Spellbound, can't move, be back in a few.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. When you came to me, John, I heard your screams. Thick plumes of vapor condensing against a clear visor like frost. Screams that years ago thrashed your voice, now but an echo in your mind. Your eyes wild, scream loudest of all; thick with anger, betrayal, and despair. Sanity long since seeped from your mind like viscous sap. Your shouts placated only by the humdrum of liquid state hydrogen and oxygen injecting into kerosene. The hiss and whine of engines and gears numbing your senses. In this den of snakes you are held captive by the very mechanisms designed to support you.
Do you feel that? The gentle roll of axle and chain across chassis body. Suspension springs holding it aloft, cushioned and cathartic. Coupled systems soft and light. There is no momentum, no damping, no stopping now. Only the rhythmic clicking of linked carriages. It will arrive when it is ready; when you are ready.
A father is known to his children in many ways: his voice, his presence, the roughness of his face, the calluses on his hands. He is known to them by the routines of his comings and goings, by his work boots and his ties, by the smell of his cologne, by the way he clears his throat. He is known to them by the tone of his words, by his authority and his laughter, by the anecdotes and admonitions, by the sound of his prayers.
The Aspects Six
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley,” Rorick said raising an eyebrow and leaning towards the young boy across the stained table. He stroked the length of his ill kempt beard for a moment, letting his mind dip into thoughts long forgotten. Like a quill plunged into a well of ink, the memories of those times rushed back with a flowing vibrance. Fondness lingered in his eyes as stories and names steeped in the passages of time came back to him.