As I made my way back to the Portal, the sudden sound of a thud slicing through the quiet of Clivilius jolted me from my thoughts. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of the source. Could it be Luke? The thought spurred me into action, my jog quickening as I neared the swirling colours of the Portal, the gateway that had become both a lifeline and a source of endless frustration.
My reflexes kicked in just in time as another small bag of wood came hurtling through the Portal, narrowly missing me. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, instinctively ducking to avoid the unexpected projectile. The realisation hit me—this was Luke’s method of delivery. A mix of amusement and irritation washed over me as I made a mental note to steer clear of the Portal's immediate vicinity. The thought of getting knocked out by flying firewood was both absurd and slightly alarming.
I stepped back, giving the Portal a wide berth as I observed the subsequent arrivals of wood. The bags tumbled through one after another, a chaotic ballet of kindling and logs that seemed to defy any sense of order. Despite the danger of the situation, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. Luke had taken my advice, albeit in his own, uniquely hazardous way.
As quickly as it had burst into life, the Portal's vibrant colours disappeared, leaving behind only the bags of wood and a lingering sense of abandonment. "That lazy bastard!" I couldn't help but exclaim into the emptiness. The expectation that Luke might join me, that he might help carry the wood to our makeshift campsite by the river, vanished as quickly as the Portal's colours.
The silence that followed my outburst was a stark reminder of our isolation in Clivilius. There was no one to answer my frustrated questions, no one to share in the absurdity of the moment. "Figures," I muttered, resignation setting in as I picked up two of the bags. The task ahead seemed less daunting as I reconsidered the situation. It would only take a few trips, I realised, a small inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.
The weight of the final bag of wood settled into the dust with a satisfying thud, marking the end of my task. As I straightened my back, a flicker of concern passed through my mind for Paul. He had been gone longer than expected. The thought that he might be in some sort of trouble clawed at the edges of my consciousness. I hope he isn't in danger. The mere idea sent a ripple of unease through me, tempered only by the weary acknowledgment of my own limitations. I don't have the energy left to save him. Not this late in the day. It was a stark admission, one that highlighted the toll Clivilius had taken on me both physically and mentally.
My gaze drifted upwards to the sun, its position a silent, glowing sentinel in the sky. Despite the length of time we'd spent in Clivilius, the unfamiliar landscape still rendered me unable to discern the exact hour, leaving me to rely on guesswork and instinct. The sun's descent towards the horizon suggested that the day was waning, that there were only a few precious hours of daylight left. The realisation pressed upon me with a sense of urgency, a silent reminder of the tasks that still lay ahead and the dwindling time we had to complete them.
"Where's Paul?" Luke asked, scanning the campsite with a look of concern that mirrored my own feelings from moments earlier. Having been so preoccupied with the wood and my own musings, I hadn’t even noticed Luke arrive at camp.
The mention of Paul's absence, now vocalised by Luke, reignited a flicker of concern within me, though I tried to mask it with a casual response. "He's off bathing again," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Again?" Luke echoed, his brow furrowing in a mix of confusion and amusement. "He didn't make another mess, did he?" His question, light-hearted on the surface, carried an undercurrent of genuine concern—a reminder of the makeshift nature of our existence here and the challenges that came with it.
It wouldn’t surprise me. I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, the absurdity of our situation momentarily lightening the mood. "Not that I know of. He just got tired of waiting for the wood." My attempt at humour felt flat even to my own ears
Luke's focus shifted quickly from Paul's whereabouts to the matter at hand, a testament to the ever-present list of priorities that needed our attention. "Well, it’s arrived now, hasn't it? We have more pressing issues to deal with right now anyway," he said with a sense of urgency that pulled at my attention.
"I need your help to convince Gladys to believe me about all this." His words pierced through the haze of my weariness. Gladys—my lifelong best friend. Over the decades, she had been my confidant, the one I turned to in times of joy and crisis alike. But this? How could I even begin to frame our experiences in Clivilius in a way that wouldn't sound like a fantastical delusion?
The sudden revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. "Gladys is here!?" The thought of my best friend, my rock through countless ups and downs, being pulled into this chaotic, unpredictable world of Clivilius sent a shockwave of panic through me. The potential of her being trapped here, alongside us, was unthinkable.
"No! God no!" Luke's rapid clarification did little to quell the storm of emotions brewing within me. His hastiness only served to underline the gravity of the situation. I fixed him with a glare, my mind racing with the implications of his words. The very idea that Luke might even contemplate bringing Gladys into this mess was unfathomable.
"And I don't want her to come here either," he added quickly, as if trying to pacify the rising storm. His words, meant to reassure, instead echoed my fears back at me. "I don't want her to get trapped. But I need her to believe that this actually is where you are."
The mention of the Portal in relation to Gladys sent a chill down my spine. "So, she knows about the Portal then?" The question hung in the air, heavy with accusation and disbelief.
Luke's response was hesitant, his eyes dropping to the ground before meeting mine again. "Yeah," he admitted, the weight of his confession evident in his voice. "I had to show it to her."
"What the fuck, Luke!" My exasperation and anger boiled over, spilling out in a torrent. The thought of Gladys, even remotely involved in this madness, was too much to bear.
"She didn't leave me any other choice," Luke countered, his voice rising in defence. "It's complicated, okay?" His explanation, or lack thereof, did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves.
"What the hell does that mean, 'It's complicated'!?" I pressed, my frustration mounting.
Luke's plea was simple yet loaded with unspoken tension. "Just help me will you."
The conversation reached a stalemate, the air charged with unsaid words and unresolved tensions. "Wait here then," I said, the words coming out more sharply than intended. Without waiting for a response, I turned and disappeared inside the tent, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
The complexity of our situation, already a tangled web of uncertainties and fears, had just added another layer with Gladys's unwitting involvement. The task ahead—to convince her of our reality, to secure her belief without endangering her—loomed large. It was a tightrope walk between two worlds, with the stakes higher than ever.
In the dim light of the tent, I fumbled with the pen, my hands shaking as I scribbled the message on the label of an empty plastic water bottle. It was a secret I had stumbled upon by accident, a truth hidden away by Beatrix, Gladys's sister, about a tragic love lost too soon. This revelation, I hoped, would serve as undeniable proof to Gladys of where the message originated.
Capping the pen, my heart raced as I contemplated the potential fallout. Gladys and I shared decades of friendship, a bond that had weathered countless storms, but never one quite like this.
Less than two minutes later, I emerged from the tent, the small plastic bottle in hand. "Here," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, as I tossed the bottle to Luke. The bottle spun through the air, landing securely in his grasp. "Tell her to read my message. That should do the trick." The weight of what I had just set in motion settled heavily on my shoulders.
Luke stared down at the water bottle, his brow furrowing as he squinted at the label.
"You don't have to read it," I muttered, my annoyance bubbling to the surface.
"You know I can't help it," Luke replied without looking up, his eyes fixated on the brief message written on the label. His obsession with reading every scrap of information often grated on my nerves.
I huffed, the weight of frustration settling in my chest.
"Is this true?" Luke asked suddenly, his head snapping up as he sought confirmation.
"Yep," I replied tersely, my face turning serious as I braced for what would come next. "But you need to stay out of it. I think you've got us all into enough trouble already."
Luke's brow furrowed even further, his expression a mix of concern and guilt.
"Luke, I mean it," I pressed, my voice firm and unyielding.
"Thanks," said Luke softly, holding up the water bottle as if it were a lifeline. With a quick nod, he turned and jogged away, leaving me behind once again.
As I watched him go, a knot of anxiety formed in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help but question whether telling Gladys the truth about her sister's involvement in Brody's death was the best course of action. It was a decision fraught with uncertainty and possible danger, and I knew that I was treading on dangerously thin ice.
Ignoring the doubts that swirled in my mind, I turned my attention to the bags of wood, ripping open the first one with determination.
The fire crackled loudly, its flames leaping and cavorting with a wild, unpredictable fervour. Each snap and pop of the burning wood was a tactile symphony, creating a vibrant soundscape that echoed through the empty desert surrounding us. The flames, with their hypnotic dance, sent a thin trail of silver smoke wafting high into the late afternoon sky. This sound, this constant, lively reminder of our isolation in the midst of an unforgiving wilderness, wrapped itself around me, a tangible manifestation of our solitude.
As I watched, transfixed by the fire's flickering flames, my thoughts began to drift, wandering down paths of contemplation that had been gnawing at me for some time. The fire, with its relentless energy, seemed to fuel these thoughts, giving them life as they spiralled upwards with the smoke. I wondered, with a kind of aimless curiosity, how high the smoke would rise before it disappeared into the unknown expanse above, merging with the ether of the vast, uncharted sky. This fleeting thought was a suitable reminder of the vastness of our surroundings, and the minuscule space we occupied within it.
I couldn't shake the nagging doubts that had haunted my mind since our arrival in this enigmatic place. The air, filled with the scent of burning wood, seemed to thicken with my contemplation. Each breath felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty, the dense, unseen fog of unanswered questions clouding my mind.
"Is this place the same as Earth?" I mused aloud, my voice barely rising above the crackling of the fire. The question hung in the air, a spectre of doubt in the face of our surreal surroundings. "Are we still actually on Earth, somewhere?”
The question seemed to echo, not just in the physical space around me, but within me, resonating with the very core of my being. The uncertainty of our situation weighed heavily on my mind, a relentless burden that seemed to grow with each passing moment. The crackling fire, with its mesmerising display and the warmth it provided, offered no answers, only serving to deepen the mystery of our existence in this desolate, otherworldly landscape.
"Jamie! Fire!" The words shattered the eerie silence, Paul's panicked scream slicing through the desolate stillness. The urgency in his voice was unmistakeable.
Yet, despite the imminent danger his words implied, I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to muster the energy to react. My mind was shrouded in a thick fog of resignation, a numbness that had insidiously woven itself into the fabric of my being over time. This place, with its relentless adversities and isolation, had a way of sapping your spirit, leaving behind a hollow shell where enthusiasm and hope once resided.
"Fire!" Paul's cry pierced the air once more, his voice reaching a fever pitch as he crested the peak of the nearby hill. The urgency, the sheer desperation in his voice, it should have spurred me into action, ignited a spark of survival instinct that lay dormant within. But all it did was fan the flames of my frustration, my exhaustion boiling over into a raw, unfiltered outburst.
"For fuck's sake! I know there's a fire!" I yelled back, my voice laced with irritation and fatigue. The words tumbled out, harsh and loud, cutting through the distance between us. It was more than just a response to his warning; it was an outcry against all the relentless challenges, the endless trials that our situation had forced upon us.
Paul stopped abruptly, his movements halting as my words reached him. There was a moment, brief and fleeting, where the tension hung palpable in the air, a silent standoff between his panic and my frustration. Then, with a perceptible shift in his demeanour, he walked slowly back towards the camp with a measured, resigned gait.
As I watched him approach, the anger and irritation that had surged through me began to ebb, replaced by a weary acknowledgment of our shared plight. The outburst, while cathartic, also served as a reminder of the strain we were under, the constant battle not just against the elements, but against the encroaching despair that sought to consume us.
"I got the fire started," I announced, my tone deliberately softer as Paul closed the gap between us. It was an attempt to ease the tension that had built up, a small olive branch after my earlier outburst.
"Oh," Paul's response came, accompanied by a visible flush of embarrassment that spread across his cheeks. It was a subtle, humanising detail that momentarily softened the edges of our rugged existence. "That's great."
I didn't pause in my task, continuing to feed small pieces of kindling into the burgeoning fire. I watched, almost with a sense of reverence, as the flames leapt to life, eagerly consuming each offering. Their glow intensified, casting a warm, flickering light. It was a simple act, but in the moment, it felt like a small victory against the relentless pressure of our circumstances.
"All I could see from over the hill was smoke. I was worried that it may have been the tent. We've got nothing else here," Paul explained, his tone laced with a hint of concern that cut through his earlier embarrassment. It was a genuine worry, a reminder of how precarious our situation was, how every small incident could potentially spiral into disaster.
"Obviously," I retorted, the word slipping out more harshly than I intended. My frustration was still a simmering presence beneath the surface, a constant companion in this relentless environment. Our reality was harsh, and it often felt like there was little room for mistakes, for misunderstandings, or for the vulnerability that Paul's concern had briefly unveiled.
Paul, however, seemed to take my sneer in stride, unaffected by the edge in my voice. He stood there, a figure caught between vulnerability and resilience, with clothes tucked under one arm and a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. It was an oddly domestic image in the midst of our wild surroundings.
I smiled knowingly, a flicker of amusement crossing my face as I pictured Paul enjoying his time in the river. The thought brought a momentary lightness to the heavy air of survival that hung around us. Now it's my turn, I thought to myself, feeling a brief surge of excitement at the prospect of the cold, refreshing embrace of the river.
With a fluid motion, I lifted my t-shirt over my head, the fabric whispering softly against my skin as I tossed it aside. It made a lazy arc in the air before landing against the side of the tent, slumping to the ground in a defeated heap. The action, simple and mundane, felt almost liberating amidst the constant tension of our situation.
"Don't let the fire go out," I instructed Paul, casting a glance towards the flickering flames. I had used most of our kindling to coax it into life, a precious commodity in our limited resources. The last thing we needed was for Paul's occasional absent-mindedness to snuff out our source of warmth and protection.
Paul's response was swift, his head turning sharply to face me, a crease of worry marking his brow. "Are you sure having a fire is the best thing?" he questioned, his voice tinged with concern. "What if there is something out there and our fire attracts it?"
His words halted me in my tracks, my hands pausing midway through the action of unzipping my jeans. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a serious expression. "You really think there might be something else out there?" The question lingered between us, heavy with the unspoken fears that accompanied our isolation.
"Maybe," Paul replied with a noncommittal shrug. His response, vague as it was, echoed the undercurrent of fear that anything could be lurking beyond the ring of light cast by our fire, something that I hadn’t thought about until now.
I considered his concern, weighing it against our need for the fire's warmth and psychological comfort. "I'm sure it'll be fine for now," I reassured him, trying to infuse my voice with a confidence I wasn't entirely sure I felt. "We'll make sure we put it out shortly after nightfall." It was a compromise, an attempt to balance the primal comfort the fire offered against the primal fear of the unknown that lurked in the darkness beyond.
"Okay," Paul agreed, his voice carrying a note of reluctant acceptance. It was clear that the unease had not entirely left him, but for the moment, the matter was settled.
The anticipation of the river's cool embrace propelled me forward, my actions swift and unhesitating. With a quick motion, my jeans were discarded, flung towards the tent to join my already discarded t-shirt. The fabric made a soft thud as it hit the ground, a testament to my eagerness to immerse myself in the refreshing waters ahead. I could almost feel the chill of the river against my skin, a welcome respite from the heat and the dust that clung to every surface, every pore.
I made a beeline for the bank of the river, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and the simple joy of a moment's escape from our relentless reality. The river, with its constant, soothing murmur, promised a brief sanctuary, a momentary lapse from the survival and the uncertainty that had framed our day.
"Hey! Wait!" The urgency in Paul's voice cut through my focus, a jarring note in the harmony of my anticipation. His call came too late, my body already committed to the motion, my left foot planting firmly into the ground as I prepared to launch myself into a grand, dive bomb leap into the river's welcoming depths.
But Paul's yell, unexpected and sharp, distracted me mid-stride. My concentration shattered, my foot slipped in the soft, deceptive dust that coated the riverbank. The ground, which I had expected to provide solid launch, betrayed me, giving way beneath my weight. Momentum carried me forward, not into the graceful arc of a dive, but into a clumsy, sprawling tumble. I slid across the fine dust, a cloud of it billowing around me, invading every space, every crevice, with an intimate and unwelcome embrace.
From my inglorious position, sprawled on the ground, I heard Paul explode into a fit of laughter. The sound of it, unrestrained and genuine, cut through my initial embarrassment, sparking a reluctant grin despite the situation. "What?" I called out, making no immediate effort to rise, the absurdity of the moment grounding me as much as the earth beneath.
"I'm so sorry," Paul managed to say between his laughter, which seemed to bubble out of him with a life of its own. "I can't help it." His apology, punctuated by chuckles, didn't need forgiveness; the laughter was contagious, a release valve for the tension and the seriousness that often enveloped us.
Sinking my fists into the soft dust, I pushed myself to my feet. My face turned instantly hot. I was confident in my body, but I had completely forgotten I'd changed into Luke's stupid thong. I could feel the thin material wedged tightly between my butt cheeks. I turned undecidedly on the spot. What's better? I asked myself. Showing Paul my arse or my package? I could always stand to the side, but that would only enhance the silhouette. I sighed, momentarily burying my face in my hands as my palms rubbed my now throbbing temples. I should have been in the river by now.
Paul's suggestion pierced through the lingering amusement of my tumble, offering a new direction to channel my thwarted enthusiasm. He pointed downstream, his gesture cutting a clear path through the air, directing my attention towards a promise of undiscovered tranquility. "There's a nice little lagoon just over the way, near the end of the river's bend."
"Thanks," I responded, the word carrying a renewed sense of purpose. My hands moved methodically to brush away the fine, intrusive dust that clung to my legs, remnants of my unintended acrobatics. Each stroke felt like I was wiping away the slight embarrassment, preparing myself anew for the adventure that lay just beyond the current misadventure.
I moved past Paul with a deliberate pace, my steps carrying me with a resolve that felt sharpened by the prospect of the lagoon's secluded waters. The air around us seemed to hold a quiet anticipation, the natural world watching as I collected a towel and headed downstream.
