Divergence IV
Jun. 14th, 2006 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodaBells rang in the darkness, and were joined by bells ringing in his ears. The bells were joined by the hardness under his left cheek and a tickle on his nose. Slowly the world resolved from formlessness to form, from concept to conceived.
He opened his eyes to grass. The tickle was an ant on his nose. Above the sky was blue, and that was as it should be. Below the ground was hard, and that was as it should be, too.
Somewhere nearby, there was the sound of music. A guitar, soft and low was playing. A voice, masculine, was singing a wordless tune, or at least the words were so low John could not hear it.
Slowly he sat up, confused by his surroundings. Gone was the Gazebo and the garden. It was replaced by a hill of wildflowers, sun kissed and looking down upon a wide river. He noted the small dock, the tree he had sat under earlier that week. The tree was much smaller though.
"You look like you got rid hard and put up wet, son." John turned his head toward the voice. He moaned from the pain the effort cost him and squeezed his eyes shut. Reaching up, he felt a knot on his right temple.
"Looks like a goose egg, for sure. Either someone knocked you good, or you fell down from the sky and cracked your noggin."
John cracked open one eye, and saw a man sitting on a one legged stool. He was dressed in blue jeans with holes in the knees, a red plaid shirt, and hiking boots. On one knee was placed a guitar, probably the one John had heard earlier.
"Where am I?" John asked. "Who are you?"
The man leaned forward, letting his spectacles to the end of his nose. John gasped. The eye sockets were empty. The old man laughed and said, "I get that a lot."
"You have no eyes!" John exclaimed.
"Yes, I know." the old man nodded. "Come here, young man." John hesitated. "Well, since I obviously can't see, it would be easier for you to come here, rather than for me to come find you, now wouldn't it?"
John got shakily to his feet. His head throbbed, the right side feeling hot and swollen. He slowly moved to where the old man was sitting. When he got there, he looked around for another seat. He mentioned the lack.
"Oh, there isn't another chair here." was his answer. "You'll have to stand or sit, and I figure with that headache you have, you'll probably choose to sit."
"I think you're right." John sat down at the feet of the old man. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him very long.
"I know I'm right." chuckled the old man. "I've had a few knocks myself through the years, and let me tell you, it's much easier to sit than to stand." He reached into a bag sitting next to him, pulled out a wine sack and handed to John. "Drink this, it'll help."
John took the wine sack and sniffed the contents. It smelled sweet and rather earthy. "Is this wine?"
"Something like that." was the cryptic answer.
John drank carefully. It was sweet and it tasted like some of the woody red wines from the north of Italy. He was surprised that it did make him feel better, immediately. "What type of wine is this?"
"It's a very old vintage, son. Not easily found, and I doubt you've heard of it. It's original name sounded like assblue, so that's what I call it." again he chuckled. "Assblue. It's Norse in origin."
"A Norse wine?" John's head was feeling more normal every second.
"It's very old, like I said." A pause, then "Do you know where you are?"
John looked around. "This looks like the valley where I was at, but there was a town over there." He pointed towards the place where the village should have been.
"I'm blind, sonny."
"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, this looks like the valley. I recognize some of the hills, but there wasn't a river down there, and that tree not far away. I think I sat under it earlier this week, but it was larger." He waited for a reaction. There was none, so he continued, "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this was the same valley, but years ago."
"Then I'd say you didn't know any better. You've been here before, though, haven't you?"
"What do you mean?" John asked, suspiciously.
The old man laughed. "You know exactly what I mean. You've seen this place, just as it is."
John took a few moments to close his mouth. "I had a dream. That's all."
"A dream, eh?" The old man rose. "Listen... I've got to make a call to nature, if you know what I mean. Feel free to look around. When you get tired come on back and talk to me. I'm sure you will have questions." He turned around, picked up his guitar, placed a straw boater on his head and wandered off.
"Hey!" John got up and looked around. He already had questions to ask, now that he recognized the boater. "Hey, Old man!" The old blind man was nowhere to be seen. "Impossible. He couldn't have just ..." he was about to say disappeared, but then he remembered some of the other disappearances recently in his life.
"All right, I'll look around!" he shouted to nobody at all. "And when I come back, you better be here, because I already have questions!" He looked around the valley, and decided the first place he would go would be the little dock, on the other side of the river.
He walked down the hill to the river. It certainly felt real, and it certainly smelled real. "If this is just another dream, it's a doozy." He stopped and plucked a yellow daisy and smelled it.
Down at the river, he discovered the error of his judgment. The dock was on the other side, and the river was wide. Depth was another consideration. In his previous dream, he remembered Brad saying something about catching fish in it. How deep must a river be to hold fish? A few feet? Six feet? John had no idea, as he had never been fishing in his life.
He heard a rustling from across the river. Expecting it to be the old man, John filled his lungs so that he could start his questions the moment that he appeared. John was surprised, however, when a blond boy, about thirteen appeared on the other side.
Brad came down to the dock and began poking at the water with a stick, when he noticed there was a strange man on the other side of the river. He waved.
John waved back. "Hello!"
"Hello yourself!" Brad said. "What are you doing over there?"
"I..." John thought "I got lost, hiking." He didn't know why he was lying, and he felt guilty doing it. It's just a dream, he told himself.
"Ha!" said Brad. "If you're hiking, you're about three miles off the trail. The bridge is that way." He pointed up river, where a wooden bridge was sitting and waiting.
"Oh." John replied sheepishly. "Well, I did say I was lost. I'll be back."
He turned and headed back up the way he came. Along the way he noted the road that led from the bridge to where the town should be. There were a few houses there, maybe a few shops, but nothing more.
The whole area was much more wild than he remembered. He could hear the rustle of animals in the wood, and the smells were very different. Gamey, woodsy smells. The flowers and grasses grew all over, without order. It was a strange feeling to be walking the path he had walked before, and yet have never walked it at all.
The river, flowing under the bridge, was much stronger than the little trickle he was familiar with. The path on the other side of the bridge led off in another direction from where he was going, so he trod his own path, tearing through the vines and grasses. Nettles tore unmercifully at his shirt and skin.
When he made it back to the dock, Brad was gone. Not surprising since it had taken almost three hours to travel from one side of the river to the other. By the time John stood on the dock, he was tired, hungry, irritable and he itched all over from having fought thorns and bugs.
"Why exactly did I want to come over here?" he asked himself. He smelled something that caused his stomach to rumble. He looked up the path away from the dock. He knew what lay over the hill. His hunger made the decision for him, and he trudged the path up the hill that led to the house on the other side.
He opened his eyes to grass. The tickle was an ant on his nose. Above the sky was blue, and that was as it should be. Below the ground was hard, and that was as it should be, too.
Somewhere nearby, there was the sound of music. A guitar, soft and low was playing. A voice, masculine, was singing a wordless tune, or at least the words were so low John could not hear it.
Slowly he sat up, confused by his surroundings. Gone was the Gazebo and the garden. It was replaced by a hill of wildflowers, sun kissed and looking down upon a wide river. He noted the small dock, the tree he had sat under earlier that week. The tree was much smaller though.
"You look like you got rid hard and put up wet, son." John turned his head toward the voice. He moaned from the pain the effort cost him and squeezed his eyes shut. Reaching up, he felt a knot on his right temple.
"Looks like a goose egg, for sure. Either someone knocked you good, or you fell down from the sky and cracked your noggin."
John cracked open one eye, and saw a man sitting on a one legged stool. He was dressed in blue jeans with holes in the knees, a red plaid shirt, and hiking boots. On one knee was placed a guitar, probably the one John had heard earlier.
"Where am I?" John asked. "Who are you?"
The man leaned forward, letting his spectacles to the end of his nose. John gasped. The eye sockets were empty. The old man laughed and said, "I get that a lot."
"You have no eyes!" John exclaimed.
"Yes, I know." the old man nodded. "Come here, young man." John hesitated. "Well, since I obviously can't see, it would be easier for you to come here, rather than for me to come find you, now wouldn't it?"
John got shakily to his feet. His head throbbed, the right side feeling hot and swollen. He slowly moved to where the old man was sitting. When he got there, he looked around for another seat. He mentioned the lack.
"Oh, there isn't another chair here." was his answer. "You'll have to stand or sit, and I figure with that headache you have, you'll probably choose to sit."
"I think you're right." John sat down at the feet of the old man. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him very long.
"I know I'm right." chuckled the old man. "I've had a few knocks myself through the years, and let me tell you, it's much easier to sit than to stand." He reached into a bag sitting next to him, pulled out a wine sack and handed to John. "Drink this, it'll help."
John took the wine sack and sniffed the contents. It smelled sweet and rather earthy. "Is this wine?"
"Something like that." was the cryptic answer.
John drank carefully. It was sweet and it tasted like some of the woody red wines from the north of Italy. He was surprised that it did make him feel better, immediately. "What type of wine is this?"
"It's a very old vintage, son. Not easily found, and I doubt you've heard of it. It's original name sounded like assblue, so that's what I call it." again he chuckled. "Assblue. It's Norse in origin."
"A Norse wine?" John's head was feeling more normal every second.
"It's very old, like I said." A pause, then "Do you know where you are?"
John looked around. "This looks like the valley where I was at, but there was a town over there." He pointed towards the place where the village should have been.
"I'm blind, sonny."
"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, this looks like the valley. I recognize some of the hills, but there wasn't a river down there, and that tree not far away. I think I sat under it earlier this week, but it was larger." He waited for a reaction. There was none, so he continued, "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this was the same valley, but years ago."
"Then I'd say you didn't know any better. You've been here before, though, haven't you?"
"What do you mean?" John asked, suspiciously.
The old man laughed. "You know exactly what I mean. You've seen this place, just as it is."
John took a few moments to close his mouth. "I had a dream. That's all."
"A dream, eh?" The old man rose. "Listen... I've got to make a call to nature, if you know what I mean. Feel free to look around. When you get tired come on back and talk to me. I'm sure you will have questions." He turned around, picked up his guitar, placed a straw boater on his head and wandered off.
"Hey!" John got up and looked around. He already had questions to ask, now that he recognized the boater. "Hey, Old man!" The old blind man was nowhere to be seen. "Impossible. He couldn't have just ..." he was about to say disappeared, but then he remembered some of the other disappearances recently in his life.
"All right, I'll look around!" he shouted to nobody at all. "And when I come back, you better be here, because I already have questions!" He looked around the valley, and decided the first place he would go would be the little dock, on the other side of the river.
He walked down the hill to the river. It certainly felt real, and it certainly smelled real. "If this is just another dream, it's a doozy." He stopped and plucked a yellow daisy and smelled it.
Down at the river, he discovered the error of his judgment. The dock was on the other side, and the river was wide. Depth was another consideration. In his previous dream, he remembered Brad saying something about catching fish in it. How deep must a river be to hold fish? A few feet? Six feet? John had no idea, as he had never been fishing in his life.
He heard a rustling from across the river. Expecting it to be the old man, John filled his lungs so that he could start his questions the moment that he appeared. John was surprised, however, when a blond boy, about thirteen appeared on the other side.
Brad came down to the dock and began poking at the water with a stick, when he noticed there was a strange man on the other side of the river. He waved.
John waved back. "Hello!"
"Hello yourself!" Brad said. "What are you doing over there?"
"I..." John thought "I got lost, hiking." He didn't know why he was lying, and he felt guilty doing it. It's just a dream, he told himself.
"Ha!" said Brad. "If you're hiking, you're about three miles off the trail. The bridge is that way." He pointed up river, where a wooden bridge was sitting and waiting.
"Oh." John replied sheepishly. "Well, I did say I was lost. I'll be back."
He turned and headed back up the way he came. Along the way he noted the road that led from the bridge to where the town should be. There were a few houses there, maybe a few shops, but nothing more.
The whole area was much more wild than he remembered. He could hear the rustle of animals in the wood, and the smells were very different. Gamey, woodsy smells. The flowers and grasses grew all over, without order. It was a strange feeling to be walking the path he had walked before, and yet have never walked it at all.
The river, flowing under the bridge, was much stronger than the little trickle he was familiar with. The path on the other side of the bridge led off in another direction from where he was going, so he trod his own path, tearing through the vines and grasses. Nettles tore unmercifully at his shirt and skin.
When he made it back to the dock, Brad was gone. Not surprising since it had taken almost three hours to travel from one side of the river to the other. By the time John stood on the dock, he was tired, hungry, irritable and he itched all over from having fought thorns and bugs.
"Why exactly did I want to come over here?" he asked himself. He smelled something that caused his stomach to rumble. He looked up the path away from the dock. He knew what lay over the hill. His hunger made the decision for him, and he trudged the path up the hill that led to the house on the other side.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-14 01:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-14 03:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-14 10:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: