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02-25-2015, 11:07 AM
.....
Come - commala.
[You're fine! Although maybe you should have called him Walter instead of Roland. :O ]
You hear it. You do, don't you? They can't hear it - those around you - who experience time like some abstract entity that simply reveals their lives to them. But you hear it. You feel it. It's tangible to you just as it is tangible now.
The beat. The rhythm of the passing seconds as they slowly count down to the death of all that is around you. The beat heralds the fate of all you hold dear, it sings out their death anthems in a key that they can't quite hear, but even they know that it's there. Somewhere. It's their favourite song even though they've never heard it, played so softly in the background as to be completely indiscernible from the wind. But every now and then they hear it - just a note or if they're lucky, an entire phrase - and it reminds them. It reminds them how powerless they are to resist the pulse of time.
But you don't need reminding, do you green commala?
….That’s nasty, man
It doesn't move, but you can tell that behind the impenetrable blackness that hides its face, it's
"Stay a while. We'll stand commala just you'n me. Whatd'yasay" Its voice seemed to mock speech while simultaneously mastering it. As if each word - each letter - was its own thing that your Roland [HAH] could twist, meld, warp, and imbue with meaning. The words seem abstract like you can't quite remember them even now, and yet they've branded the space between your eyes. Invisible ink, bled into your soul. His words are stern, full of jest, a haunting threat and an innocent invitation.
He has something up his sleeve. He always does. But have you paid his price? Was you birth alone to offer in compensation, or are the scales still tipped? And if they are, are you willing to pay?
He never asks for much when he asks for everything.
.
FOXX
