The Scribe

A Horse With No Name – Part 1

October 18, 2017

I missed having my refuge.

I missed having my dreams.

No matter how rough my life has been beating upon me this year, I had always been able to rely on the oasis of my night-time wanderings.  I could leave, go far away from all the pain and sorrow, and visit worlds unknown.  I could shroud myself, and sojourn across the surface of a thousand new Earths, each more spectacular than the last.

I tried to change my schedule.  I tried to sleep during the day, and function during the night.  That attempt is over.  I shall have my armor back.  I shall journey once more.  I am richer for them, and by extension so is everyone else.

Today, I wish to share my newest wandering with you.  I believe it is something we shall both enjoy.

A Horse With No Name, Part 1

The Twins came for us, howling with the rage of our disdain, striking with the fury of our hubris.  We had flown too close to the Sun, and in our pride we ensured Gaia would allow no second chances.

– Phonexian History, Book 1: Chapter 2
We had told a thousand tales of our destruction.  A thousand times, we had laughed in the face of any consequences for our actions.  We had taken, with no thought for tomorrow.  We had lived as kings, as gods, and in our time upon the throne we had sent our will into the heavens.  It is fitting that when we were cast from the chair of our own divinity, it was a true God that sent us packing.
The Twins were born shortly after the mid-point of the 21st Century.  We had ignored the signs of the previous decades, turning our attention too late to the Goddess who had so graciously allowed our stay.  When our sins finally came for us, our only mercy was that it was a swift death.
Electricity had launched us into our golden age.  Electricity would send us back to our most primitive roots, and the Storm showed no signs of relenting.  
Storm-shamans could tell when one of the Twins was approaching a few hours in advance.  The subtle surges of power in the air, the changes in pressure and the hints of electrical activity would play across their skin like the softest of music.  A town lived and died by the quality of their shamans.  
When we had warning, the whole village would scatter to the tasks assigned to them.  Tarps were tied down across dwellings and greenhouses alike.  Heads were counted, animals driven down into the underground barns, and the record bunkers were sealed.  A visit by one of the Twins lasted for exactly three hours and thirty three minutes.  No one really knew why.
My village was centered in what had once been the sprawling metropolis of Phoenix.  Almost everyone that had once lived there was gone now.  Most had died in the first few visitations.  The rest were claimed by privation, or had left to find someplace free of their touch.  There was no such place however.  The Twins had scoured the Earth for over a hundred years now.  No one would ever be free of them.
For twenty-six years, I had believed that mantra.  When one of the Twins arrived on my twenty-seventh birthday, I could never have imagined what it would bring with it.
To be continued…

Twinfully,
Justin

Teller of tales. Horrible liar. Fair hand at video games and card games.

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