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OOM: Home sweet home
Mar. 4th, 2013 12:53 amAutor sags in relief as soon as he knows for certain that Milliways is behind him. He makes his excuses to Mr. Cat, and heads out with the intent of getting to the comfort of his library as fast as he can.
Squinting against the overcast sky--he'd spent so many days cooped up in the bar that he can hardly see outside, now--Autor checks his watch and turns his head to the left. Yes, there's Miss Anteaterina, running late as usual. And Miss Bottom, with her donkey head caught on some branches. And there's Arma--Wait, where is Armadillion?
And now Autor notices that other things are different, too. A baby crying at the wrong time. A dog bounding down the path. A cool wind blowing when it shouldn't.
This is not the Goldkrone he left. This is not the Goldkrone he knows.
Terrified, Autor seizes his breastbone. What's--no. No, it isn't really, he thinks, jaw dropping. Is it?
He adjusts his glasses. It is! It has to be! Taking in the new sights, smells, sounds of the people he already knows, Autor finds himself so exuberant and frightened and overwhelmed that he's just about ready to cry.
"The first new day," he murmurs, breathless. So many years of writing the same essays, of playing the same notes, of watching the same people press their lips together, and it all leads to this moment.
The gears shift and grind. The show must go on.
To hell with fear. He has work to do.
Squinting against the overcast sky--he'd spent so many days cooped up in the bar that he can hardly see outside, now--Autor checks his watch and turns his head to the left. Yes, there's Miss Anteaterina, running late as usual. And Miss Bottom, with her donkey head caught on some branches. And there's Arma--Wait, where is Armadillion?
And now Autor notices that other things are different, too. A baby crying at the wrong time. A dog bounding down the path. A cool wind blowing when it shouldn't.
This is not the Goldkrone he left. This is not the Goldkrone he knows.
Terrified, Autor seizes his breastbone. What's--no. No, it isn't really, he thinks, jaw dropping. Is it?
He adjusts his glasses. It is! It has to be! Taking in the new sights, smells, sounds of the people he already knows, Autor finds himself so exuberant and frightened and overwhelmed that he's just about ready to cry.
"The first new day," he murmurs, breathless. So many years of writing the same essays, of playing the same notes, of watching the same people press their lips together, and it all leads to this moment.
The gears shift and grind. The show must go on.
To hell with fear. He has work to do.
