At 2am last night, I walked down to the shoreline of Brighton beach. I listened to the pebbles crunch beneath my feet, to the sea lapping against them. The light of the full moon glittered off the surface of the water, and a calm came over me as I relaxed and drew it all in.
This experience was marred slightly by the young man who ran down beside me to pee. Now, with each lap of the sea I thought: “Yep, that’s piss”.
I walked to Brighton beach, and look out at the water. Some bloke came along and pissed into the water. That kinda ruined it.
Once upon a time, I was driving a tractor in a field. The day was quite hot. The grass was shredded into a fine powder by the blades of the harvester. My neck, being sweaty, was a natural target for this powder. When the trailer was full, I stopped the tractor at the side of the field, and used the restroom.
The train moved along the tracks, the measure of its pace equal to the dull thump in my chest. To the east, the city... the lights from it seemed to move, but I knew it was just me.
My arms hung heavy by my side. Did I hold my destiny in my hands? I looked down, but they were empty.
I sighed and leaned against the doors. The cold metal burned against the back of my head. I grimaced as I let the pain burn, burn and then sooth with a numbness that enveloped me.
Quietly, in the distance of the starlight of this cold November night, on a hill just out of earshot, a lion roared.
The big black train, now enveloped in its own grief, hesitated. Lacking a protagonists heartbeat to validate its own movements by, it lost all regard for the rails which had guided it so well. The cool night burned against the boiler, and quenched the flames of its betrayal. With one last, empty sigh, it leaped from the tracks, high up into the moonlit there, before plunging into the rusty waters of the Ganges.
Eager though I was, I knew I must restrain my lust. I approached the shelter from a side passage, as dark as a wounded mare, from whence no one came. I chose to communicate in pompous English, hoping, yearning to give the illusion of being cultured and well read. Beside me, a young man was having fun with his friends. I looked down upon him, realising the youth of today will never survive. Nor will I.
Death will come to us all, only those like me who spend our years mourning and judging others have anything to look forward to...
The cat farted, a deep slow mystical fart, comparable only to a J Cloth being set on fire.
Sneak preview of Incursion, chapter 65.2:
Nathan felt cold. He shivered and blew small clouds of vapour into the ethereal silence. A crow froze solid in flight, and fell out of the sky.
In his youth he was known as Median; a bard of great renown in the land of Nagraback. But the dark times had come and, in that darkness, he had been forged like metal, by the great wizard Dameldore, into the mighty warrior Joat, in the dark.
The fell ravens overheard, their harsh screeches in his ears, he roared: "Yes! I am here Dark Lord! I shall face thee at Armistan! The day of thy reckoning is soon to be had!"
Far below, in the caverns of Arithanekrandar-Elvendar, the sword of Pentonymir stirred shinily.
In the deep dark distance, haunted by illiteration the young maven stirred in her cavern. In another life she went as Miss Jen, but now she was known as Iliani the Weak.
She recognised the shadows on the ground immediately, "POLYMADS" she screamed. She turned around in panic, but relaxed immediately when she saw Tyrador. She began to gather her items, "Come quickly we have to leave" she said, but he did not respond. She realised he hadn't spoken since he entered the room. She saw a deep red pool that had formed at his feet, and ran to him. The talon of a polymad had plunged deep through his stomach.
Gathering her staff and amulet, she turned to face her destiny.
I shot a man today. The wind was blowing from the east.
I remember little of my past life. When I cast my thoughts back over it, great clouds obstruct my mind's eye and, when I push into them, I fall into a void.
Only one thing I remember clearly. I am looking for her. Who she is is lost to me. Her name, her face, gone. There are ghosts of memories, taunting me with their vague form. Is that her smile, her laugh? Did she ever smile? I no longer know. I am entirely lost.
I climb out of my own arse, lose my balance and fall down.
I think, therefore you don't.