25 August 2012
It was a very long time ago, around the 1970's, an elderly man approached me by the train station. He was smoking a pipe and carrying a block of cheese in his left hand. "As it so happens," he said to me, "You appear to be waiting for the train to Victoria." I gave a slight nod as he continued smoking his pipe. "Why?" he asked me, "This block of cheese doesn't seem to want to go anywhere, so why should you, Melchior?" I felt confused, as you would, and asked him why he called me Melchior (among other things). "Why.... It isn't your name? But the cheese told me so. You, sir, are not very nice." the man then boarded the train and stared at me, unblinking, the whole time it departed from the station. Of course, I never forgot that moment for the sheer queerness of it all, even more so because of the accident that occurred the following evening.
I was walking back to my house, as one would, when I stopped to pick up some sauce to put on my dinner. After I paid the cashier, I left the shop and crossed the road. Well, I almost crossed the road. Instead, I tripped over a loose stone and proceeded to be hit by a car. 13 stitches to the head in hospital. I've been on medication ever since to stop any cerebral damage from taking place. I definitely won't forget that. 13 stitches and Melchior. Somehow, I found the two to be linked, because they were both very strange, indeed. So that's how I came up with my name, and J for Jack, as I was stuck slap bang in the middle. MelchiorJ13.
Of course, none of this actually happened, the real reason was that I made up the name when I was little and it just stuck. Melchior for magyck and Wicca, J for Jack and 13 for darkness and the night. I assume the assumption I've never been right in the head also helped my assumption of assuming penguins to be related to sauce.
Good day, MelchiorJ13.
MelchiorJ13 • Opuss № I