STORY TIME
Or The Tale as I know it so far
I am in more than one place right now. I guess I would explain that to you if I understood it better my self, but for now thats all that there is
that, and this train.
Everything keeps shifting from side to side, in irregular undulations. Its hypnotic, almost narcotic, like the feeling of being half awake in a violent sleep. The world moves to the right, and everything sways, as the hundreds of little red tassels that hang from every corner and line of the car shimmy like tropical hula dancers at the edge of an enraged volcano. The half drained drink on my table sloshes around some more as the world rhumbas to the left this time, leaving tiny echoes of motion that play out like afterthoughts. The motion of the car is relentless and sporadic
With every shift comes that wracking sound, KLACK KLACK, as the wheels skip along unseen beneath the car, riding miles of rusted track through the solemn bleak night that passes out the window. The darkness is complete, incasing everything. Occasionally a dim lantern punctuates the dark, fighting through heavily veiled, ancient and dying cypress trees, and even then that light is a fleeting, streaked moment, instantly gone with another-
KLACK KLACK.
KLACK KLACK.
Minutes pass, maybe even hours or days. Periodically my mind slips out of that sensory induced hypnosis and I remember my drink on the window side table. It had some exotic name that escapes me know, but it seems to do the job. Much tamer than the virtual carnival of liquid libations that await me on The Isle, it tastes almost like stale flat beer with a heavily infused citrus flavor of some unknown origin, and then, after a moment, comes the retrospective sting of alcohol, and that small knot of a stove blazes in my belly. Fortunately this drink doesnt spur on the tailored kinds of psychosis that are common with The Isle cocktails, there will be time enough for that later.
KLACK KLACK
And the drink is back on the table, its contents slowly oscillating in the glass again, and I cant remember if I just took a sip or if that was a just memory. At either rate while that moment had passed, I take the glass in my hand to try and stabilize its contents and perhaps give my mind some anchoring moment in time measured by some sort of change.
KLACK KLACK
KLACK KLACK
Ticket?
Or The Tale as I know it so far
I am in more than one place right now. I guess I would explain that to you if I understood it better my self, but for now thats all that there is
that, and this train.
Everything keeps shifting from side to side, in irregular undulations. Its hypnotic, almost narcotic, like the feeling of being half awake in a violent sleep. The world moves to the right, and everything sways, as the hundreds of little red tassels that hang from every corner and line of the car shimmy like tropical hula dancers at the edge of an enraged volcano. The half drained drink on my table sloshes around some more as the world rhumbas to the left this time, leaving tiny echoes of motion that play out like afterthoughts. The motion of the car is relentless and sporadic
With every shift comes that wracking sound, KLACK KLACK, as the wheels skip along unseen beneath the car, riding miles of rusted track through the solemn bleak night that passes out the window. The darkness is complete, incasing everything. Occasionally a dim lantern punctuates the dark, fighting through heavily veiled, ancient and dying cypress trees, and even then that light is a fleeting, streaked moment, instantly gone with another-
KLACK KLACK.
KLACK KLACK.
Minutes pass, maybe even hours or days. Periodically my mind slips out of that sensory induced hypnosis and I remember my drink on the window side table. It had some exotic name that escapes me know, but it seems to do the job. Much tamer than the virtual carnival of liquid libations that await me on The Isle, it tastes almost like stale flat beer with a heavily infused citrus flavor of some unknown origin, and then, after a moment, comes the retrospective sting of alcohol, and that small knot of a stove blazes in my belly. Fortunately this drink doesnt spur on the tailored kinds of psychosis that are common with The Isle cocktails, there will be time enough for that later.
KLACK KLACK
And the drink is back on the table, its contents slowly oscillating in the glass again, and I cant remember if I just took a sip or if that was a just memory. At either rate while that moment had passed, I take the glass in my hand to try and stabilize its contents and perhaps give my mind some anchoring moment in time measured by some sort of change.
KLACK KLACK
KLACK KLACK
Ticket?