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3 / 3 / 2021
Дрейфующая степь - السهوب المنجرفة - Drivende Steppe
It's bitter, at first. But then it's followed by a sharp acidity, and a winding, curious sweetness. Not unlike the Strands of Europe, when properly cleansed, then boiled and drained into a cup - to be served with a few papers sweetner.
Someone is speaking to me, distantly, nasally. Can hardly hear him over my own thoughts, through the faint tremor in my hand, drifting across hardwood. A lasting, occasional blight upon myself, but something that is remedied and dealt with through focus. Year's of focus, dryness, and careful thinking.
It reaches me-
"20,000 if brought before The Shah dead-"
Gone, then back again,
"However, for a bold one, perhaps one such as yourself Foreigner, a sum of 30,000 is feasible if they are brought before The Shah - Alive."
Hard to pay attention long, but that alone sticks out to me. Not meant to be making waves, but between the attempts on myself - due to not being a Local - and the endless preparation for a day that'd never come?
It'd be something to do.
...
.. It isn't what She would want.
Not the one that we forgot, the one that we finally freed ourselves of - someone sweeter. Angelic, by comparison.
Still out there.
It'd disappoint her. It'd break her heart..
.. you can not grow Bullets from the loose silt and sand.
You can not attain Gun Oil from the barren earth.
Paid for, in full - to Men, by Men, for Men.
I look to him, the scrawny, nasally man in front of me. His eyes nervous - barely visible behind the coif of his rags and his taqiyah.
Quickly, as though to appease me - as to avoid whatever Wrath I present, whatever Curse he thinks I carry - he gives me the paper and I look it over.
A tapestry of ragged brown rags, atop a pastel form of grey-green. Purple, like Amethyst, constitutes the sensory organs most prominently about its head.
I snatch it up, leave a few hunks of precious metal in its wake. Ever precious credits.
I'm gone with the wind, to the relief of the local population and I set out - the sun to my back.
My body is here, but my soul dreams.
My soul is.. dreaming?
I can still dream?
I can still attest that I have a Soul?
She would say- 'Yes'. It isn't as if I take pleasure in it.
After all: It's just a Tasking.
Someone is speaking to me, distantly, nasally. Can hardly hear him over my own thoughts, through the faint tremor in my hand, drifting across hardwood. A lasting, occasional blight upon myself, but something that is remedied and dealt with through focus. Year's of focus, dryness, and careful thinking.
It reaches me-
"20,000 if brought before The Shah dead-"
Gone, then back again,
"However, for a bold one, perhaps one such as yourself Foreigner, a sum of 30,000 is feasible if they are brought before The Shah - Alive."
Hard to pay attention long, but that alone sticks out to me. Not meant to be making waves, but between the attempts on myself - due to not being a Local - and the endless preparation for a day that'd never come?
It'd be something to do.
...
.. It isn't what She would want.
Not the one that we forgot, the one that we finally freed ourselves of - someone sweeter. Angelic, by comparison.
It'd disappoint her. It'd break her heart..
.. you can not grow Bullets from the loose silt and sand.
You can not attain Gun Oil from the barren earth.
Paid for, in full - to Men, by Men, for Men.
I look to him, the scrawny, nasally man in front of me. His eyes nervous - barely visible behind the coif of his rags and his taqiyah.
Quickly, as though to appease me - as to avoid whatever Wrath I present, whatever Curse he thinks I carry - he gives me the paper and I look it over.
A tapestry of ragged brown rags, atop a pastel form of grey-green. Purple, like Amethyst, constitutes the sensory organs most prominently about its head.
I snatch it up, leave a few hunks of precious metal in its wake. Ever precious credits.
I'm gone with the wind, to the relief of the local population and I set out - the sun to my back.
My body is here, but my soul dreams.
My soul is.. dreaming?
I can still dream?
I can still attest that I have a Soul?
She would say- 'Yes'. It isn't as if I take pleasure in it.
After all: It's just a Tasking.
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