’s Daily Word Prompts No. 035