Little Deemo (ON HOLD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE)

Prologue

We live in two different worlds.

Or more, different places.

I exist in your world, but not too many things find me. I don't know how things get here, but many don't leave. Not because they can't, but because they choose not to.

Where your skies are an endless blue, my is an endless gold showering the land in a golden glow without the need of a proper sun.

But the sun is still there. It is brighter than any part of the sky, and always reminds you how small and short you appear to be by towering over you and hanging in the sky like a floating balloon.

Where your grass is green and trees vary in colour, mine is a distant relative of blacks, golds and whites. Any rocks however never compromise; every type is black on the outside, but a rainbow on the inside.

We have other colours here too; as many and more than you even know of.

The rivers and streams are crystal blue. The flowers vary in colour depending on the time of day, and animals have different colours depending on their choice.

Where you swat away bugs or call mice a form of pests, I bat away flying flowers that buzz unwanted tunes in my ears, or you need to watch for running and sliding books that'll sweep you off your feet if you're not quick enough. And sometimes they'll mix it up by books spoiling the ending to their stories and flower vines tripping you over just for a laugh.

You have silent valley air, I have colourful notes you can physically see floating by.

I live in a little gold clearing on a very small hill. A house that is a tree, a that acts like a house.

It is this giant tree that stretches to the sky. Two big branches that extended outwards, each dressed with thick leaves that overlap each other and hide all my treasures within.

At the base of this tree was a door. For me it was far too small, and my lengthy limbs need to cuddle together to fit through, and my circular head needed to duck to avoid hitting the frame.

My house is fairly big on the inside, but I have no family with like so many of you undoubtedly do.

In my place I'm always on my own and I like to keep it that way.

My company are the odd things you abandoned in your world that came to life in mine. I often find them in the streams when I cross the sparkly bridge.

I've found compasses, and watches, and scissors, and drawings come to life.

I normally take care of them when they arrive. I give them a place to be, a place to belong in my world so they won't feel so unloved.

There is no one like in my world.

And I don't have friends, more like pets that owe a debt to me.

In my place there is a wood.

It's a very dark wood.

Not too many things come from the woods during the night.

Not too many things come from the woods in general.

But I've helped abandon things make a start in going back to your place.

To go back you need to find your instrument in my world, you need to find it, find its song and walk through while playing its song.

I found my song a while ago.

When I walk in a straight line through the forest it brings me back here, because this is where I truly belong.

Sometimes abandoned objects don't want to go back to your world. They stay in mine because there isn't anything that can hurt them here.

But as I stare into those woods, singing wind blows through them in an attempt to give them colour and obvious life. I wonder what your place looks like sometimes, is it as colourful as mine?

Is everybody there a complete contrast to their environment?

Does music play outside and does everybody have a song?

Today however I stood before the woods for a reason.

My place was going to change today.

Because your place abandoned someone.