embers
September 14th, 2011, 01:59 PM
Some scene from here (http://incendiarypigs.tumblr.com) that's probably gonna be the last until I get on top of schoolwork
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Keith’s journey was one of slipping between reality and bizarre depictions of it. In the back of a moving truck, he sat with carelessly flickering eyelids that almost looked hollowed out under what rusty light was present. His guide, a bloated, stumpy oval of a man seemed ill-prepared for the situation: he was shivering violently. He salvaged what little warmth he could from their lamp in the first handful of hours of their journey, but its warmth was now well past its peak. He had begun to feel Greater Britain’s notorious weather take effect.
Keith, tucked into several layers, was oblivious to this, letting Simon O’Callaghan’s envious glares shoot by unnoticed. As dusk approached he had been staring out at the familiarities he was leaving behind. London’s eastern gate was a sight and a half; the glorious countryside beyond, though dampened by rain, equated to two. He watched a muffled sun set behind the city, silhouetting it in a tinted haze of pollution.
Between his short-lived dreams, he would wake up fearing for the driver. The truck had meandered unwillingly into concrete fog, some of which had found its way in and was spreading its touch to all corners. He could barely see O’Callaghan’s face – the man would be invisible were it not for that ginger toothbrush moustache nested underneath his nose.
Deciding to keep himself awake, Keith held on to a pole running across the ceiling and leaned back so that his head poked out. He shifted sideways so that he could see ahead of the truck. The fog had lessened now, but the road ahead still abruptly disappeared into its embrace. It was tinged an odd maroon, which eventually lightened into a yellowish-orange. If he peered carefully he could see the occasional flash behind its translucency. For a minute Keith was left second-guessing what this was.
He didn’t need to wait long. The sounds eventually reached him – distant, yet unnerving rumbles sounded well after each flash. Sometimes they were ten second mumbles, reaching a peak in volume and dying out just as fast; at others, there were sudden explosions of sound that would jolt Keith’s guide upright and send his eyes about in a frenzy.
Rooted in their seats now, they sat semi-awkwardly, each contemplating speaking over rumbles, but both not wanting to say the first word. Keith braved up to it.
“We’re safe, aren’t we, Simon?”
His guide nodded and said back loudly, “Yeh. I think so, at least! They don’t sound too close. I mean, I reckon they wouldn’t test all them things near a road.”
“Haven’t you come this way before?” Keith asked.
“Once, that was around… summertime, I think,” O’Callaghan replied with a lowered volume.
“Just once? Aren’t you a trained veteran…?”
“Just the once down here, sir. That don’t mean I haven’t done this before. You know there ain’t just one way into the East!”
Keith pointed at the unnaturally coloured sky. “Did this happen last time?” O’Callaghan waved it off, but he persisted. “Did it happen?”
“Well… nah, but me an’ Dave up front there, we’re trained. Mister Francis Corey told you that. I can tell you – from firsthand experience, right – that those bombs are a long way off. Ain’t a chance they’d reach us.”
Keith sighed. “And you’re sure?”
Simon O’Callaghan crossed his legs, but a rough jolt from the truck ensured he unfolded them and grabbed on to something. “Oh, yes,” he said dismissively. “Don’tcha worry about them. They’re just fires in the sky – nothin’ to worry about. Not a thing.”
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Keith’s journey was one of slipping between reality and bizarre depictions of it. In the back of a moving truck, he sat with carelessly flickering eyelids that almost looked hollowed out under what rusty light was present. His guide, a bloated, stumpy oval of a man seemed ill-prepared for the situation: he was shivering violently. He salvaged what little warmth he could from their lamp in the first handful of hours of their journey, but its warmth was now well past its peak. He had begun to feel Greater Britain’s notorious weather take effect.
Keith, tucked into several layers, was oblivious to this, letting Simon O’Callaghan’s envious glares shoot by unnoticed. As dusk approached he had been staring out at the familiarities he was leaving behind. London’s eastern gate was a sight and a half; the glorious countryside beyond, though dampened by rain, equated to two. He watched a muffled sun set behind the city, silhouetting it in a tinted haze of pollution.
Between his short-lived dreams, he would wake up fearing for the driver. The truck had meandered unwillingly into concrete fog, some of which had found its way in and was spreading its touch to all corners. He could barely see O’Callaghan’s face – the man would be invisible were it not for that ginger toothbrush moustache nested underneath his nose.
Deciding to keep himself awake, Keith held on to a pole running across the ceiling and leaned back so that his head poked out. He shifted sideways so that he could see ahead of the truck. The fog had lessened now, but the road ahead still abruptly disappeared into its embrace. It was tinged an odd maroon, which eventually lightened into a yellowish-orange. If he peered carefully he could see the occasional flash behind its translucency. For a minute Keith was left second-guessing what this was.
He didn’t need to wait long. The sounds eventually reached him – distant, yet unnerving rumbles sounded well after each flash. Sometimes they were ten second mumbles, reaching a peak in volume and dying out just as fast; at others, there were sudden explosions of sound that would jolt Keith’s guide upright and send his eyes about in a frenzy.
Rooted in their seats now, they sat semi-awkwardly, each contemplating speaking over rumbles, but both not wanting to say the first word. Keith braved up to it.
“We’re safe, aren’t we, Simon?”
His guide nodded and said back loudly, “Yeh. I think so, at least! They don’t sound too close. I mean, I reckon they wouldn’t test all them things near a road.”
“Haven’t you come this way before?” Keith asked.
“Once, that was around… summertime, I think,” O’Callaghan replied with a lowered volume.
“Just once? Aren’t you a trained veteran…?”
“Just the once down here, sir. That don’t mean I haven’t done this before. You know there ain’t just one way into the East!”
Keith pointed at the unnaturally coloured sky. “Did this happen last time?” O’Callaghan waved it off, but he persisted. “Did it happen?”
“Well… nah, but me an’ Dave up front there, we’re trained. Mister Francis Corey told you that. I can tell you – from firsthand experience, right – that those bombs are a long way off. Ain’t a chance they’d reach us.”
Keith sighed. “And you’re sure?”
Simon O’Callaghan crossed his legs, but a rough jolt from the truck ensured he unfolded them and grabbed on to something. “Oh, yes,” he said dismissively. “Don’tcha worry about them. They’re just fires in the sky – nothin’ to worry about. Not a thing.”