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by RatDog Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Interactive · Fantasy · #178902

Bjork, a Mexican Sorcerer, and maybe a trip to the Old West. Sound Interesting?

This choice: Wake up lying on a sidewalk with soda on your face.  •  Go Back...
Chapter #7

There's no place like home, There's no pla

    by: RatDog Author IconMail Icon
You wake up lying on your back on the sidewalk with soda dripping from your face. You are no longer in Iceland, but are next to the bench back at the bus stop. The old man is standing above you, holding an empty Seven-Up can.

"So, have you learned anything on your journey?" he asks.

You reply, tentatively: "If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard, because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with?"

"No, that's not really it, but you were close, the answer is in Kansas." he continues. "I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment's gone. All my dreams pass before my eyes, in curiosity. Dust in the Wind. All we are is dust in the wind..."

"So, was any of that real? Was I really in Reykjavic with Bjork, or was it all a dream?" you ask.

"The answer is yes, to both." the old man replies. "Your body was here at the bus stop, but your dream was real. The concert in the park really happened or will happen, maybe in the past, maybe in the future. Time is an invention of society, there is more to reality than meets the eye."

"But what about Bjork, was she really there with me? If I walked past her on the street
tomorrow, would she recognize me?" you ask.

"She might not know your name, but she would most likely pause, perhaps ask if she knew you. Your souls have had the interaction you experienced in Reykjavic. Even if she did not
consciously remember you, her body would recognize yours, your lines of power would touch again upon meeting."

"So, would you like another lemon drop?" the old man asks.
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You have the following choices:

1. Take another candy from the man.

2. Politely refuse, insist you must go home for dinner.

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