Flying in with the Snow is (winterhawk) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-24 22:23:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | frodo baggins |
Ever lose something, you didn't know you had?
Who: Chay and a step closer to Frodo [open]
What: Crazed Notions
Where: An alley near a certain Hotel
When: After the journal starts writing more than he remembers putting onto paper
Footsteps
Scamper, flushed
Atop old cobble stones
An alley blank and empty, no.
Fated.
Ever lose something, you didn't know you had? Like your sanity?
It was here.
And you, my friend Chetan, are being just a tad bit daft, just keep the thing, even if words you didn't write are in there.
Chay stood in front of the theater he had been to only a few short days before and once again retraced his steps. "Hush. I know I am not crazy." Or Lost. The Print Shop where he had found the journal and sketchbook just wasn't there any longer, near its place stood an antiquated Hotel. This couldn’t be, he would have remembered seeing that. Was it any wonder that he rarely drank anymore, if he became so unobservant?
The place looked like it had seen better days and the alley they.. "Oh hai, now listen to me, I am even thinking in duality now" ..were standing in was no better. Surely this was the right one. There was no sign hanging above the entrance way, no smell of alcohol and ink on the night air. No sounds of footsteps, or whir of machinery just an old facade of a bygone era of Vegas. Still if a "print shoppe" was to be found it would have been near this place. They seemed to have been connected somehow, an older era where letter writing had been and art and not replaced by 140 character limited twitters.
Curious, he walked his way all the way around the building and then around the blocks surrounding it, his eyes glued less to the building but more to the ground finding the signs.. some easily spotted, even without the knowledge of tracking instilled by his uncle.. that surprised him. Lots of people had come here, some even recently. What could be the interest of such an old disused hotel. Kneeling down he brushed his fingers over a pair of shoe prints. They weren't the tread of one of the homeless either. He stood up and brushed the dirt off onto his jeans almost absentmindedly. Even Armani types. The trash lined alley failed to yield up clues beyond the stray butts of cigarettes, empty bottles and cans, and papers blown around by a circulatory wind.
"The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. Ah now that voice I recognize from my fathers, past down through the generations and not so strange a one." I am not so strange, Chetan. We share a love of soil and a pipe, of the song of the trees, of the whisper of clear running waters. Even the blankets of snow back home. Though it seemed as though the voice that shared his personal space didn't have very much experience with that aspect of Chay's childhood.
I still should like to go in.
Would Chay be less of a scientist if he hadn't wanted to enter too?
Chay turned towards the hotel and placed his hand on the door, not surprised to find that the door handle still turned and he could quite easily push it open if he wanted to.
The Question was, was today the day he wanted to?