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More things to hmm about

“The news said she didn’t make it, I’m sorry,” Lilly said, a hint of the old concern in her voice.

Today was Saturday, and Friday’s warm humidity had collided with the normal October coolness and produced a satisfyingly dense fog. I’d been perfectly content watching reruns of Castle from the familiar safety of my couch, but the phone had rung, and I, unwisely, had answered.

“You have some damned explaining to do,” said my phone. I knew the voice, the tone. I knew I was in for it. But instead,

“Oh? About…?”
“What are you doing right now?” she challenged.
“Watching Castle,”
“Snarky or serious?”
“Snarky one,”

Lilly paused, as if contemplating the relative worth of Castle versus whatever she wanted.

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Hmm…

Is this what a panic attack feels like? the thought flickered through Ethan’s mind and was lost, one clear glimpse of a single piece of straw – in a hurricane. His mind was a strange and stormy place, ears full of booming blood and throbbing pressure. He could feel his heart hammering in his neck and constricting ice in his core. Sounds came to him twisted and diminished, the screams from patrons two tables over seemed to come from far away, traffic noise from beyond the patio was lost to him altogether.

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Lost Journal Page

Day 7 (1024 zulu)

Perfect sky, perfect water, perfect wind. There are butterflies everywhere just in case the vibrant green plants and rust red rocks weren’t pretty enough against the inky blue of the sea. I’m on top of a low mountain with nothing but peace and quiet and brunch in my immediate future.

We swam in from the boat to the beach. I’m not sure what the red flags were all about, but we used them as a marker to swim toward. There’s an old washed out sign that looks like it took a beating against the rocks then got nailed back up. Doesn’t seem to be the whole sign, though, it says “Dan Surf” and then “No ming”. Weird. The landing was a little rough…

Not really sleeping yet, but I bet I will soon. I’m starting to have these odd dreams though.

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A beginning?

As the panic spread, so did the smoke.  When reality itself tears, turns out there are great gouts of acrid smoke to go along with that feeling of “holy shit what is that?”  It’s visible for miles.  Unless it’s foggy.  Or raining.  At night you can see it from even farther off as the edges of the tear burn sodium-bright through the smoke.  The flashing is like a string of Satan’s own firecrackers tossed into the street.  The tears burn, so we call them smoke.

What they are are rifts.

They are doors.

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Lost Journal Page

Day 37 (unsure)

I had the dream again. That’s not right, a dream means sleep, and I don’t know…

Maybe not a dream then, but other words are scarier, so I’ll say “dream”. Hallucination sounds so – irrevocable.

Three birds screech, constantly. At each other, at me, at nothing. The only time they’re silent, well, less noisy, is when they feed. They’re ravenous, seeking always anything to devour – so long as it means taking it from someone else. I’ve watched them turn away from offering made to appease them only to turn on one another all teeth and noise and fury.

I wake up with scratches, still with the alcohol on my breath that is my only means of escape. Am I dreaming then? Are these things happening? Please, it can’t be real, can’t…?

What if they are? What if the sun and blue sky and warm water are the dreams? What if days spent hauling lines until my hands are raw are my life and swimming with sea turtles and warming myself on the sand are my mind trying to keep me sane? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. The sun is coming up and lighting the clouds glorious shades of Heaven and whether I’m waking to it or lapsing from sanity I prefer this to the other.