Brigits Flame: China
TITLE: Utitled Alternate World Novel, Chapter 3
PROMPT: China
WORD COUNT: 1254
NOTES: This is my week one November contest entry for brigits_flame. It is also an edited excerpt from my Nano novel, which about a scientist who in the process of trying to create doorways to other words keeps accidentally pulling various people and creatures through to his own words by mistake. One of these is a woman from San Francisco, whose point of view is featured here. (In hindsight, I probably should have spent my time writing new words instead of editing this. *shrug*)
They were the wrong stars. Sonia was not an expert star gazer, but she could always look up into the sky and find Orion. Sometimes she could find either the dippers. Those tiny strings of lights were a comfort, reassuring her that something, anything, was watching over her.
Now she looked up and they were the wrong stars. These were strangers. Loneliness washed over her in a great tide, and her chest constricted. She sank down on the rock behind her and pulled her knees to her chest.
Twilight stretched itself into the full dark of night. The craggy fingers of the mountain peeks were silhouetted against the deep velvet blue sky. The valley was so black that is seemed a great hole had opened in the world. Once someone had told her that there was more space between the particles in an individual atom than there was space between the galaxies in the universe. That the world which we perceived as solid was actually more empty than full.
Sonia knew this intimately. Looking into the black hole of night, she remembered the emptiness between the worlds and felt herself rising to a panic. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
She reached down beside her and gripped the rock so hard it hurt. These stones were real. They were solid. They could make you hurt. If she believed enough in the stones, in the sky, in the wrong stars, then she wouldn’t fall again. She wouldn’t have to face the empty.
Slowly her breathing calmed and the vertigo subsided. It was getting easier.
Sonia remembered walking through the Haight-Ashbury, vaguely peering in and out of shops looking at the tye-dye tanks and the sequined wrap skirts. On the street a man with a greasy beard and bad breath had asked her if she knew where to buy some ecstasy. She had said no, but had walked away from the encounter proud that she had blended in to such an extent. She had belonged without her even trying. She had looked up and saw a pair of life-sized plastic legs sticking out of the side of a building. She laughed and turned the corner.
It was in between one footstep and the next that she had fallen. There had been a pull, as though something tugged on her from the inside. She was so started that she fell backwards. But instead of tumbling onto the sidewalk, scraping her elbows, and bruising her bum, she had fallen straight through the sidewalk. She felt the spaces within her line up with the spaces in the sidewalk as she passed through it, passed beyond it and through places so empty that she understood finally the meaning of void.
All this had taken less than a moment. All this had taken thousands upon thousands of years.
She had awoken in Mitra’s stone hut. It was real and solid. Or at least it pretended to be. Her faith in the real solid world had been shattered. She knew the empty in things. Solid was a lie and it was so, so easy to fall. It took a week for her to believe enough in the ground that she could move.
Sonia released her grip on the stone. Her fingers ached. From above she heard someone calling her. She took a deep breath and climbed back up the stone stairs. Once she almost lost her balance, but she regained her footing and used her hands to guide her the rest of the way.
* * *
Sonia entered the small space of the hut. Mitra smiled at her and Sonia returned it. The flames of the cooking fire had burned down to coal so their was very little light. There was no furniture, so Sonia sat cross-legged on the reed mat that served also as a bed. A bowl was placed before her with rolled balls of sticky rice and some kind of baked root. She had no appetite, but she picked up a piece of the root and ate. It tasted like earth and was both bitter and sweet. It was an odd flavor, but not unpleasant.
Sonia finished chewing. She held up the root before her.
“Daukna,” said Mitra. Sonia repeated the word. Daukna.
She pointed to the bowl, and said, “Skaen.” Mitra nodded.
This was the game they played. Sonia would point to thing and Mitra would say the word in her language. It was the closest they could come to communication except through body language and facial expression. Sonia was beginning to pick up words and short phrases, but full sentences were still out of reach.
Mitra had warm hazel eyes that looked bright in the dim light. She, too, was full of vast empty expanses, but Sonia tried not to think about that. Instead she focused on those eyes that always seemed to brim with wisdom and kindness.
She had come to the conclusion that Mitra was a monk of some sort. She wore a long grey robe that wrapped around and around her body before draping over her shoulder. She was thin and ropey and her hair was completely shaved. Every morning she sat rigidly upright in silent meditation. In fact every act that she performed, from digging in the stony garden to walking to the bathroom to dressing in the morning, was performed with the same deliberate, meditative quality. Sometimes she sang chants in a deep clear voice.
Sonia also meditated, her thoughts focused on a single puzzle. What would she do with herself now? She could not stay with Mitra. There would not be enough food. Already she could tell that Mitra’s resources were stretched tight by Sonia’s presence.
Sonia did not even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing except in science fiction movies and they were no help. At one point she tried to relate it all to something more familiar. What if she had been dropped penniless into the middle of rural China? She did not speak Chinese, thus a language barrier there as now. She imagined what she would do, how she would walk and hitchhike, repeating the same word over and over. “Shanghai. Shanghai.” People would show her kindness and point the way. When she reached the city, she would wander and question until she found the U.S. consulate, and then...
And then the comparison broke down. There would be no U.S. consulate here. No kind old man in uniform to help her. There was no paperwork in any universe that she could possibly fill out that would let her slip through the in between spaces and back into her own world.
Sonia was left with the only conclusion she could make. There was no way back. She had to assume this. In part because she could no more imagine a way back than she could have imagined it possible for her to have come. And in part because the thought of passing again through the empty was so terrifying that it would choke her breath.
Mitra yawned and lay down on the mat to sleep. Sonia watched her until her breathing became slow and regular. Sonia wanted to tell Mitra everything. To explain in a way that the monk would understand and with her wisdom help her find a way. But there were no words. Even if they shared a common language there would still not be the words to explain it right.
Sonia pulled her knees under her and watched Mitra sleep. She did not know what to do. What was it that she was supposed to do?
PROMPT: China
WORD COUNT: 1254
NOTES: This is my week one November contest entry for brigits_flame. It is also an edited excerpt from my Nano novel, which about a scientist who in the process of trying to create doorways to other words keeps accidentally pulling various people and creatures through to his own words by mistake. One of these is a woman from San Francisco, whose point of view is featured here. (In hindsight, I probably should have spent my time writing new words instead of editing this. *shrug*)
They were the wrong stars. Sonia was not an expert star gazer, but she could always look up into the sky and find Orion. Sometimes she could find either the dippers. Those tiny strings of lights were a comfort, reassuring her that something, anything, was watching over her.
Now she looked up and they were the wrong stars. These were strangers. Loneliness washed over her in a great tide, and her chest constricted. She sank down on the rock behind her and pulled her knees to her chest.
Twilight stretched itself into the full dark of night. The craggy fingers of the mountain peeks were silhouetted against the deep velvet blue sky. The valley was so black that is seemed a great hole had opened in the world. Once someone had told her that there was more space between the particles in an individual atom than there was space between the galaxies in the universe. That the world which we perceived as solid was actually more empty than full.
Sonia knew this intimately. Looking into the black hole of night, she remembered the emptiness between the worlds and felt herself rising to a panic. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
She reached down beside her and gripped the rock so hard it hurt. These stones were real. They were solid. They could make you hurt. If she believed enough in the stones, in the sky, in the wrong stars, then she wouldn’t fall again. She wouldn’t have to face the empty.
Slowly her breathing calmed and the vertigo subsided. It was getting easier.
Sonia remembered walking through the Haight-Ashbury, vaguely peering in and out of shops looking at the tye-dye tanks and the sequined wrap skirts. On the street a man with a greasy beard and bad breath had asked her if she knew where to buy some ecstasy. She had said no, but had walked away from the encounter proud that she had blended in to such an extent. She had belonged without her even trying. She had looked up and saw a pair of life-sized plastic legs sticking out of the side of a building. She laughed and turned the corner.
It was in between one footstep and the next that she had fallen. There had been a pull, as though something tugged on her from the inside. She was so started that she fell backwards. But instead of tumbling onto the sidewalk, scraping her elbows, and bruising her bum, she had fallen straight through the sidewalk. She felt the spaces within her line up with the spaces in the sidewalk as she passed through it, passed beyond it and through places so empty that she understood finally the meaning of void.
All this had taken less than a moment. All this had taken thousands upon thousands of years.
She had awoken in Mitra’s stone hut. It was real and solid. Or at least it pretended to be. Her faith in the real solid world had been shattered. She knew the empty in things. Solid was a lie and it was so, so easy to fall. It took a week for her to believe enough in the ground that she could move.
Sonia released her grip on the stone. Her fingers ached. From above she heard someone calling her. She took a deep breath and climbed back up the stone stairs. Once she almost lost her balance, but she regained her footing and used her hands to guide her the rest of the way.
* * *
Sonia entered the small space of the hut. Mitra smiled at her and Sonia returned it. The flames of the cooking fire had burned down to coal so their was very little light. There was no furniture, so Sonia sat cross-legged on the reed mat that served also as a bed. A bowl was placed before her with rolled balls of sticky rice and some kind of baked root. She had no appetite, but she picked up a piece of the root and ate. It tasted like earth and was both bitter and sweet. It was an odd flavor, but not unpleasant.
Sonia finished chewing. She held up the root before her.
“Daukna,” said Mitra. Sonia repeated the word. Daukna.
She pointed to the bowl, and said, “Skaen.” Mitra nodded.
This was the game they played. Sonia would point to thing and Mitra would say the word in her language. It was the closest they could come to communication except through body language and facial expression. Sonia was beginning to pick up words and short phrases, but full sentences were still out of reach.
Mitra had warm hazel eyes that looked bright in the dim light. She, too, was full of vast empty expanses, but Sonia tried not to think about that. Instead she focused on those eyes that always seemed to brim with wisdom and kindness.
She had come to the conclusion that Mitra was a monk of some sort. She wore a long grey robe that wrapped around and around her body before draping over her shoulder. She was thin and ropey and her hair was completely shaved. Every morning she sat rigidly upright in silent meditation. In fact every act that she performed, from digging in the stony garden to walking to the bathroom to dressing in the morning, was performed with the same deliberate, meditative quality. Sometimes she sang chants in a deep clear voice.
Sonia also meditated, her thoughts focused on a single puzzle. What would she do with herself now? She could not stay with Mitra. There would not be enough food. Already she could tell that Mitra’s resources were stretched tight by Sonia’s presence.
Sonia did not even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing except in science fiction movies and they were no help. At one point she tried to relate it all to something more familiar. What if she had been dropped penniless into the middle of rural China? She did not speak Chinese, thus a language barrier there as now. She imagined what she would do, how she would walk and hitchhike, repeating the same word over and over. “Shanghai. Shanghai.” People would show her kindness and point the way. When she reached the city, she would wander and question until she found the U.S. consulate, and then...
And then the comparison broke down. There would be no U.S. consulate here. No kind old man in uniform to help her. There was no paperwork in any universe that she could possibly fill out that would let her slip through the in between spaces and back into her own world.
Sonia was left with the only conclusion she could make. There was no way back. She had to assume this. In part because she could no more imagine a way back than she could have imagined it possible for her to have come. And in part because the thought of passing again through the empty was so terrifying that it would choke her breath.
Mitra yawned and lay down on the mat to sleep. Sonia watched her until her breathing became slow and regular. Sonia wanted to tell Mitra everything. To explain in a way that the monk would understand and with her wisdom help her find a way. But there were no words. Even if they shared a common language there would still not be the words to explain it right.
Sonia pulled her knees under her and watched Mitra sleep. She did not know what to do. What was it that she was supposed to do?