AetherDreaming
Deep Dream Diver
It seemed to stretch on forever. From the charcoal grey of the bridge's walkway to the unreachable beyond of the sky above. Wisps of silvery mist licked his tennis shoes, fading soon after wrapping around the sole of the boy's second hand sneakers. He looked over his shoulder toward the path that lay behind, the same that held footsteps that could not be retraced, and saw the solemn smile of the parents whose love felt of foreign tongue as they had found comfort in letting him go. The pair stood a few feet away from the base of the bridge, as if standing too close might convince them to take their only child home. What is love if not sacrifice? Maybe this was the ultimate show of love...if only for one another.
His attention returned to the infinite mist. Was it calling to him? The voice held neither familiar words and didn't seem to flow in any sort of structure. It stuttered, hissed and rustled like wind slipping along branches and through leaves. Yet, despite the lacking clarity, the curiously communicated message carried a calm and warm sensation with it. The sort that a father's arms held when embracing a child woken from nightmares in the deepest sleep. His sneakers were now surrounded by the mist that now ran down along the footpath, forking along the rubber contours like a weightless river. Turning back once more in hope of seeing his parents, his optimism was instead met with a vast, dark emptyness. “I'll be better! I promise I can be better! Just don't forget me here. Don't leave me...” he wanted to say but that horrible, suffocating silence had seeped into his senses and drowned his tongue.
“August,” called a voice from deep within the mist. That...that was his name. “August...” it called again, more firmly than before. Then again and again, moving through the mist, closer to the edge of the impenetrable curtain. The boy tried to step back, but he was rooted to the spot. Over and over, he urged his legs to move but every command was ignored. “Hey! Old man!”
As if yanked from a hypnotically induced trance, Investigator August Temple stared blankly for a few moments before blinking and then clearing his eyes with the back of his hand. The sounds of the avenue came rushing back. The tip-tapping of foot traffic mixed with casual conversation, the hum of engines and the occasional impatient honking. “Finally here with us, Old Man?” said the officer as she held out a small, rectangular piece of glass, “The avenue had been sealed off. Shouldn't have any interruptions while you're inside. Where's your partner anyway?”
“On the way,” August replied, hardly paying attention the outstretched hand which was, in it's owner's impatience, had begun making small thrusting gestures towards him. Unbothered, he searched the contents of his pockets. Around the wallet, just past the keys until...ah! There it was! The prize, a slim, lightly purple colored and rhombus shaped gem reacted to its owner's touch. The sigils carved along the outer edge came to life and shimmered in sequence before once more fading into the intricate crevices. From his pocket, the gem was retrieved and then deposited into its new resting place, a similarly shaped opening in the butt of the investigator's gun. August then placed the barrel end snugly against the side of his head and pulled the trigger. BLAM! A jet of purple and silver smoke shot out of the other side, billowed as it lost energy and then faded into nothing.
In that moment, the officer had taken a step back and was fumbling for her weapon. But by the time it was unholstered, the investigator had already pulled the trigger. “Old Man!” the officer shouted. Even in Misthaven, there were things that could surprise you. Particularly in the early afternoon.
“There, got space now,” August said, paying half-mind to the shock on the officers face as he returned the gun to the holster and picked up the the rectangular piece of glass from the sidewalk. Like the gem, the object came to life, the details of the day's case scrolled into place. They were soon followed a photograph of a middle aged man who, by all accounts, appeared to be aging poorly. 43 going on 70. “Says here that Mr. Yates can and has only accessed the first portion of his words and only on the premises. Dimensional Contortion? Whatever. Came to Misthaven after they manifested, immediately registered with the Archives and has never been in trouble. So...what's the catch? Why am I here?”
“Let's wait until your partner gets here,” the officer responded, “I don't get it much myself. At least not well enough to want to try and explain it twice.”
August shrugged and leaned back against the hard wood back of the bench that supported him. “Whatever works.”
“Investigator Temple?”
“Yeah?”
“Where were you just now?” The officer asked cautiously.
“A memory,” he said with a sigh, “some poor guy's memory.”
@SweetNerevar @AetherDreaming
His attention returned to the infinite mist. Was it calling to him? The voice held neither familiar words and didn't seem to flow in any sort of structure. It stuttered, hissed and rustled like wind slipping along branches and through leaves. Yet, despite the lacking clarity, the curiously communicated message carried a calm and warm sensation with it. The sort that a father's arms held when embracing a child woken from nightmares in the deepest sleep. His sneakers were now surrounded by the mist that now ran down along the footpath, forking along the rubber contours like a weightless river. Turning back once more in hope of seeing his parents, his optimism was instead met with a vast, dark emptyness. “I'll be better! I promise I can be better! Just don't forget me here. Don't leave me...” he wanted to say but that horrible, suffocating silence had seeped into his senses and drowned his tongue.
“August,” called a voice from deep within the mist. That...that was his name. “August...” it called again, more firmly than before. Then again and again, moving through the mist, closer to the edge of the impenetrable curtain. The boy tried to step back, but he was rooted to the spot. Over and over, he urged his legs to move but every command was ignored. “Hey! Old man!”
As if yanked from a hypnotically induced trance, Investigator August Temple stared blankly for a few moments before blinking and then clearing his eyes with the back of his hand. The sounds of the avenue came rushing back. The tip-tapping of foot traffic mixed with casual conversation, the hum of engines and the occasional impatient honking. “Finally here with us, Old Man?” said the officer as she held out a small, rectangular piece of glass, “The avenue had been sealed off. Shouldn't have any interruptions while you're inside. Where's your partner anyway?”
“On the way,” August replied, hardly paying attention the outstretched hand which was, in it's owner's impatience, had begun making small thrusting gestures towards him. Unbothered, he searched the contents of his pockets. Around the wallet, just past the keys until...ah! There it was! The prize, a slim, lightly purple colored and rhombus shaped gem reacted to its owner's touch. The sigils carved along the outer edge came to life and shimmered in sequence before once more fading into the intricate crevices. From his pocket, the gem was retrieved and then deposited into its new resting place, a similarly shaped opening in the butt of the investigator's gun. August then placed the barrel end snugly against the side of his head and pulled the trigger. BLAM! A jet of purple and silver smoke shot out of the other side, billowed as it lost energy and then faded into nothing.
In that moment, the officer had taken a step back and was fumbling for her weapon. But by the time it was unholstered, the investigator had already pulled the trigger. “Old Man!” the officer shouted. Even in Misthaven, there were things that could surprise you. Particularly in the early afternoon.
“There, got space now,” August said, paying half-mind to the shock on the officers face as he returned the gun to the holster and picked up the the rectangular piece of glass from the sidewalk. Like the gem, the object came to life, the details of the day's case scrolled into place. They were soon followed a photograph of a middle aged man who, by all accounts, appeared to be aging poorly. 43 going on 70. “Says here that Mr. Yates can and has only accessed the first portion of his words and only on the premises. Dimensional Contortion? Whatever. Came to Misthaven after they manifested, immediately registered with the Archives and has never been in trouble. So...what's the catch? Why am I here?”
“Let's wait until your partner gets here,” the officer responded, “I don't get it much myself. At least not well enough to want to try and explain it twice.”
August shrugged and leaned back against the hard wood back of the bench that supported him. “Whatever works.”
“Investigator Temple?”
“Yeah?”
“Where were you just now?” The officer asked cautiously.
“A memory,” he said with a sigh, “some poor guy's memory.”
@SweetNerevar @AetherDreaming