10-16-2008, 10:48 PM
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The fog had grown thick following the rainfall. This was, of course, a natural occurrence—but for Ahren, it was a mystical thing. It reminded him of Europe, and of the dank alleyways that were starting to slip back into his memories. The past two weeks had been curious. He had finished the cabin for himself and Laruku, and then remembered falling asleep. When he had woken from a dream, lost and now unfamiliar, he had been somewhere else. Sleepwalking was not a new occurrence for him, but it had not happened in months (that he had been aware of, at least).
A phrase, an idea, a familiar itch, that had come back with growing intensity. For the two weeks, he had begun setting fires again. They were never large (and would never be as large as Gabriel’s burning had been) and never lasted long. Still, at nights when sleep would not come and his mind tore at itself, he would do this thing. It calmed him in the same way the drugs did. He had started drinking again, though not as heavily, and not in such long periods of time. Enough that the ember-burn of the cigarettes was washed out of his mouth, replaced by fire-water, both of which had replaced long-gone women and the one man who even now was trying to disappear.
He had been coming back from one of these long nights, smelling of smoke and cigarettes and red-wine, and spotted a familiar figure in the campsite. “Howdy,” he said, grinning like a fool and wondering how long it had truly been since he had given her that necklace and chased her out of his life.
The fog had grown thick following the rainfall. This was, of course, a natural occurrence—but for Ahren, it was a mystical thing. It reminded him of Europe, and of the dank alleyways that were starting to slip back into his memories. The past two weeks had been curious. He had finished the cabin for himself and Laruku, and then remembered falling asleep. When he had woken from a dream, lost and now unfamiliar, he had been somewhere else. Sleepwalking was not a new occurrence for him, but it had not happened in months (that he had been aware of, at least).
A phrase, an idea, a familiar itch, that had come back with growing intensity. For the two weeks, he had begun setting fires again. They were never large (and would never be as large as Gabriel’s burning had been) and never lasted long. Still, at nights when sleep would not come and his mind tore at itself, he would do this thing. It calmed him in the same way the drugs did. He had started drinking again, though not as heavily, and not in such long periods of time. Enough that the ember-burn of the cigarettes was washed out of his mouth, replaced by fire-water, both of which had replaced long-gone women and the one man who even now was trying to disappear.
He had been coming back from one of these long nights, smelling of smoke and cigarettes and red-wine, and spotted a familiar figure in the campsite. “Howdy,” he said, grinning like a fool and wondering how long it had truly been since he had given her that necklace and chased her out of his life.