The elder thought about time travel.
These things happened, when one had lived as long as he had. When, aside from the council of his family, Alaric learned first through books and then through movies. The people in the little box had at first terrified him, but then he grew fascinated. And after the fascination, there was addiction. At least, by now, he had a good grip on the English language. He didn’t quite know how to use the remote control and most movies and shows were in English. At least the news was in French, sometimes. French he could understand.
In the midst of his reading, there’d been philosophy. There’d been science. He revisited the classics and he escaped into the past; he escaped to the time he had first read those classics. He, in part, travelled in time. When a person had outlived their natural life and could remember hundreds of years into the past, couldn’t it be called time travel?
If he could tell his wife and his children where he was now, what he was looking at, would they believe him?
Below, the city went about its business. Alaric was not on his usual hill – he had found his way to the top of a building, one that was still in the middle of construction. Fears were made to be conquered, and the city was a fear that Alaric was slowly taking control of. He’d made it into Swansdale, and instead of going right this time, he’d gone left. The streets were more haphazard the more he walked. The further in, the more that incessant buzz got into his brain. And so he had climbed. At the first opportunity, he had climbed up and out of the din.
Up here, the wind was like a knife.
And he thought about time travel.
He wondered what the future would hold.
For those he now cared for, the Estate he still held, he tried his best not to think too much about the past. And yet, it was habit. The preoccupation helped to ground him. It would not do, to sever one’s ties from the past and float, float away. His obligations were to the present, but there would be no present without the past.
How long did he sit there? Hours could pass, and Alaric did not notice them. Time was a constant friend to the living. It was always there, dogging their every step. Alaric had long ago stepped out of it, now content to watch it pass, a voyeur through a window frozen in place. They would start to wonder where he had got to. Or they would be sleeping, and they would not know. Either way, it was time to go home.
Alaric climbed down from his perch and started in the direction of home, though he went the long way around. Forcing himself up against his fears, he ventured further into the city; he would go around the block, before finding the road that led South, back to the von der Marck Estate. He did not know that his path would take him past several bars and clubs; The Handle Bar, Nightmode, Lancasters, Serpentine… it was a hub of activity. Not just human activity, but electronic activity. It thrummed and hummed, an eerie soundtrack to the modern world. Every person he passed had a device in their hand, wires connected to their ears, loud conversations shouted through mouthpieces that could not be seen.
It started like a mild headache; it had been there since the start of the evening. Now, here, amongst all this noise – it hit him like a sledgehammer. The synapses of his brain fired, switched, opened – a power he already had, now expanding to envelope the modern existence. All that outside noise became inside noise. All those texts, those emails, phone calls, and radio waves – they all bombarded the elder’s mind, all at once, all in a hurry. All wanting to show him their worth, all at the same time. He was blinded by the brightness of them.
A low rumbled shout scrambled past Alaric’s lips. He didn’t even realise the sound was coming from his own lungs. Long fingers reached up, up to massage at strained temples, his shoulder finding a wall to heavily fall against. Eyes that were neither blue nor green blinked, trying to shutter out the noise but to no avail. It was electronic noise. It was screaming and squealing, it was like a thousand bees in his skull seeking refuge.
“Nein, aufhören. Zu stoppen. Sei still!” he glared at the passer-by and their gadgets. It was their fault. They needed to stop.
These things happened, when one had lived as long as he had. When, aside from the council of his family, Alaric learned first through books and then through movies. The people in the little box had at first terrified him, but then he grew fascinated. And after the fascination, there was addiction. At least, by now, he had a good grip on the English language. He didn’t quite know how to use the remote control and most movies and shows were in English. At least the news was in French, sometimes. French he could understand.
In the midst of his reading, there’d been philosophy. There’d been science. He revisited the classics and he escaped into the past; he escaped to the time he had first read those classics. He, in part, travelled in time. When a person had outlived their natural life and could remember hundreds of years into the past, couldn’t it be called time travel?
If he could tell his wife and his children where he was now, what he was looking at, would they believe him?
Below, the city went about its business. Alaric was not on his usual hill – he had found his way to the top of a building, one that was still in the middle of construction. Fears were made to be conquered, and the city was a fear that Alaric was slowly taking control of. He’d made it into Swansdale, and instead of going right this time, he’d gone left. The streets were more haphazard the more he walked. The further in, the more that incessant buzz got into his brain. And so he had climbed. At the first opportunity, he had climbed up and out of the din.
Up here, the wind was like a knife.
And he thought about time travel.
He wondered what the future would hold.
For those he now cared for, the Estate he still held, he tried his best not to think too much about the past. And yet, it was habit. The preoccupation helped to ground him. It would not do, to sever one’s ties from the past and float, float away. His obligations were to the present, but there would be no present without the past.
How long did he sit there? Hours could pass, and Alaric did not notice them. Time was a constant friend to the living. It was always there, dogging their every step. Alaric had long ago stepped out of it, now content to watch it pass, a voyeur through a window frozen in place. They would start to wonder where he had got to. Or they would be sleeping, and they would not know. Either way, it was time to go home.
Alaric climbed down from his perch and started in the direction of home, though he went the long way around. Forcing himself up against his fears, he ventured further into the city; he would go around the block, before finding the road that led South, back to the von der Marck Estate. He did not know that his path would take him past several bars and clubs; The Handle Bar, Nightmode, Lancasters, Serpentine… it was a hub of activity. Not just human activity, but electronic activity. It thrummed and hummed, an eerie soundtrack to the modern world. Every person he passed had a device in their hand, wires connected to their ears, loud conversations shouted through mouthpieces that could not be seen.
It started like a mild headache; it had been there since the start of the evening. Now, here, amongst all this noise – it hit him like a sledgehammer. The synapses of his brain fired, switched, opened – a power he already had, now expanding to envelope the modern existence. All that outside noise became inside noise. All those texts, those emails, phone calls, and radio waves – they all bombarded the elder’s mind, all at once, all in a hurry. All wanting to show him their worth, all at the same time. He was blinded by the brightness of them.
A low rumbled shout scrambled past Alaric’s lips. He didn’t even realise the sound was coming from his own lungs. Long fingers reached up, up to massage at strained temples, his shoulder finding a wall to heavily fall against. Eyes that were neither blue nor green blinked, trying to shutter out the noise but to no avail. It was electronic noise. It was screaming and squealing, it was like a thousand bees in his skull seeking refuge.
“Nein, aufhören. Zu stoppen. Sei still!” he glared at the passer-by and their gadgets. It was their fault. They needed to stop.
