Bird's feather with grain of sand

Bird’s feather with grain of sand

“He’ll be transferred soon through the Mirkle,” he noted.

His sight had not returned … yet. His senses – the ones that ebbed back – were in shock, blaringly so! He still wasn’t sure what had lifted him from the water’s edge, but it was … what was the word?

He just couldn‘t tell or process the memory. He had to admit – begrudgingly – that all was not really well in this shell he called his body. The word hypothermia kept bouncing around in his head – he couldn’t quite recall what that meant, but it fit …

“They’re gonna expend that much energy … for him?” He was aware of a note of incredulity.

“Apparently so – something about the Walk causing too much friction if the Project is going to be implemented on this side,” was the reply.

He tried to move – to respond … was there a pause in the conversation? Were they looking at him? Had he been able to indicate he was aware of them? Further pause and then the air changed. Went … tight? Like a seal being closed, he thought?

Recovery was going to take time and too many questions began to flood … threatening to overwhelm. Of course, he initially kept getting stuck in the loop of where the phone was, but on the third or fourth round of “where’s the bloody phone” he caught himself. Allowed himself to let go of the fact that it was likely under the water in the granular stuff … which he realised on the final repetition was snow! Snow: what had he been doing in the snow? That memory still eluded him, but letting go of the phone paradox allowed him to start asking some questions that were really not all that comfortable. And – more disturbing – was a dawning revelation that did nothing to ease the mounting … fear?

As the Walk’s momentum grew there were threats from the Establishment, naysayers, doubters, but he was cool with that: especially when he was able to meet them face-face. He might be a lot of things, might have made a lot of mistakes that were appropriately charged against him, but his belief and conviction in the Walk was … contagious and he knew it! Very rarely when he treated a questioner – Seeker, he liked to call them – with respect did they leave with the same judgement. They might not have been convinced, but he always knew they had … softened.

Liquid Metal

Liquid Metal

Whoever had him certainly did not seem connected with those opposed to the Walk. Or, if they were, he couldn’t place the connexion. And though he knew he wasn’t firing with all cylinders in the old brainpan area, the mounting fear was certainly trying to address the growing awareness … which he so did not want to confront …

The voices … he knew he had not ‘heard’ them. He could tell, with growing concern, that hearing was not one of the quick rebounding senses that was recovering well after his ordeal in the snow on the water’s edge … what he was resisting, as he drew a deep breath and sat up with shooting agony, was that he not ‘heard’ the words with his ears, he had understood them in his head and that … well that wasn’t possible …

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