I have returned!
Well I have not posted in quite some time. I have no idea if anyone has come on recently or if anyone actually reads anything I post. So if you want me to continue this or come by and read a comment would be super appreciated... even if it's just hey, I read your post!
So I have been writing again and have a chapter ready for something I am working on. Thus I am posting it here, hoping for feedback. I haven't decided on a title yet, though it may be an extention of Out Of Sync.
Without further a do, I give you the first chapter!
Chapter One
The Epilogue – Silent Streets, Flashes of Green, and A Mysterious Package
All was quiet on Elm’s street, save for the white noise that its people had come to block out. The low drumming of machinery hummed along with the warm raspy voice of the last summer winds. The sun was barely beginning to glint over the lay of the land. All was as it should be. It was an uneventful street in a beautifully dull town, just beyond the edge of a metal empire.
On the corner was an ancient red brick house where a tired old man kept the discarded oddities of past eras, hoping that one day they might be of value. He did not mind the idea that none of his hoarded ‘treasures’ may ever bring in any sort of profit. If anything he’d much rather have them to entertain his imagination in the time he had left, and keep him from turning to the ‘advancements’ of his own time.
He’d been up late the past night working on a piece of clockwork, fascinated by the functionality of the gears that also in themselves were pieces of art. It was no wonder to him that not long ago steam punk and the likes had been so popular… Now of course, they had gotten so close to the science fiction of the past that people had forgotten about such things. It had been that same thought that he’d last had before he had nodded off and the gear slipped out of his hand.
Outside the window the breeze picked up into a ferocious gust and then in an instant dissipated in a flash of green light. A tall wispy figured girl stood where the flash had been centered, eyes tightly closed and breathe held, her face in an expression that was excited but at the same time deathly scared. With a hesitant and hooked sigh she slowly opened her eyes and reached for the door handle. It opened of its own accord.
At the work table the man woke with a start, and looked up as the automatic door swung open. His pulse quickened as he tried to recall… Oh yes, he was supposed to be looking at something for one of the Jones’ that morning. His eyes scanned the table and then went back to look at the clock. What was this?! It wasn’t even five in the morning.
“Your early you know. It isn’t even a proper hour to consider existing, much less living.” He let off a slight chuckle, a little more than disconcerted that he had yet to get a response.
With an ‘oomph’ and a bit of effort he lifted himself from his desk chair and went to investigate for himself. If those damn birds had set off the door again…
“Yes I figured it would be early, but then on time would be too late in the scheme of things.”
The plump man stumbled and then stopped in his tracks. Even being the recluse he was, he still had managed to make the acquaintance of everyone in the tiny settlement. This voice did not belong to any of the Jones’ and neither was it one that he had ever heard before. But people did not simply show up on Elm’s street, people had a place these days and there wasn’t much that could change that.
“I have something for you to care for, and a message. Well I don’t have all of the thing I need you to care for, but the rest of it will make its way here soon enough. Please don’t be shy; I’ve come ever so long.” The voice was distinctly feminine with the way it seemed to almost laugh, but had deeper undertones that turned it from a sickly sweet sound to a richly smooth one.
The woman’s footsteps drew closer and with a breath he stepped around the corner, determined to greet her rather than have her search him out.
“Oh, there you are, Arthur Dowlen. I was beginning to think I had ended up outside the wrong shop, which would have been most embarrassing.”
“How do you know my name?” confusion was plastered on his face and echoed in his voice.
“Arthur Dowlen, the real question should be ‘why am I here’. Anyone could come here having learned your name. They could have any number of reasons, whether they be wanting a joke or trying to impress you. But I am the only one who brings something to your care. Rarely does anyone come here to buy Mr. Dowlen, and never has anyone had anything to sell. I freely offer. So the question is ‘what am I hiding inside my jacket?’”
Without waiting for him to ask the right questions or even give a response to her eerie remarks she unbuttoned the heavy coat and took out a thick stack of papers tied off with some thin twine. Taking a few brisk steps towards the closest table she pulled out a pocket knife and slit the twine, letting the documents slide apart and onto the wooden surface.
There were all sorts of shapes and sizes, from notecards, to legal size sheets to prescription stationary. Some were crisp and others crumpled, and from the dye they were colored with to the array of stains they were their own filthy sort of rainbow. The only thing that linked them all was the scratchy handwritten notes that filled every open space, and each one with its own number, rewritten in every corner.
Arthur let out a gasp at the sight. It was rare to see anything handwritten nowadays but even if it was common it would still shock him to see all this. So much effort had gone into these carefully guarded sheets, and he could see where tears had fallen and dried into the paper. It was a hard labor and certainly a hard story, all belonging to a girl who looked to young and innocent to have ever truly hurt. How deceiving looks are.
“What is all this?” he said gruffly, gesturing wildly with a finger at the menagerie of ink and parchment.
“A mere trifle, a brief glimpse of a story and a mere caress compared to the agonizing full truth and pain. I need you to keep it safe for me, it will mean nothing if it does not survive.” Her eyes were sorrowful but resolute, and a shiver went down her spine.
“What must I do?” He answered without hesitation; there was no way he would think to deny her.
For a moment she stood silent, as if debating whether or not it was safe to go through with her plan.
“Within a year one similar to myself will appear as I have but with a very different circumstance. He will be injured and close to death, I beg that you don’t let him die.” He could see her fighting back sobs and trying to seem withdrawn by keeping her voice cold. She couldn’t stop it from hitching up at the end though.
She looked down for a moment then forced herself to lift her head back up, looking to face him and refusing to hide the tears. After a quick breath she continued.
“I need you to read these papers before he comes so you might understand, but tell no one of them or their contents. There are lives that depend on the safety of the package that you will pass on, you must understand that.
“Once you have ensured his stability you will allow him to read the papers, and then you will need to supply him paper and ink so that he may write a letter that will be enclosed with the papers I am now entrusting you with. Soon after he will leave you, but before he does he will give to you a relic of years passed, a silver pendant and chain with a celtic knot.
“These three things - these papers, his papers, and the necklace- must then be wrapped in a parcel paper and marked with the same celtic knot as the pendant,” to emphasize her meaning she pulled back out her pocket knife and etched the figure into the table top; a circle in four quarters with a full circle woven through it. “And is to also state that it is not to be open until 2456, which will be sufficient enough for it to reach the intended recipient. Will you continue to accept this task?”
“It would be my honor child.” He reached to help scoop up the papers and she caught his outstretched hand and dropped a tiny clockwork blue jay into his fingers that she had kept hidden.
“You asked for no compensation, take this as a gift, she had no place in my pocket hidden away from human eyes. Don’t try and argue with me about it, I’ll just leave it on the table if I have to, and I’d much prefer you freely accept her.”
His fingers delicately surrounded the delicate metal bird and he brought it up close to examine.
“Thank you, you’ve given me something to occupy some time. And I’m always happy to help a lady.”
“It’s you who ought to be thanked, Arthur Dowlen. It is you who is going to be instrumental in saving my life.”
She left him with that last sweetly spoken sentence. Her eyes flew shut and as if in a faint she started to collapse, but in a flash of green she was gone before she could hit the ground.
