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Follow up chapter to the one in 'worth continuing'. Constructive feedback welcome.
Chapter 2
Aero stood in front of the hut door, bracing himself for what was behind it. Well he knew what was behind it, rats, but what kind of rats? This place was so weird that they could be ten foot tall, walking on two legs and armed with knives for all he knew. For some reason, the obvious reason, he found it hard to take that step forward. In fact, he didn’t take it.
Knowing he was bottling out he took a step back and looked over to his old friend the farmer, hoping that something that might have changed, anything that would mean he didn’t have to do this. No change; back bent, hack, hack, achieving nothing. Since there was nothing good from that source, Aero scanned the area again. There was the other hut but that didn’t look too promising. That left only one option, back to where he woke up. Grim as it was that looked a little like home right now.
As he entered the hut, he remembered something. The book. He should have checked the book. Whether or not it told him anything at least it was better than rat killing. Yes, definitely a good time for some reading.
The chicken was still there, pecking mindlessly, and so was the book. Picking it up Aero examined the outside. The cover was leather, as was the leather cord that kept the book shut. It was heavy and well made, unlike everything else around here. In fact, the more he thought about it the less it seemed to fit in with anything else. It was as out of place he was, he thought.
That idea, that the book was more his than of this place gave him a strange sensation as he opened it. Actually the book in fact seemed to open itself, falling at the middle pages as if the spine was broken, the way a page does when it’s been read repeatedly.
The book had quickly felt so important to him that it was a great disappointment to find that the pages were blank. There were designs and meaningless drawings framing the pages but no writing. He flicked through more pages but they were the same – empty.
Aero surprised himself at how irritated he was at those blank pages. Another stupid joke at his expense. More than anything, he had wanted something to make sense and the book had promised that for a moment. Annoyed, he threw the book to the floor, causing the chicken to flutter momentarily. Who was doing this to him? Was he asleep and dreaming this or something. Aero could have screamed in frustration.
But he didn’t. On hitting the ground the book had fallen open but not in the middle, where it had in his hand. Instead, the heavy front page that must have been gummed to the cover fell open. At the back of his brain, Aero guessed he was making excuses for something that made no sense. The book shouldn’t have opened like that. It looked wrong.
That thought never made it to the front of his mind because these pages weren’t blank. They had his picture on them, not a photograph, a drawing. Around him were a number of boxes, all but one empty. That one had a club in it, the club that was still in Aero’s hand.
The image, despite being primitive, made him sick to the stomach. IT had reduced him to a paper doll and that was exactly what he felt like. He knelt by the book, examining the page for more clues, afraid that he might find them. There were only a few randomly scattered phrases. One of them was his name; Aero, then there were other words which all had blank spaces by them; level, profession, speciality, spells, gold. It made, unsurprisingly, no sense.
His eye was drawn back to two things. The first was the drawing of him. Just the look of it, standing in his stupid sack, was enough to make him want to close the book. The other thing was his name. His name. Why did it not feel like his name? He was Aero, he knew that. It just didn’t feel like his name. What was his second name then? He went to say it; ‘Aero…’ but it wouldn’t come. He was sure he knew it but somehow…
In a lurching rush, a whole host of questions came to him. What else couldn’t he remember? Not just his name but also his family, his home, anything before he woke up only half an hour ago? No family? Of course he had family. Everyone had but why couldn’t he picture them? The only person he could bring to mind that he had ever met was that farmer. He must have met other people, been other places, done things. He knew he had but he couldn’t think of any. It was like there was a thick curtain around him that kept everything hidden. All he could think of was what was near him. That was crazy. Was he crazy?
No. All of this was wrong. There was more to him than the moment and place he was in. He knew how to read, for example, he could speak, he knew enough to dress himself, he knew what rats were and chickens and barrels and a farm and huts and…His mind trailed off. He might know what all of those were and he must have learned them somewhere but they were all things he had just seen or done. Why couldn’t he think of anything or anyone else? Those things must be out there somewhere or else he wouldn’t know to think of them. And it wasn’t just a case of forgetting them; it was more a case of having something on the tip of your tongue, something that you knew but that wouldn’t come to you the moment you needed it. He had the sense that he was remembering the shape of other things, their barest outlines but couldn’t fill in the details.
Finally he stood, stuffing the book between his leg and those scratchy pants. He picked up the club and walked from the hut. He was angry. Of all the feelings that had come to him from that book, that was the strongest. The fear and frustration had rolled into a ball and it was an angry ball.
Aero strode purposefully but deliberately not thinking, to the farmer. He raised the club as he approached. There was no doubt about his intentions but just in case, he shouted; ‘Hey. Farmer.’ Which was ignored. Instead of stepping on to the spot where he knew that the farmer would stand and offer him a job again, Aero swung the club, not too hard but enough to get attention.
It never connected; instead it was swatted away by a movement he never even saw. The farmer barely broke from his hacking but the club was gone from Aero’s hand, thrown back almost to where he had first pick it up. When Aero, nursing his stinging hand, finished looking toward the club, he saw the farmer was standing, watching him impassively. Aero took a step back. For the first time he noticed how big the man was. Whatever flurry of anger there had been was small enough to know not to try that again.
Keeping out of arms reach of that dull blade, Aero kept his voice as calm and firm as he could. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble,’ he said, ‘I just need to know some things.’ Even as he said it he knew it was pointless. There was no reaction. The man was neither angry nor interested.
Sagging, Aero trudged back to the club. It wasn’t just near where he had first picked it up. It was exactly where he had picked it up. There were rules here. He was beginning to see that. And he had little choice but to obey them. He walked to the hut door. Time to face the rats.
Chapter 2
Aero stood in front of the hut door, bracing himself for what was behind it. Well he knew what was behind it, rats, but what kind of rats? This place was so weird that they could be ten foot tall, walking on two legs and armed with knives for all he knew. For some reason, the obvious reason, he found it hard to take that step forward. In fact, he didn’t take it.
Knowing he was bottling out he took a step back and looked over to his old friend the farmer, hoping that something that might have changed, anything that would mean he didn’t have to do this. No change; back bent, hack, hack, achieving nothing. Since there was nothing good from that source, Aero scanned the area again. There was the other hut but that didn’t look too promising. That left only one option, back to where he woke up. Grim as it was that looked a little like home right now.
As he entered the hut, he remembered something. The book. He should have checked the book. Whether or not it told him anything at least it was better than rat killing. Yes, definitely a good time for some reading.
The chicken was still there, pecking mindlessly, and so was the book. Picking it up Aero examined the outside. The cover was leather, as was the leather cord that kept the book shut. It was heavy and well made, unlike everything else around here. In fact, the more he thought about it the less it seemed to fit in with anything else. It was as out of place he was, he thought.
That idea, that the book was more his than of this place gave him a strange sensation as he opened it. Actually the book in fact seemed to open itself, falling at the middle pages as if the spine was broken, the way a page does when it’s been read repeatedly.
The book had quickly felt so important to him that it was a great disappointment to find that the pages were blank. There were designs and meaningless drawings framing the pages but no writing. He flicked through more pages but they were the same – empty.
Aero surprised himself at how irritated he was at those blank pages. Another stupid joke at his expense. More than anything, he had wanted something to make sense and the book had promised that for a moment. Annoyed, he threw the book to the floor, causing the chicken to flutter momentarily. Who was doing this to him? Was he asleep and dreaming this or something. Aero could have screamed in frustration.
But he didn’t. On hitting the ground the book had fallen open but not in the middle, where it had in his hand. Instead, the heavy front page that must have been gummed to the cover fell open. At the back of his brain, Aero guessed he was making excuses for something that made no sense. The book shouldn’t have opened like that. It looked wrong.
That thought never made it to the front of his mind because these pages weren’t blank. They had his picture on them, not a photograph, a drawing. Around him were a number of boxes, all but one empty. That one had a club in it, the club that was still in Aero’s hand.
The image, despite being primitive, made him sick to the stomach. IT had reduced him to a paper doll and that was exactly what he felt like. He knelt by the book, examining the page for more clues, afraid that he might find them. There were only a few randomly scattered phrases. One of them was his name; Aero, then there were other words which all had blank spaces by them; level, profession, speciality, spells, gold. It made, unsurprisingly, no sense.
His eye was drawn back to two things. The first was the drawing of him. Just the look of it, standing in his stupid sack, was enough to make him want to close the book. The other thing was his name. His name. Why did it not feel like his name? He was Aero, he knew that. It just didn’t feel like his name. What was his second name then? He went to say it; ‘Aero…’ but it wouldn’t come. He was sure he knew it but somehow…
In a lurching rush, a whole host of questions came to him. What else couldn’t he remember? Not just his name but also his family, his home, anything before he woke up only half an hour ago? No family? Of course he had family. Everyone had but why couldn’t he picture them? The only person he could bring to mind that he had ever met was that farmer. He must have met other people, been other places, done things. He knew he had but he couldn’t think of any. It was like there was a thick curtain around him that kept everything hidden. All he could think of was what was near him. That was crazy. Was he crazy?
No. All of this was wrong. There was more to him than the moment and place he was in. He knew how to read, for example, he could speak, he knew enough to dress himself, he knew what rats were and chickens and barrels and a farm and huts and…His mind trailed off. He might know what all of those were and he must have learned them somewhere but they were all things he had just seen or done. Why couldn’t he think of anything or anyone else? Those things must be out there somewhere or else he wouldn’t know to think of them. And it wasn’t just a case of forgetting them; it was more a case of having something on the tip of your tongue, something that you knew but that wouldn’t come to you the moment you needed it. He had the sense that he was remembering the shape of other things, their barest outlines but couldn’t fill in the details.
Finally he stood, stuffing the book between his leg and those scratchy pants. He picked up the club and walked from the hut. He was angry. Of all the feelings that had come to him from that book, that was the strongest. The fear and frustration had rolled into a ball and it was an angry ball.
Aero strode purposefully but deliberately not thinking, to the farmer. He raised the club as he approached. There was no doubt about his intentions but just in case, he shouted; ‘Hey. Farmer.’ Which was ignored. Instead of stepping on to the spot where he knew that the farmer would stand and offer him a job again, Aero swung the club, not too hard but enough to get attention.
It never connected; instead it was swatted away by a movement he never even saw. The farmer barely broke from his hacking but the club was gone from Aero’s hand, thrown back almost to where he had first pick it up. When Aero, nursing his stinging hand, finished looking toward the club, he saw the farmer was standing, watching him impassively. Aero took a step back. For the first time he noticed how big the man was. Whatever flurry of anger there had been was small enough to know not to try that again.
Keeping out of arms reach of that dull blade, Aero kept his voice as calm and firm as he could. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble,’ he said, ‘I just need to know some things.’ Even as he said it he knew it was pointless. There was no reaction. The man was neither angry nor interested.
Sagging, Aero trudged back to the club. It wasn’t just near where he had first picked it up. It was exactly where he had picked it up. There were rules here. He was beginning to see that. And he had little choice but to obey them. He walked to the hut door. Time to face the rats.
Follow up chapter to the one in 'worth continuing'. Constructive feedback welcome.
Chapter 2
Aero stood in front of the hut door, bracing himself for what was behind it. Well he knew what was behind it, rats, but what kind of rats? This place was so weird that they could be ten foot tall, walking on two legs and armed with knives for all he knew. For some reason, the obvious reason, he found it hard to take that step forward. In fact, he didn’t take it.
Knowing he was bottling out he took a step back and looked over to his old friend the farmer, hoping that something that might have changed, anything that would mean he didn’t have to do this. No change; back bent, hack, hack, achieving nothing. Since there was nothing good from that source, Aero scanned the area again. There was the other hut but that didn’t look too promising. That left only one option, back to where he woke up. Grim as it was that looked a little like home right now.
As he entered the hut, he remembered something. The book. He should have checked the book. Whether or not it told him anything at least it was better than rat killing. Yes, definitely a good time for some reading.
The chicken was still there, pecking mindlessly, and so was the book. Picking it up Aero examined the outside. The cover was leather, as was the leather cord that kept the book shut. It was heavy and well made, unlike everything else around here. In fact, the more he thought about it the less it seemed to fit in with anything else. It was as out of place he was, he thought.
That idea, that the book was more his than of this place gave him a strange sensation as he opened it. Actually the book in fact seemed to open itself, falling at the middle pages as if the spine was broken, the way a page does when it’s been read repeatedly.
The book had quickly felt so important to him that it was a great disappointment to find that the pages were blank. There were designs and meaningless drawings framing the pages but no writing. He flicked through more pages but they were the same – empty.
Aero surprised himself at how irritated he was at those blank pages. Another stupid joke at his expense. More than anything, he had wanted something to make sense and the book had promised that for a moment. Annoyed, he threw the book to the floor, causing the chicken to flutter momentarily. Who was doing this to him? Was he asleep and dreaming this or something. Aero could have screamed in frustration.
But he didn’t. On hitting the ground the book had fallen open but not in the middle, where it had in his hand. Instead, the heavy front page that must have been gummed to the cover fell open. At the back of his brain, Aero guessed he was making excuses for something that made no sense. The book shouldn’t have opened like that. It looked wrong.
That thought never made it to the front of his mind because these pages weren’t blank. They had his picture on them, not a photograph, a drawing. Around him were a number of boxes, all but one empty. That one had a club in it, the club that was still in Aero’s hand.
The image, despite being primitive, made him sick to the stomach. IT had reduced him to a paper doll and that was exactly what he felt like. He knelt by the book, examining the page for more clues, afraid that he might find them. There were only a few randomly scattered phrases. One of them was his name; Aero, then there were other words which all had blank spaces by them; level, profession, speciality, spells, gold. It made, unsurprisingly, no sense.
His eye was drawn back to two things. The first was the drawing of him. Just the look of it, standing in his stupid sack, was enough to make him want to close the book. The other thing was his name. His name. Why did it not feel like his name? He was Aero, he knew that. It just didn’t feel like his name. What was his second name then? He went to say it; ‘Aero…’ but it wouldn’t come. He was sure he knew it but somehow…
In a lurching rush, a whole host of questions came to him. What else couldn’t he remember? Not just his name but also his family, his home, anything before he woke up only half an hour ago? No family? Of course he had family. Everyone had but why couldn’t he picture them? The only person he could bring to mind that he had ever met was that farmer. He must have met other people, been other places, done things. He knew he had but he couldn’t think of any. It was like there was a thick curtain around him that kept everything hidden. All he could think of was what was near him. That was crazy. Was he crazy?
No. All of this was wrong. There was more to him than the moment and place he was in. He knew how to read, for example, he could speak, he knew enough to dress himself, he knew what rats were and chickens and barrels and a farm and huts and…His mind trailed off. He might know what all of those were and he must have learned them somewhere but they were all things he had just seen or done. Why couldn’t he think of anything or anyone else? Those things must be out there somewhere or else he wouldn’t know to think of them. And it wasn’t just a case of forgetting them; it was more a case of having something on the tip of your tongue, something that you knew but that wouldn’t come to you the moment you needed it. He had the sense that he was remembering the shape of other things, their barest outlines but couldn’t fill in the details.
Finally he stood, stuffing the book between his leg and those scratchy pants. He picked up the club and walked from the hut. He was angry. Of all the feelings that had come to him from that book, that was the strongest. The fear and frustration had rolled into a ball and it was an angry ball.
Aero strode purposefully but deliberately not thinking, to the farmer. He raised the club as he approached. There was no doubt about his intentions but just in case, he shouted; ‘Hey. Farmer.’ Which was ignored. Instead of stepping on to the spot where he knew that the farmer would stand and offer him a job again, Aero swung the club, not too hard but enough to get attention.
It never connected; instead it was swatted away by a movement he never even saw. The farmer barely broke from his hacking but the club was gone from Aero’s hand, thrown back almost to where he had first pick it up. When Aero, nursing his stinging hand, finished looking toward the club, he saw the farmer was standing, watching him impassively. Aero took a step back. For the first time he noticed how big the man was. Whatever flurry of anger there had been was small enough to know not to try that again.
Keeping out of arms reach of that dull blade, Aero kept his voice as calm and firm as he could. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble,’ he said, ‘I just need to know some things.’ Even as he said it he knew it was pointless. There was no reaction. The man was neither angry nor interested.
Sagging, Aero trudged back to the club. It wasn’t just near where he had first picked it up. It was exactly where he had picked it up. There were rules here. He was beginning to see that. And he had little choice but to obey them. He walked to the hut door. Time to face the rats.
Chapter 2
Aero stood in front of the hut door, bracing himself for what was behind it. Well he knew what was behind it, rats, but what kind of rats? This place was so weird that they could be ten foot tall, walking on two legs and armed with knives for all he knew. For some reason, the obvious reason, he found it hard to take that step forward. In fact, he didn’t take it.
Knowing he was bottling out he took a step back and looked over to his old friend the farmer, hoping that something that might have changed, anything that would mean he didn’t have to do this. No change; back bent, hack, hack, achieving nothing. Since there was nothing good from that source, Aero scanned the area again. There was the other hut but that didn’t look too promising. That left only one option, back to where he woke up. Grim as it was that looked a little like home right now.
As he entered the hut, he remembered something. The book. He should have checked the book. Whether or not it told him anything at least it was better than rat killing. Yes, definitely a good time for some reading.
The chicken was still there, pecking mindlessly, and so was the book. Picking it up Aero examined the outside. The cover was leather, as was the leather cord that kept the book shut. It was heavy and well made, unlike everything else around here. In fact, the more he thought about it the less it seemed to fit in with anything else. It was as out of place he was, he thought.
That idea, that the book was more his than of this place gave him a strange sensation as he opened it. Actually the book in fact seemed to open itself, falling at the middle pages as if the spine was broken, the way a page does when it’s been read repeatedly.
The book had quickly felt so important to him that it was a great disappointment to find that the pages were blank. There were designs and meaningless drawings framing the pages but no writing. He flicked through more pages but they were the same – empty.
Aero surprised himself at how irritated he was at those blank pages. Another stupid joke at his expense. More than anything, he had wanted something to make sense and the book had promised that for a moment. Annoyed, he threw the book to the floor, causing the chicken to flutter momentarily. Who was doing this to him? Was he asleep and dreaming this or something. Aero could have screamed in frustration.
But he didn’t. On hitting the ground the book had fallen open but not in the middle, where it had in his hand. Instead, the heavy front page that must have been gummed to the cover fell open. At the back of his brain, Aero guessed he was making excuses for something that made no sense. The book shouldn’t have opened like that. It looked wrong.
That thought never made it to the front of his mind because these pages weren’t blank. They had his picture on them, not a photograph, a drawing. Around him were a number of boxes, all but one empty. That one had a club in it, the club that was still in Aero’s hand.
The image, despite being primitive, made him sick to the stomach. IT had reduced him to a paper doll and that was exactly what he felt like. He knelt by the book, examining the page for more clues, afraid that he might find them. There were only a few randomly scattered phrases. One of them was his name; Aero, then there were other words which all had blank spaces by them; level, profession, speciality, spells, gold. It made, unsurprisingly, no sense.
His eye was drawn back to two things. The first was the drawing of him. Just the look of it, standing in his stupid sack, was enough to make him want to close the book. The other thing was his name. His name. Why did it not feel like his name? He was Aero, he knew that. It just didn’t feel like his name. What was his second name then? He went to say it; ‘Aero…’ but it wouldn’t come. He was sure he knew it but somehow…
In a lurching rush, a whole host of questions came to him. What else couldn’t he remember? Not just his name but also his family, his home, anything before he woke up only half an hour ago? No family? Of course he had family. Everyone had but why couldn’t he picture them? The only person he could bring to mind that he had ever met was that farmer. He must have met other people, been other places, done things. He knew he had but he couldn’t think of any. It was like there was a thick curtain around him that kept everything hidden. All he could think of was what was near him. That was crazy. Was he crazy?
No. All of this was wrong. There was more to him than the moment and place he was in. He knew how to read, for example, he could speak, he knew enough to dress himself, he knew what rats were and chickens and barrels and a farm and huts and…His mind trailed off. He might know what all of those were and he must have learned them somewhere but they were all things he had just seen or done. Why couldn’t he think of anything or anyone else? Those things must be out there somewhere or else he wouldn’t know to think of them. And it wasn’t just a case of forgetting them; it was more a case of having something on the tip of your tongue, something that you knew but that wouldn’t come to you the moment you needed it. He had the sense that he was remembering the shape of other things, their barest outlines but couldn’t fill in the details.
Finally he stood, stuffing the book between his leg and those scratchy pants. He picked up the club and walked from the hut. He was angry. Of all the feelings that had come to him from that book, that was the strongest. The fear and frustration had rolled into a ball and it was an angry ball.
Aero strode purposefully but deliberately not thinking, to the farmer. He raised the club as he approached. There was no doubt about his intentions but just in case, he shouted; ‘Hey. Farmer.’ Which was ignored. Instead of stepping on to the spot where he knew that the farmer would stand and offer him a job again, Aero swung the club, not too hard but enough to get attention.
It never connected; instead it was swatted away by a movement he never even saw. The farmer barely broke from his hacking but the club was gone from Aero’s hand, thrown back almost to where he had first pick it up. When Aero, nursing his stinging hand, finished looking toward the club, he saw the farmer was standing, watching him impassively. Aero took a step back. For the first time he noticed how big the man was. Whatever flurry of anger there had been was small enough to know not to try that again.
Keeping out of arms reach of that dull blade, Aero kept his voice as calm and firm as he could. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble,’ he said, ‘I just need to know some things.’ Even as he said it he knew it was pointless. There was no reaction. The man was neither angry nor interested.
Sagging, Aero trudged back to the club. It wasn’t just near where he had first picked it up. It was exactly where he had picked it up. There were rules here. He was beginning to see that. And he had little choice but to obey them. He walked to the hut door. Time to face the rats.
Another chapter please, but do more spaces between the paragraphs please :D