Towelling myself dry on the dusty bank of the lagoon, the sense of tranquility I had felt in the water began to ebb away. As I stood there, the air seemed to shift around me, losing the purity that had enveloped me so completely moments before. Instinctively, I sniffed the air, searching for a clue to this sudden change. Something was different, and it wasn't just the transition from water to land.
I turned my gaze towards what I believed was the direction of our camp, squinting against the light. My heart skipped a beat. Am I seeing things? A small trail of grey smoke was snaking its way into the sky, a stark contrast against the clarity of the atmosphere I had become accustomed to. Panic surged within me, icy and sharp.
"The tent!" The words ripped from my throat before I could think. It has to be the tent on fire. There's nothing else here! The thought propelled me into action with a sense of urgency I hadn't known I possessed.
Wrapping the towel tightly around my waist, I grabbed my clothes in a hasty bundle and took off towards the camp, my feet barely touching the ground. As I ran, the dampness of my skin mingled with the fine dust of the Clivilius ground, creating a gritty layer on my legs. Each stride sent a cloud of dust swirling into the air, marking my frantic passage.
"Jamie! Fire!" I shouted, my voice strained with fear and exertion, as I neared the final hill that separated me from the camp. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. "Fire!" I called out again, my voice breaking as I crested the peak of the small incline, the imagined sight of our camp in flames already burning behind my eyes.
"For fuck's sake! I know there's a fire!" Jamie's response cut through the air, a mix of irritation and something else I couldn't quite place.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my frantic momentum halted by the unexpected reply. My eyes widened, the adrenaline that had fuelled my sprint suddenly draining away as they settled on the scene before me. The campfire, crackling merrily, was the source of the smoke.
"I got the campfire started," Jamie said, his tone now softer, perhaps sensing my embarrassment.
"Oh," was all I could manage in reply, the heat of my flushed face competing with the warmth of the fire. The embarrassment was a tangible force, washing over me in waves of red. "That's great." My words felt inadequate, a poor cover for the mix of relief and foolishness that tangled inside me.
The small campfire before us crackled and popped, as Jamie tossed another piece of kindling into its heart. "All I could see from over the hill was smoke. I was worried that it may have been the tent. We've got nothing else here," I found myself explaining, my voice tinged with the residual adrenaline from my mistaken panic.
"Obviously," Jamie's reply came with a sneer.
Shrugging off Jamie's remark, I remained standing there, awkwardly holding my clothes under one arm, my mind racing for a solution to dry off without giving Jamie more ammunition for his evidently sharp tongue. Despite the tension, I couldn't help but take a moment to observe him. Luke had chosen well, at least in terms of aesthetics. Jamie, standing a little under six feet, presented a compact yet impressively muscular figure. And on manscaping, my mind added, an involuntary observation as my gaze lingered momentarily on Jamie's well-defined abs, revealed as he casually pulled his t-shirt over his head in a display of nonchalance and confidence.
"Don't let the fire go out," Jamie's voice cut through my thoughts, a clear instruction that brought me back to the present moment and the practicalities of our situation. His directive, simple yet loaded with the unspoken responsibilities that had fallen on our shoulders, anchored me back to the immediate needs of our camp.
Shaking my head in an attempt to dispel the lingering fog of embarrassment and redirect my focus, I voiced the concern that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind. "Are you sure having a fire is the best thing?" The words tumbled out, laced with a hesitance that mirrored my internal conflict. "What if there is something out there and our fire... attracts it?"
Jamie paused, his movements halting midway through the act of unzipping his jeans, a gesture that under any other circumstances might have gone unnoticed. He looked up at me, his expression shifting from one of casual indifference to serious contemplation. "You really think there might be something else out there?"
"Maybe," I shrugged, my response a non-committal veil over the torrent of possibilities that raced through my mind. The truth was, I had no idea what might lurk beyond the flickering reach of our campfire, but the unknown was a fertile ground for the seeds of fear and speculation to take root.
"I'm sure it'll be fine for now. We'll make sure we put it out shortly after nightfall," Jamie offered, a reassurance that seemed as much for his own benefit as for mine. His words, meant to comfort, did little to dispel the cloak of apprehension that had settled around my shoulders. Yet, the practicality of his plan, the promise of caution, was enough to coax a reluctant agreement from me.
Without further ado, Jamie wasted no time in shedding the remainder of his clothes, an act of defiance against the constraints of our situation, and threw them against the tent with a carelessness that spoke of his confidence. Then, with a burst of energy, he sprinted towards the bank of the river, a beacon of youthful vigour and impulsiveness.
"Hey! Wait!" The words escaped me in a rush, a futile attempt to bridge the distance between caution and recklessness. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, the last vestiges of my concern momentarily suspended by the spectacle unfolding before me.
My voice had impeccable timing, catching Jamie moments before he launched himself into the air, poised to embrace the river's cool embrace with the abandon of a child. But as Jamie pulled back, attempting to heed my call, his foot betrayed him, slipping in the soft, treacherous dust that lined the bank.
I couldn't resist—the laughter that had been bubbling just beneath the surface burst forth, a release of tension and absurdity that the situation warranted. As Jamie slid to an ungraceful stop, landing on his rear in a cloud of dust, the laughter overtook me.
"I'm so sorry," I managed to gasp out, my voice hitched between uncontrollable fits of laughter. It was one of those moments where the absurdity of the situation rendered me helpless to the mirth that bubbled up within me.
"What?" Jamie's voice floated back, tinged with confusion and a hint of amusement. He remained grounded, making no immediate effort to rise, as if conceding to the ridiculousness of his predicament.
Just breathe, breathe, I mentally coached myself, attempting to quell the laughter that shook my frame. It was a futile effort; the humour of the moment was too potent, too infectious.
Finally, Jamie pushed himself up, his movements hesitant as he turned on the spot, seemingly disoriented from his unexpected descent. I caught my breath, my laughter momentarily forgotten as I took in his appearance. What the heck is Jamie wearing? The question screamed in my head, curiosity piqued by the incongruous choice of attire for our wilderness setting. Yet, deciding discretion was the better part of valour, I opted not to voice my wonder aloud.
Instead, I shifted the topic, pointing in the direction from which I had come. "There's a good little lagoon just over the way, near the end of the river's bend," I offered, hoping to provide Jamie with a chance for a more graceful, and perhaps more private, interaction with the water.
"Thanks," Jamie replied, his voice carrying a note of gratitude, albeit slightly strained as he brushed off the fine layer of dust that had claimed his legs as a casualty of his fall. He then moved past me, a determined stride in his step, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.
I couldn't resist another light chuckle, my gaze inadvertently following his retreat, particularly the dust-covered aftermath of his misadventure. There's no way that dust didn't get into that skimpy thong, I mused silently, the amusement a welcome distraction from the tension of our recent days. It was a small, private amusement that lightened the weight on my shoulders, if only for a moment.
"Ahh, shit!" The exclamation tore from me as I suddenly became aware of the heat creeping up the towel wrapped around my body. In my distraction, I had edged too close to the campfire, the flames eagerly latching onto the corner of my towel. Panic replaced amusement as I hastily discarded the towel, now alight, onto the ground, frantically rolling it in the dust to smother the flames.
Standing there, momentarily exposed and slightly singed, the warmth of the fire against my skin was a stark contrast to the cooling of the afternoon air. At least Jamie should be at the lagoon for a while, I reassured myself with a wry smile, finding a sliver of solace in the thought. It was a moment of vulnerability, tempered by the small comfort that, for now, Jamie's attention would be elsewhere, allowing me a brief respite to collect myself and perhaps salvage what dignity remained after the day’s escapades.
Pushing back the tent flap, I was momentarily blinded by the harshness of the bright afternoon daylight. Instinctively, my hand came up to shield my eyes from the glare.
"Now, where's Jamie?" Luke's voice reached me, grounding and familiar, as he approached the tent.
"He's gone to bathe," I replied, my voice carrying a hint of pride as I recounted my discovery. "I found a nice lagoon just around the riverbend," I said, my smile broadening at the memory. The lagoon had been an unexpected treasure in the midst of this barren, unforgiving wilderness—a small haven of tranquility and a rare luxury that seemed almost out of place in our rugged existence. The pleasure of the water, so intense and personal, had been a profound experience, one that I felt might be best savoured in solitude. The thought of sharing it, even with my brother, brought a complex mix of emotions. I shifted uncomfortably, the mere recollection of the water's embrace stirring a warmth within me that was ill-suited for the company I was in.
"I'll have to check it out tomorrow," Luke's voice pulled me back from my reverie.
I found myself shifting my weight again, an awkward attempt to adjust to the persistent urges my thoughts had provoked. It was a physical manifestation of the sensual memories of the lagoon that stirred within me.
"Mmm, smells delicious!" The words escaped me before I could rein in my senses, my attention abruptly captured by the scent emanating from the pizza boxes Luke was carrying. It was an olfactory feast, a sudden and stark contrast to the blandness of dust. For a moment, all thoughts of the lagoon were swept away by the tantalising promise of a familiar comfort from our world—a taste of delicious normalcy in the midst of our extraordinary circumstances.
I almost lunged towards Luke, drawn by the irresistible aroma of the pizzas, my nose eagerly tracing the air above the boxes as if to capture every nuance of the scent. Taking the boxes from him, we made our way together to the small campfire. The thought of sharing a meal, especially one as unexpectedly luxurious as pizza, felt like a small victory.
By this point, the pervasive dust of Clivilius had made its claim on everything, a relentless invasion that seemed futile to resist. So, with a resigned air, I plonked myself down onto the ground, the fine particles puffing up around me in a small cloud of defeat. It seemed petty, now, to fuss over the omnipresent dust when there were far more pressing concerns at hand—like the gnawing emptiness of my stomach.
"I'll get you some chairs tomorrow," Luke offered, squatting down beside me with a practicality that was both comforting and slightly amusing in the context of our current situation.
"That'd be nice," I responded, though my mind was only half on the conversation. The thought of chairs, while appealing, paled in comparison to the immediate, visceral need to eat. It was a stark reminder of the basic necessities that had taken precedence since our arrival in Clivilius. My stomach underscored this point with another loud gurgle, as if to chastise me for my brief distraction from its urgent demands.
Opening the first box, I eagerly grabbed myself a slice of pepperoni pizza. The sight of it, so familiar and yet so incongruous in our current setting, sparked a hunger I hadn't fully acknowledged until now. "I didn't realise I was so hungry," I admitted, a bit sheepishly, as a droplet of saliva betrayed my anticipation, falling onto the dust below.
Luke's laughter rang out at my eagerness, a sound that, for a moment, cut through the heaviness that had clung to me since our arrival. I mumbled through a mouthful of pizza, the taste exploding in my mouth in a riot of flavour that seemed almost too intense after the blandness of our recent meals. A rogue piece of pepperoni, having made a bid for freedom, ended up on my singlet. Without hesitation, I picked it off and popped it into my mouth, determined not to waste a single bit of this unexpected feast.
"You haven't changed," Luke laughed.
"Nope," I replied, swallowing the last of my mouthful before attacking the next with unabated zeal.
The two of us, seated side by side in the Clivilius dust, formed a picture of brotherly bonding in the midst of desolation. Conversation was sparse as we focused on the simple pleasure of eating pizza and sipping the chilled Chardonnay that Luke had somehow managed to procure. For a moment, as I closed my eyes, allowing the flavours to fully envelop my senses, a profound sense of peace settled over me. The bustle of my previous life seemed a universe away. No nagging wife. No bickering children. Just the stillness of an alien landscape and the comfort of familiar food and drink.
But then, as quickly as it had come, the peace was shattered by a sudden, piercing thought. My children. The realisation hit me like a physical blow, a wave of guilt and longing that was almost overwhelming. For the last few hours, I had been so completely absorbed in the novelty and the struggle of our situation here that they had slipped from my immediate concerns. Now, the thought of their faces, their voices, the warmth of their presence, surged through me with an ache that was both sweet and agonising. I missed them. Terribly.
In an attempt to quell this sudden onslaught of emotion, I mechanically shoved another half-slice of pizza into my mouth. The action was automatic, a physical response to the turmoil that churned within. The food, once a source of solace, now tasted of distraction, a feeble attempt to fill the void that the thought of my children had opened.
The stillness of the Clivilius landscape, so alien and yet momentarily comforting, now seemed to mock me with its tranquility, a stark reminder of the distance—physical and emotional—that lay between me and my family.
"Oh my God. Food!" Jamie's exclamation cut through the quiet early evening air, his voice a mixture of surprise and unabashed delight. It was a reaction that, under normal circumstances, might have seemed exaggerated, but here, in the vastness of Clivilius, it felt entirely appropriate.
"And wine," Luke chimed in, his tone proud as he held up the half-drunk bottle of Chardonnay like a trophy.
"Well, you two look like you've given it a fair go already," Jamie joked, his eyes sparkling with a mix of humour and hunger as he settled into the dust beside us.
We? The thought flickered through my mind as I glanced across at Jamie, now an integral part of this impromptu picnic. "Well, Luke has," I laughed, redirecting the jest towards Luke, who seemed to have taken the lead in our consumption of the wine. My laughter was genuine, but it masked an underlying discomfort. As I took another sip of the wine, my face involuntarily scrunched with distaste. Truth be told, I wasn't much of a wine drinker. The sharp tang of the Chardonnay clashed with my palate, a reminder of my usual preference for sweeter, less sophisticated beverages.
I'll make sure I ask Luke to bring something a little more sugary, next time. The thought was both whimsical and serious. Not that I drink much alcohol anyway, but if I'm going to drink… The sentiment trailed off in my mind, an unfinished musing that reflected a broader truth about our current existence. We were far from the choices and comforts of home, yet even here, we sought to carve out moments of preference, of life as we knew it.
The wine, the pizza, Jamie's arrival—they all wove together into a tapestry of the familiar within the unfamiliar, a comforting illusion of normalcy against the backdrop of our extraordinary circumstances. Yet, as I sat there, sharing laughter and food with my companions, I couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the simple things taken for granted, for a time when the choice of drink was the most mundane of decisions.
I looked up at the clear sky, noting how the sun began its slow descent behind the distant mountains, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink. It would be dark soon, and the chill of the Clivilius night wasn't far behind.
"Well," Luke announced, pushing himself to his feet with a sense of finality that momentarily pierced the tranquil moment. He brushed the dust from his clothing in a gesture that seemed as much about preparation to leave as it was a dismissal of the day's trials. "Better get back. Don't want Gladys to finish all the wine in the house," he added, the grin on his face failing to mask the underlying reluctance in his voice.
Gladys, the name flickered through my mind as I closed my eyes briefly. Oh yes, Beatrix's sister. My interactions with her had been limited, yet memorable. She possessed a quirkiness that was both refreshing and endearing.
"So, that's it then?" Jamie's voice, tinged with a mix of resignation and disappointment, cut through my reverie.
Luke's response was tender, a simple act of affection as he kissed Jamie on the forehead—a gesture that spoke volumes of their relationship. "Yeah," he affirmed, his voice steady yet soft. "But I promise I'll be back first thing in the morning."
"Fine," Jamie replied, his shrug not quite masking the disappointment that clouded his features. "I wish we could go with you." The sentiment, simple and raw, echoed my own thoughts.
My eyes began to burn again. I wish I could go with Luke too. The thought was a pang of longing, a desire for return to a life that now seemed as distant as the setting sun. But the reality of our situation was inescapable. Clivilius had spoken to me, its voice a constant echo in my mind, a reminder of the rejection by the Portal. The finality of that rejection—We would never leave—was a weight that settled coldly in my stomach.
"Good night, Luke," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper, heavy with the acknowledgement of our entrapment.
"Night, Paul," Luke replied, his farewell casual yet loaded with the gravity of our shared predicament. He waved, a solitary figure retreating into the encroaching darkness, leaving behind a silence that felt both oppressive and profound.
Jamie and I settled into the dust, a makeshift campsite that had become our dining room for the evening. We shared the remnants of our pizza and the wine under a sky that transitioned from the warm hues of sunset to a deep, impenetrable black. The fire, our beacon and companion, crackled softly, its glow dimming as the night claimed its dominion.
"It's so quiet," I remarked, the silence enveloping us so completely it felt like a tangible presence. I stretched my legs out in front of me, muscles aching from the day's exertions and the unfamiliarity of the ground beneath me.
"I know," Jamie agreed, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. "And dark." He gestured upwards, towards the night sky, a canvas devoid of light. "Have you noticed that there aren't any stars?" His curiosity piqued, adding another layer of mystery to our already baffling situation.
I tipped my head back, letting my gaze wander across the expanse above us. The blackness was absolute, a void where I expected the twinkling of distant suns. "And no moon either," I observed, the absence of its familiar glow adding to the eerie atmosphere.
"What do you think that means?" Jamie's question hung in the air.
"What do you mean?" I countered, genuinely perplexed. My mind, tired from the day's events and the constant barrage of the unknown, struggled to grasp the implications of his question. To me, the absence of stars and moon merely signified an even darker night ahead, a practical concern that paled in comparison to the broader, more existential questions that Clivilius posed.
If courage had not eluded me at that moment, I might have suggested we keep the fire burning throughout the night, a beacon against the darkness that seemed to press in from all sides. Yet, I hesitated, uncertain of Jamie's reaction to what might be perceived as an irrational fear. After all, our situation was already fraught with challenges; admitting to a fear of the dark, even in a place as alien as this, felt like a vulnerability I wasn't ready to expose.
"Well," Jamie began, a thoughtful edge to his words. "Doesn't the moon normally affect the oceans and tides?" His question, simple on the surface, hinted at the deeper, unsettling uncertainties that this starless, moonless night had unearthed within us.
I shrugged, a gesture born of confusion and a deep-seated unease that seemed to grow with every passing moment. "I guess," I replied, the words heavy with my own doubts. "But all we've seen is a river. We don't even know there are any oceans here." The admission felt like conceding to a broader, more profound disorientation regarding our place in this world—or indeed, if it was a world at all.
"There has to be!" Jamie declared with a conviction that I envied. "We have to still be on Earth, somewhere." His assertion felt like a desperate grasp at the familiar in a sea of unknowns. But his certainty only served to deepen my own confusion.
"I'm so confused," I confessed, my hand instinctively going to my head as if to physically grasp the elusive answers. "None of this makes any sense," I mumbled, my voice trailing off into the darkness. The questions circled in my mind like vultures. Are we still on Earth? Are we somewhere else? Will I wake up in the morning and find that it's all just a strange, terrifying dream? The possibilities seemed endless, each more disconcerting than the last.
Jamie, perhaps sensing the futility of our speculation, or maybe just weary from the day's emotional toll, rose to his feet. With a decisive movement, he tossed the pizza boxes into the fire. The cardboard caught quickly, erupting into a brief but bright display of flames that seemed to fight back the darkness, if only for a moment, before dying down to mere embers. "Kick some dust on those embers when you turn in, won't you," he said, his tone casual but carrying an implicit trust that I would see to our safety for the night.
"Sure," I replied, the weight of the night suddenly pressing down upon me. "I won't be far away.” My words were a promise, not just to attend to the fire, but an unspoken vow that in this unfamiliar, unsettling world, we would not let the unknown divide us. As Jamie retreated, I remained seated, alone with my thoughts and the dying fire.
The night stretched on, a canvas of unending blackness, as I pondered our situation. The absence of the moon, the unfamiliarity of the landscape, and the pressing silence seemed to conspire, creating a sense of isolation that was both profound and deeply personal. In this moment, on the edge of an unknown world, the questions of our existence and our place within the cosmos seemed to loom larger than life itself, a reminder of our insignificance against the backdrop of the universe.
