Sunday the 15th
Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2007 4:16 pm
I want to apologize to everyone for running out like that. I . . . had had a dream. A precognitive dream. I wasn’t sure what time I woke during the night, but for me, it didn’t matter. The urgency I felt was overwhelming. I had to leave, and I had to leave fast. So I grabbed my staff and ran out. At the time, I didn’t think to bring anything else, be it glasses, a bathrobe, or even my shoes.
I’ll tell as much as I can. Then I am going to take another nap. I’ve been taking a lot of those.
. . . .
I was acutely aware of the chill of the pavement against my bare feet as I swept my cane ahead of me in arcs, tapping the unfamiliar ground before me. The wind grabbed my hair and flung it in my face as I forged ahead, tugging at my nightie in an effort to lead me astray; I shut my eyes and paid my hair and the uncomfortable chill no mind. I wasn’t sure how long I walked; I wasn’t sure how far I walked. But I continually stumbled and tripped, I was walking faster than was safe for a blind woman who didn’t know her surroundings.
It was old and dilapidated now, my feet rose the dust as I passed. My staff prodded the ground carefully; I cautiously stepped past the jagged ruins of a sidewalk, feeling the rough, broken brickwork of a wall with my hand before finding a small entrance. I would have sworn the ruins were centuries old, but I couldn’t say for certain. All I could do was tap my staff back and forth. Inside, there was the dank smell of decay and dust, intermingling freely with the sense of struggle that permeated the air. I turned my head to the side and tilted it slightly and listened intently. This was the place; I could feel it. But what was I supposed to find here?
I flinched as I stepped into an overhanging obstruction of sorts, too high to be felt by my staff. I fell to my knees, the side of my face throbbing. I cautiously felt my jaw and ear. It was just a bruise by the feel of it. It grew tender and raw almost immediately. But nothing too serious; I’d be fine in a day or two.
Still on my knees, I pressed my fingers to the rough ground and concentrated . . .Opening my Third Eye and pausing as the psychic sensations came like a blanket slowly being dragged over me. In my mind, I heard shouts, gunfire . . . cannon fire. The frenzy of the battle was so extensive it suffocated everything else out. I shuddered as the impression of rats . . . hundreds of them raced across my body as I Saw in the past. The years rolled by . . . we forgot this place.
My heart pounded in the dead stillness as the psychic impressions quieted and returned to the present. My left hand reached for the wall and my right got a better grip on my staff, a prop to help me drag myself to my feet. My breathing was ragged and loud in the deathly calm of the ruins. It had the feel of a graveyard. The paint had peeled and cracked along the wall, and my fingers felt the chipped brickwork underneath. My breath caught in my throat. I turned my head toward the distinct sound.
It was the sound of boots stepping on gravel blown in through the months by the unhampered wind.
Crunch . . . crunch . . . crunch.
“Uuuuggggghhhhh . . .” the groan was deep, throaty, and rasped like grinding of a chain against the ground. My heart leaped up my throat at the sound. How had I missed the figure so completely? He must have come during the images . . . “Uuuuuhhhhhhh . . .” it continued to moan as it stalked toward me. I tried to press myself against the wall, forcing myself to think clearly. It was ahead of me, somewhere within the destruction . . . but where?
It had been waiting for me. My Opening of my Third Eye had given me a feel for the wreckage about me. The hall I was in was small and narrow, with little room to maneuver my staff. There was a corner ahead of me . . . a corner the creature was about to cross. I could smell the blood and decay of the being. My immediate thoughts were that it was a zombie or ghoul of some sort, one that could somehow dodge my senses.
“Uuuuuuummmmmmhhhhh . . .”
Crunch . . . sfft . . . sfffffphht . . . . . . its feet shambled through the dust and gravel, and then it faced me. “Oooohhhh . . . urrrrgghhh . . .” I held my breath, hoping against hope that it would not see me. But it did anyway . . . .
“. . . Cee?” it mumbled in a surprisingly human voice. “I saw . . . my head hurts . . . .” My heart stopped; my throat constricted. I knew that voice.
“Ben?”
I’ll tell as much as I can. Then I am going to take another nap. I’ve been taking a lot of those.
. . . .
I was acutely aware of the chill of the pavement against my bare feet as I swept my cane ahead of me in arcs, tapping the unfamiliar ground before me. The wind grabbed my hair and flung it in my face as I forged ahead, tugging at my nightie in an effort to lead me astray; I shut my eyes and paid my hair and the uncomfortable chill no mind. I wasn’t sure how long I walked; I wasn’t sure how far I walked. But I continually stumbled and tripped, I was walking faster than was safe for a blind woman who didn’t know her surroundings.
It was old and dilapidated now, my feet rose the dust as I passed. My staff prodded the ground carefully; I cautiously stepped past the jagged ruins of a sidewalk, feeling the rough, broken brickwork of a wall with my hand before finding a small entrance. I would have sworn the ruins were centuries old, but I couldn’t say for certain. All I could do was tap my staff back and forth. Inside, there was the dank smell of decay and dust, intermingling freely with the sense of struggle that permeated the air. I turned my head to the side and tilted it slightly and listened intently. This was the place; I could feel it. But what was I supposed to find here?
I flinched as I stepped into an overhanging obstruction of sorts, too high to be felt by my staff. I fell to my knees, the side of my face throbbing. I cautiously felt my jaw and ear. It was just a bruise by the feel of it. It grew tender and raw almost immediately. But nothing too serious; I’d be fine in a day or two.
Still on my knees, I pressed my fingers to the rough ground and concentrated . . .Opening my Third Eye and pausing as the psychic sensations came like a blanket slowly being dragged over me. In my mind, I heard shouts, gunfire . . . cannon fire. The frenzy of the battle was so extensive it suffocated everything else out. I shuddered as the impression of rats . . . hundreds of them raced across my body as I Saw in the past. The years rolled by . . . we forgot this place.
My heart pounded in the dead stillness as the psychic impressions quieted and returned to the present. My left hand reached for the wall and my right got a better grip on my staff, a prop to help me drag myself to my feet. My breathing was ragged and loud in the deathly calm of the ruins. It had the feel of a graveyard. The paint had peeled and cracked along the wall, and my fingers felt the chipped brickwork underneath. My breath caught in my throat. I turned my head toward the distinct sound.
It was the sound of boots stepping on gravel blown in through the months by the unhampered wind.
Crunch . . . crunch . . . crunch.
“Uuuuggggghhhhh . . .” the groan was deep, throaty, and rasped like grinding of a chain against the ground. My heart leaped up my throat at the sound. How had I missed the figure so completely? He must have come during the images . . . “Uuuuuhhhhhhh . . .” it continued to moan as it stalked toward me. I tried to press myself against the wall, forcing myself to think clearly. It was ahead of me, somewhere within the destruction . . . but where?
It had been waiting for me. My Opening of my Third Eye had given me a feel for the wreckage about me. The hall I was in was small and narrow, with little room to maneuver my staff. There was a corner ahead of me . . . a corner the creature was about to cross. I could smell the blood and decay of the being. My immediate thoughts were that it was a zombie or ghoul of some sort, one that could somehow dodge my senses.
“Uuuuuuummmmmmhhhhh . . .”
Crunch . . . sfft . . . sfffffphht . . . . . . its feet shambled through the dust and gravel, and then it faced me. “Oooohhhh . . . urrrrgghhh . . .” I held my breath, hoping against hope that it would not see me. But it did anyway . . . .
“. . . Cee?” it mumbled in a surprisingly human voice. “I saw . . . my head hurts . . . .” My heart stopped; my throat constricted. I knew that voice.
“Ben?”
OK.