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August 28, 2020 — Evening
Bjorn might as well have been sponsored by Nespresso. Similar to a coffee machine, his brain whirred to life long before the rest of him complied, consciousness a staccato overture.
Sound was the first thing that permeated the vacuum, gave context to his renewed existence. That distant pitter patter was the rain trickling down against the reinforced aluminium shutters. The layered buzzing was the number of electronics plugged in.
Touch was the second sense to activate. The intangible buzz of wireless signals catching on the folds of his mind. The heft of his body as he began rediscovering its existential boundaries. The dryness in his mouth, awareness of which gave rise to taste - thirst.
Taste precipitated scent, triggering a deep breath, then another.
Bjorn awoke in the same position he’d fallen asleep in and, with his eyes still closed, proceeded to stretch out his limbs. From the curl of his toes to the accentuated arch of his spine, every joint seemed to crack, giving way to flexibility and a fluidity of movement he’d not felt in the early hours preceding sleep.
Acknowledging the physicality of the recent past meant recalling the morning in its entirety, and as such the reality Bjorn was waking up to this evening crystallised at the forefront of his thoughts.
“****.”
Eyes still closed, he sunk back into the couch and into himself, reaching across the ether towards a singular point - a much needed anchor.
Gotta talk.
Bjorn suggested they meet in twenty minutes, which was long enough for him to restore his blood levels, get dressed and make it to their rendezvous point. Her offer to summon him meant he’d need far less than that.
Ready whenever you are,
The telepath pocketed the farmhouse tome (still damp from earlier exploits in the waterlogged cathedral), and on second thought snatched the enchanted leather jacket off his crafting stool just as his surroundings began to blur.
Sound was the first thing that permeated the vacuum, gave context to his renewed existence. That distant pitter patter was the rain trickling down against the reinforced aluminium shutters. The layered buzzing was the number of electronics plugged in.
Touch was the second sense to activate. The intangible buzz of wireless signals catching on the folds of his mind. The heft of his body as he began rediscovering its existential boundaries. The dryness in his mouth, awareness of which gave rise to taste - thirst.
Taste precipitated scent, triggering a deep breath, then another.
Bjorn awoke in the same position he’d fallen asleep in and, with his eyes still closed, proceeded to stretch out his limbs. From the curl of his toes to the accentuated arch of his spine, every joint seemed to crack, giving way to flexibility and a fluidity of movement he’d not felt in the early hours preceding sleep.
Acknowledging the physicality of the recent past meant recalling the morning in its entirety, and as such the reality Bjorn was waking up to this evening crystallised at the forefront of his thoughts.
“****.”
Eyes still closed, he sunk back into the couch and into himself, reaching across the ether towards a singular point - a much needed anchor.
Gotta talk.
Bjorn suggested they meet in twenty minutes, which was long enough for him to restore his blood levels, get dressed and make it to their rendezvous point. Her offer to summon him meant he’d need far less than that.
Ready whenever you are,
The telepath pocketed the farmhouse tome (still damp from earlier exploits in the waterlogged cathedral), and on second thought snatched the enchanted leather jacket off his crafting stool just as his surroundings began to blur.