Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2015 20:22:39 GMT
The old man’s face shows itself tonight upon the blacken stretch of sky. It shimmers from refracted light and I shall name him Moon. His glow is both concentrated and weak and it is the only glimmer of radiance upon this Witching Hour. Most evenings, this light is beheld in grander scopes by the usual factor he has many sparkling comrades among his company however, this night he stands alone.
We’ve all been exposed to the plight of isolation; alienated or simply stranded and in Matheo’s case he could call trump to any inkling of this idea for he was without family, friends, and any sort of familiarity. A smothering dawning that his world too was absent began to close in upon himself and so with it brought a transformation into an abandoned man. Matheo was in soft darkness and his rough features could hardly be traced. Dried trails of blood fell in streams from cracked lips, a broken nose and other spots of torn flesh. His damage was not from his teleportation but from a bar-brawl he had entered (and instigated) shortly before being whisked away to these origins uninhabited.
Things that aught to be blue were blue, likewise with all the other colours, he heard nothing strange and saw nothing of worry but the air tasted different. It was not something identifiable by any means but it was wrong, and not of what he had ever inhaled. To some this may not be a signal of warning but Matheo knew things, things he didn't learn or was told, he just knew them to be true and that was all.
Things that aught to be blue were blue, likewise with all the other colours, he heard nothing strange and saw nothing of worry but the air tasted different. It was not something identifiable by any means but it was wrong, and not of what he had ever inhaled. To some this may not be a signal of warning but Matheo knew things, things he didn't learn or was told, he just knew them to be true and that was all.
“Aye there be cockeyed times a’blowin’, Belenus* show your face! This be the Otherworld…”
Matheo’s head spun like a frenzied whirlpool and he stumbled more than usual for being grossly inebriated. Before appearing in this land he had been pounding down a few pints at a raunchy bar in the scummy areas of New York and had built up quite the buzz before being spat into this world. He regained his balance but in the same turn lurched over, chucking up to empty his sorry gullet, a mix of booze and shock creating the upheaval. A groan of crippling magnitude slipped from his busted lips and he succumbed to his brain’s vortex and fell upon the ground.
He rolled over to his backside and glanced to his left and spotted a beautifully clear lake but was too rattled to invest much time thinking about it. He peered above and realized what he had mistaken for the moon before was just numerous glowing stones, he had been too spun to make sense of it at first for the sky he had been looking upon before all this had shown a grand lone moon. His images and mind was crossed.
“Theo,” He gurgled to himself, “Keep the heid, keep the heid... It be a long road that’s no got a turnin.’”
Trembling hands patted along his legs and within his pocket he felt a hard tin box and pulled it out. It was his cigarette case, a masterpiece really, engraved with a border of vines and axes while the majority of space was taken up by an incredibly detailed etching of the Battle of Flodden-one caused by a King breaking a peace treaty thus resulting in the most Scottish lives lost in war and being excommunicated by the church. He opened up the case and denied himself a smoke favouring a blunt instead to calm his nerves to assess his situation rather than dodge it. He sparked it up, huffing, and held in the sour smoke. Exhaling he pursed his lips and made little rings.
“Ma heed’s burlin’ but I know this ain’t my home.”
There is naught but forms of luminescence now. It beckons by an eerie glow of blue persuasions and there are many jutting figures of this light. They are gems, stones jutting through other stones and they only hold cool stares. There is no name to dub these many, they offer but only function and they are virgin to these eyes and mind. They offer salvation from the shadows and can keep such at bay through numbers. For victory there must be comradery for alone standings crumble like stardust.
*[Matheo was raised a Celtic druid and thus he believes that when death approaches the God Belenus transports him to the Otherworld.]