The man picked up a four inch cherry wood rod with one hand. 
With the other he smoothed the surface of some sand in a low-
sided three foot by four foot wooden box. He then used the rod as 
a pencil and wrote in the sand.
	"My name is Iar," in the portion of the box closest to 
himself. He wrote upside down; his perspective was the sea. Iar 
stood and went to the door.
	'In the morning the tide will wash away my writing, but 
before it does so, she will read it. Then, hopefully, she will 
continue the correspondence.'
	Living trapped within the magic realm had been normal 
business for Iar until a young girl's dreams had somehow found 
him there. She obviously had an innate ability for magic and one 
night he felt her calling him. Even so it had been over a week 
before he found a way to communicate with her.
	There is potent magic in the morning tide, the realm of magic 
swims alongside it and the sands remain full with it throughout 
the day. It had been a masterstroke of some sacred name that she 
lived near the seashore. She said she'd always been drawn to the 
seashore. Her name was Ashely.
	She was young. Very intelligent. Rejected by her peers, and 
consequently lonely. Ashely was determined to make a life for 
herself regardless. She went to the seashore in the mornings and 
wrote in the sand. Iar wondered if she ever made a point to be 
there to perhaps meet the one who also wrote in the sand. The one 
who wrote to her.
	Any thing is possible from the magic realm. Well, almost 
anything. Escape is simply out of the question. Unless, that is, 
magic fights against love. Magic may be strong, but love is much 
stronger than absolutely any magic, and love of two surpasses 
all. Iar knew this. Iar had checked all the books.
....It's not that he wanted to leave the realm of magic, for he 
appreciated his life here, but he loved Ashley.
	Iar lay on a pallet and pretended to relax until he was 
entirely departed from his waking mind. There wasn't awfully much 
for him to do anymore; he concentrated most of his time on the 
near-child he'd come to be acquainted with. He had no other 
responsibility; he was alone completely. He'd expected that, 
though. What he hadn't anticipated was that he could never die or 
grow old physically. But, of course, magic merely changes, it 
never expires ... and magic is certainly not anywhere near 
physical. There was no real need for Iar to sleep, but still, he 
liked it. Also, time was only a matter of opinion here. He hadn't 
quite gotten used to that yet.
	He awoke. His only concern was for the girl. Had he missed 
her answer through the evening tide? Had it been days where she 
was? He jumped up and ran to the room that contained the wooden 
box:
	"I like your name. Where do you live? You know where I live."
	He sighed in relief,
	'But now I must either lie to her or tell her the truth. She 
may not believe me, and then she may go.' He sat in the chair and 
throught. His mind reeled. The evening tide carried away her 
words and smoothed the sands.
	'Love is honest. I shall not lie.' He retrieved the cherry 
rod once more and wrote.
	"I am afraid to tell you." The limitations of their 
correspondence made all comments short. This response was truth, 
but evasive. He considered these words awhile and thought better 
of them. The morning tide washed them away before he had the 
chance to change them. The light increased in proportion the 
potency of magic brought forth by morning tide and there began 
the indentations of a simple question.
	"Why?"
	Evening tide. He wished that the sands could give him the 
answer she would accept most graciously. He'd never said it 
before now,
	"Because I love you and I do not wish to lose you." He 
thought that this might scare her. It was truthfully direct. Now 
only to wait and see.
	No. Iar had no wish to sleep. He stayed watch over his most 
precious artifact until morning tide, what must surely have been 
decades. Morning tide came and went with none of the familiar 
pock-mark led indentations that might produce the facsimile of 
her reply. Evening tide. A tear fell upon the shallow layer of 
rock-pieces. He knew she had chosen not to respond.
	Morning tide. His eyes were barely focused when the sands 
began to patiently move aside in accordance with accomodating 
only the indentations made by Ashely.
	"I want you to know that I don't care what your status is."
	Iar laughed. The girl quite possibly thought he was poor. In 
fact, here he had all he could imagine. Except, of course, her. 
And he hoped to one day remedy that, either by bringing her to 
him or -- more favorably -- going to her. She might not like 
being the only other soul around to talk to. He brushed smooth 
the sand and contemplated his reply.
	"It has to do with Magic. And love. But mostly Magic."
	He felt mostly satisfied with his answer and so tended to 
some "old business" until he felt the surge of morning tide. At 
this he ran to the chamber where her reply would appear -- unless 
she chose to not respond again. He would wait quite possibly 
forever, if he had to.
	"Isn't love magic? Do you not have a home?"
	Iar nearly shuddered. He had hoped she would somehow easily 
"catch on" to his meaning. He had no wish to be explicit with her 
concerning matters such as this. It's a very delicate line, what 
the human mind will instinctively fear, and he had no wish to run 
the length of this line with Ashely. None at all.
	"It may hurt you to be with me; there are no 'visits' here."
	Yet another tense "day" passed with Iar awaiting Ashely's 
return comment while pretending to busy himself with other 
activities. The time came.
	"Are you ill? I don't care. I want to meet you! Please."
	She still had no idea what he meant. He had been too vague, 
possibly using words which said different things to her than what 
he had meant to say.
	"Very dangerous. I may try to visit you. No going back." 
Still, it felt very good to know that she was considering being 
near him. He left the room in order to prepare a place for her 
should it eventually turn out she would want to live with him. 
Another ploy designed to waste time.
	"A criminal? Risk is nothing. Meet me at the shore?"
	Iar knew now that he would have to be plain with her no 
matter what discomfort it offered to him. He hoped she would try 
to understand. He hoped she could be strong enough to fight the 
'run away' instinct what he had to say to her would cause in any 
normal human being.
	"I live within Magic. Love may get me there if you also 
love."
	Her reply was unexpected:
	"Don't use love as a lie to confuse me. That is wrong."
	Iar became insanely frustrated. If only he hadn't twisted 
nature and his essence to become this psuedo-magical being. Then 
he wouldn't be here, and he could prove himself. But, then, he 
would most likely have died centuries ago in her reality's time. 
There had to be some other recourse.
	"I don't lie! Look at evening tide. You'll see I'm not 
there." He could die trying this sort of thing. It was one of the 
biggest 'no-no's he'd learned of since being here. Thou shalt not 
prove magic. But he had to try, else lose the meaning for his 
existence -- such that it was. Everything in his world stopped 
until he saw her reply. He resisted the temptation to anticipate 
her words.
	"Okay. Only because I like you. I think of you as my friend."
	This time he waited unmoving for the lesser surge, the 
apparent negative draw of her reality from his. Evening tide.
	She liked him, that was something. To him, something worth 
dying for. The world he had escaped had held nothing of the kind 
for him, and so to escape had become the thing to try in barter 
of death. He held the rod carefully, moving it as slowly as he 
was able over the sand, resisting tides with all his strength -- 
trying to push the inevitable and unpredictable away -- pressing 
completion into his every thought so that she could witness his 
markings as they happened, as he did hers without such effort on 
her part. He was, in fact, performing infinite stop-and-go magic 
... he was playing with his life.


**		**		**		**		**	
**		**		**		**		**

a guy who's stuck and in love -- he may be a magical entity -- he 
can't get to her because she doesn't believe in magic

MORNING & EVENING TIDES, or establish Ashely as not on earth

ARBITRARY LIMIT ON # OF CHARACTERS IN CORRESPONDENCE -- 60
								....

there is not even real proof that you are more than my imagination

if only you believed in magic i could become very real to you

i don't know what you've done, but it must have been a trick

you must believe me because you love me

all of my love and magic combined cannot make you love me

ENDING:
	Iar sat in front of the box, waiting.
	"I disbelieve." and there was no more.

Magic
Try to manipulate beyond dialogue. It's getting really dull to 
hear all the many ways of saying "the next day" or "the next 
tide". Speed it up. This IS, afterall, true love we are talking 
about, and EVERYONE KNOWS [however erroneously] that True Love is 
like lightening. Here we go... Do we really want to give the 
reader that same old line? "You'll know" "You'll know right 
away." The girl already knows, but she's not admitting it. 
Describe the dude's dimension a little better to help pass the 
day/tide problem -- try that anyway. How well do we have to get 
into this Drab Existence thing? Can't we hack all that right 
out of it?  Find another motivation for the girl; the guy needs 
none. Is okay to mention the workings of his magic, but do not 
focus on it. Is a good idea to mention specific items and actions 
-- like the cherry rod and how carefully he removes the markings 
from his sand -- instead of the specific processes or 
incantations.
	And, by the way, how did anything become manifest where he 
is? Is that a natural state? What laws of physics apply?

More description! More variance of phrases! It's too matter-of-
fact. Some of the phrases used are cool.

another kitty? back to the porch