17 DRIVING DANCE (1/2)
Sweating and panting profusely, a purple-haired boy was scurrying through the moonless woods, looking back once every few seconds at the ill-lit bushes which orchestrated a sinister symphony, as initiated by the heartless gale. Something stocky and stalwart ferreted out his footsteps stealthier than a leopard and pruned the distance while leaving less to no traces.
Blinded by the unnerving darkness and his own heartbeat echoing in ears, the battered boy bumped into numerous trunks but adeptly rolled past them. Tiny roots and broad branches tested his luck, but they failed to make his four limbs touch the ground simultaneously. In case they succeeded, whatever was hounding him would succeed in its attempt at clutching him in a fatal grip.
Out of breath, huffing and puffing like a dog trying to escape a never-ending maze riddled with dog-killers and those who owned them, his panicky eyes would invite ruth in many a heart.
His entire dress soaked in sweat, and in tatters, exposed the bruises that blemished his body as droplets of blood unceasingly leaked down from his brow ridge and blinded one of his eyes.
Enlivened by the opening of the window of opportunity, the trunks, roots, and branches now cackled in a cacophonous breeze that birthed the raspy rustling of leaves and grating din of branches.
His eyes caught sight of strange flashing lights now and then, but he had no time to think much less change his course to investigate.
In sooth, the star-crossed fellow was Burton.
Not many forests could affright him, but these woods were outlandish, for the grieving winds tingled his skin and the crispy melodies of the leaves stirred his soul into a frenzy. The sounds his ears discerned weren't the natural sounds of the wild. As far as his eyes could see or ears could hear, no squirrels scurried through the foliage, no crows cawed, no birds trilled, no frogs croaked, no crickets chirped, no snakes hissed, but there was the imperceptible sonance originated from an obscure source which weakened his knees.
Howbeit, the possessor of the heart that roughened up from bearing the hopes of his parents and his clan, in particular, was not an easy game even for the dreary woods.
With no time to respire or ruminate, his entire focus was on nothing else but doing a vanishing act from all the things that put him off his stroke in an iteration.
For all his efforts, escaping out of the woods appeared beyond belief with no end in sight.
More bumping, and more tripping — ever incessant — made the blaring growls reach his ears and spread dread to the whole of his body. Nature struck him as another foe.
The two opponents were too strapping, and all he hoped for was a bit of control over his own thoughts and emotions, so as to figure things out.
As the wind grew wilder by the second and the cardinal silhouette behind him got closer and closer, he caught a glimpse of a sparkling golden light ahead floating in midair. His feet picked up the pace by instinct as he ran ahead. The silhouette chasing him streaked faster as well. Just as Burton got closer, he saw that the sparkling golden light was actually a tiny floating bell. Without a second thought, he jumped at it.
When Burton's hand was about to touch the bell, the silhouette just reached the spot with a sweeping slash that ended up barely tearing through Burton's cloth, as he got sucked away by the bell.
In Burton's room, 10-K41.
Burton fell on his butt. After realizing where he got to, he breathed a sigh of relief, but his heart still pounded in an erratic fashion. His body was still hot. ”That damn thing... And that milk woman... Whoever she was,” he looked at the book and quickly threw it aside. ”I almost got killed because of that damn bell or whatever it was.” He shook his head and then stared at the book in disquiet. ”That fellow who gave this to me, what was his goal? To kill me?” he went into a deep thought.
A few seconds later he looked at his arms and puzzled. He touched his face but there was no blood. His body wasn't covered in sweat as it should be. He also just realized that he stopped panting soon after he escaped out of that place. There weren't even any cut wounds on his back. The only thing that remained the same was his heartbeat. ”What's going on?”
On the other hand, inside room no 10-K42, Sariyu was immersed in reading the guidebook, especially on a particular page comprised of poesy.
”He is his gallantry.
He is his dignity.
He is his dexterity.
***
He is his infantry.
He is his cavalry.
He is his soldiery.
***
He is his abider.
He is his pillar.
He is his ruler.
***
His way is war.
His aim is peace.
His dream is harmony.
***
He is his proponent.
He has no opponent.
For he is transcendent.
***
A lifter who loots looters.
A groove that guards the guileless.
An avarice that ends evil.”
— Zaega Bonodden, A member of Shambala Sect.
”The founder of Shambala Sect…” Sariyu found it hard to breathe. ”He's like Uncle Sinario, the most committed guy I've known. But, Father's commitment doesn't even come close.” She couldn't help but pity her own father, Kwame.
At someplace else on the same deck.
”Whew... I've finally found it.” Lirzod managed to come out of the maze-like corridors and stepped out into the open segment seemingly exposed by the weather. ”It should be morning now, but it's so dark out here. It's like a night. Must be the work of the fog. I hope I find those bastards.” His eyes looked for two beings and after a quick scan, he found those. ”Good, they are sleeping.” His eyes lit up as he sneakily crouched on the floor, making sure no eyes caught his movements and hid in a small haystack situated right beside a stable.
He threw the sandwiches towards the foal from before. The foal was sleeping, so it had no idea even though food ended up nearby its mouth.
His eyes locked on the two white horses and flickered with a threatening light. Just as he was about to step out, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, making him pull back his foot.
”Uhm, the weather's so cold today. Is this the fourth time?” A man came in Lirzod's direction, his eyes almost closed.
(Who's this chicken-head?) Lirzod didn't make a sound. (Is he sleepwalking?)
The man stopped a couple of feet away from Lirzod and unzipped his pant, sending chills down Lirzod's spine. He froze like a chicken in the process of laying an egg.
After the salt stream had missed him by a few feet and fell on the grass instead, he sighed in relief. Howbeit, the sound made by the stream as it soaked the dried grass of the haystack, had entered his ears and though he wanted to clamp them, he couldn't.
In a few seconds, the guy made himself scarce as driven by a strange song and a dance that resembled a drunken donkey.
”I cum. You cum. We cum. How cum?
He cum. She cum. They cum. How cum?
Yes cum. No cum. Well cum. How cum?