A man strips down to the state he had employed when he were immediately out of the womb, only to fashion a wide brimmed straw hat. Ashore, and close enough to the rim of the sea for the tide to come to wet his feet, he places his hat where he stands, tracing around it on the sand with a circle of roughly the radius of his stature.
This marks the beginning of his 40 day trial of conviction, in both senses, during in which a stray spirit will notice pensive taunt and try to deceive him into exiting his circle. The man will interact with other people as usual, often receiving necessities and such, and will also face the spirits provocation through them.
The man will find it's best to notice the tide, for it will have the ability to push off the hat from the center of said circle while he is in a state of his rest or inadvertence, which would work in favor of the spirit, but would not be caused by it, for the tide is, with all its neutrality, nature inside the microcosmal circle.
If he fails to stay in his circle, the spirit will have a claim on his soul; otherwise, the spirit will be trapped under the hat, and the claim will be of the reversed nature.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Thursday, July 23, 2015
The Second Time
He felt a tremor running down his spine. The multitudinous primal mental processes that made him operate unoptimally to his liking effortlessly classified the tremor as eerie, for he had never experienced such a feeling in his spine.
Then he thought, eerie wasn't the right word. Things eerie were spooky standalone events in uneventful contexts; a vase drop that breaks the silence of night, the appearance of a big mole on a baby's forehead, but not this. This tremor was out of fear and crisis; it was terror metastasizing.
He hated his instincts at that moment for their inaccuracy. And he hated himself for hating his instincts at this moment, for the timing of his inner confusion couldn't be worse. Suddenly, his blank stare towards her was filled with her, and eventually his, presence.
Their eyes met.
He stood up, shrugged. He reminded himself to stop romanticizing someone who he hasn't met, then recognized the futility of his self suggestion, and tried to find much needed clarity of mind in a deep breath.
Then he thought, eerie wasn't the right word. Things eerie were spooky standalone events in uneventful contexts; a vase drop that breaks the silence of night, the appearance of a big mole on a baby's forehead, but not this. This tremor was out of fear and crisis; it was terror metastasizing.
He hated his instincts at that moment for their inaccuracy. And he hated himself for hating his instincts at this moment, for the timing of his inner confusion couldn't be worse. Suddenly, his blank stare towards her was filled with her, and eventually his, presence.
Their eyes met.
He stood up, shrugged. He reminded himself to stop romanticizing someone who he hasn't met, then recognized the futility of his self suggestion, and tried to find much needed clarity of mind in a deep breath.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
The First Time
It was windy.
The crossroads lengthened in all four cardinal directions. One could say the flowering crabapple trees in the periphery were almost sentient, and were striving to better fit their adjective to the best of their abilities. It was 7:57 AM on a winter day, and his concerns were in resonance with the floral rustling. Every sluggish step a fellow student took to reveal oneself from the edge of the Mansardic red building in the distance plucked his nerve in a nervous pizzicato.
He rocked backed and forth, embracing his baggy hoodie in search for primitive comfort, and recalled his plan. Open with "hey", tell her she's cute, give her the number. Three easy steps, yet the mere thought of carrying them out gave him the rush of both the robber and the robbed.
He worried; what if she were uncomfortable, what if she were grossed out, what if she were frigid, gay, taken... And as his thoughts whizzed on and about and sporadically neared the boundary of the unconscious that was the Taj Mahal of worries, a sight whacked his being into presence.
There she was, with her slender figure and black beanie, almost advancing towards him with a brisk stride. Every step towards the center of the crossroads revealed a detail about her, and produced feelings of sundry variety in him whose sole function were, all in all, to demonstrate that impossible tasks weren't entirely impossible, for they could be more.
The crossroads lengthened in all four cardinal directions. One could say the flowering crabapple trees in the periphery were almost sentient, and were striving to better fit their adjective to the best of their abilities. It was 7:57 AM on a winter day, and his concerns were in resonance with the floral rustling. Every sluggish step a fellow student took to reveal oneself from the edge of the Mansardic red building in the distance plucked his nerve in a nervous pizzicato.
He rocked backed and forth, embracing his baggy hoodie in search for primitive comfort, and recalled his plan. Open with "hey", tell her she's cute, give her the number. Three easy steps, yet the mere thought of carrying them out gave him the rush of both the robber and the robbed.
He worried; what if she were uncomfortable, what if she were grossed out, what if she were frigid, gay, taken... And as his thoughts whizzed on and about and sporadically neared the boundary of the unconscious that was the Taj Mahal of worries, a sight whacked his being into presence.
There she was, with her slender figure and black beanie, almost advancing towards him with a brisk stride. Every step towards the center of the crossroads revealed a detail about her, and produced feelings of sundry variety in him whose sole function were, all in all, to demonstrate that impossible tasks weren't entirely impossible, for they could be more.
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