Take my love, Take my land, Take me where I can not stand…
I don’t care, I’m still free: You can’t take the sky from me…
Foreigner ch. 1
I am floating through the stars. They burn magnificently, moving around me, their streaks of light painting glowing tentacles across the darkness. They reflect upon us and we reflect upon them. And yet, I am catapulted into the void.
The lights! I always stare into the lights–they move past me, burning, dancing. The stars dance around each other endlessly. I sense… colors…
My dance has ended. I am glued here. My legs–my beautiful legs! Strewn about like a pile of spaghetti. How they danced before… this surface has rough colors. It undulates… it… diverts. Its borders are not aligned with one another. I can move… slowly. I am dragged. The rough surfaces move across me, they roll down my side. I hear their stories. They were mountains once–towering up to the sky. now they are stomped upon.
My legs are useless. They can not raise me up. I can not float as I once did.
I am burning.
I rest. I sleep in the stars. The universe dances around me. I am floating in my dream; the roaring, burning angels scattered upon my being, reflected back upon themselves. My legs speak, they wave, they ripple.
Then, I am stranded again. I am glued to the rough surfaces. A strange force presses down upon me, glues me to these pebbles. This cycle continues. Floating. Waking. Floating. Waking.
There is a warmth, a touch of light. Slight at first, a tickle, a prickling on my side. and then the warmth grows and I am lush in it. I shine in it. It is reflected upon me.
Now my surroundings change. I sense movement. Little shutters in the rough surface, vibrations. And then it happens. A soft surface makes contact with my being and I am flooded with images and sensations! This being is small in the universe, yet it is a universe upon itself. It exists within a world relative to its existence which is therefor… magnificently endless. I revel in its senses–smell, sight, taste! The endless buffet of brilliant colors, nourishing flavors, the joy of movement, and the rush of something–energy–life. Pumping. A rhythm. Music within music. Music within form. This being is a song–it lives a song.
The sun is casting a magical goldstone glow across the sand and beach, the rays of light filling the air, a misty solidity that only appears in the twilight hour. As the beach is set alight, the Earth―the leviathan rock that it is―slowly turns away from the comfortable warmth of its mother to face the infinite void, the vast darkness, the trepid unknown.
“Yes! Go on, go!”
A woman’s feet pound against the sand, skipping over the shells and jagged sticks with barely a blink of her eye. She is small, of average weight, slightly curvy. She heads back to the house–which is more like a cabin–wrenching the front door open and slamming it behind her.
A few minutes later she returns to the man–Benny’s–side with a faded blue bath towel in hand. The sun is creeping ever closer to the horizon, the pinkish glow becoming violently vibrant, lighting up the clouds against the darkening sky.
Benny towers over Jane, being 6’3, with lean, lanky limbs covered in dark hair, and a shaggy mane which falls sloppily over his long, almost-handsome face. His eyes are a little too round and deep-set, his general expression a little too dopey, but he has solid cheekbones and a broad, handsome chin. He bends down, throwing the towel over a strange object. Without touching the unidentified object, he rolls the bundle over so the towel is now underneath it. He and his companion each grab the ends of the towel, creating a sling, and moving as quickly as they can back to the house without overturning the thing.
The ground leaves me! I am still pulled toward it–it reaches out, grasps for me, yearns for my embrace! How it reaches, how it claws, how the world seems to spin around me. I am no longer in contact with the tiny universe. Our shared senses drift apart from each other. The scents and images still tingle in my mind, like feint flitting lights left hanging in the air after a mighty spark. Now there is another confusing movement…what is happening to me? I am glued to a different surface. It has tiny little variations which reach toward me, hold me; they caress me with a thousand fibrous fingers. And then WHOOSH. WHAT IS THIS MOVEMENT! I AM TUMBLING THROUGH THE AIR! I AM FLYING TOO QUICKLY! THE GROUND WILL SURELY COME UP AND DETERIORATE MY VERY BEING! I AM…
“In the tank! In the tank!” He says as they hobble through the front door.
I… am…. floating! My legs dance around me! They rejoice! They swirl! But this air is strange. It presses upon me, I am squeezed from every angle. It moves, it gushes, it rolls against me as I roll against it.
There are rough surfaces here. They tumble upon each other. But they do not drag along my side. This heavy air holds me, my legs dance. The surfaces cannot glue themselves to me.
This air is glorious, but the warmth does not reach me. I am hidden from it. I am cold from it. There is a surface here… its colors are aligned with each other. They are a horizon. It does not play a significant role in the continuation of the universe. It is hopelessly meaningless in the scheme of existence. AAAAAGH! Meaningless! It is tiny! It… does not reflect upon me. It is in every direction. I sense the sky above me, my distant stars so far away. They can not paint paths of wonder around me anymore: They are but twinkles in the distant sky. I am… trapped.
Inspired by Daily Prompt
This is an excerpt from a novella I was working on last year (as part of Nanowrimo.) I have been wanting to post it on my blog, and now Daily Prompt inspired me to. It’s funny that I was thinking about my story and the song quoted at the beginning was the last song I heard.
Any comment or criticism is greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!
Check back for more chapters of “The Foreigner!”