Image via WikipediaThe sand battered around the magic walls.
Seriously? What? He's going to open with a line like that? He doesn't write anything for a week-and-a-half, and that's what he opens with?
Midday sun scorched the already burned sand. Obscuring the heat in the East, sand blew strong over the desert, rising in angry clouds and battering near the rock. Perched on top, an old man, his arms outstretched and his head lolled, Christ on the cross, but sitting on a rock. Around him, 8-10 feet of peace. Then the walls rose spherically and invisible, the sand smashing and battering them.
I watched the wizard work. After a few moments, he looked at me and smiled a sad smile, the look of a man who has a new puppy, but has already eaten far too many.
His eyes, full of puppy, focused on me, piercing my skin and drawing information, which is substituted for blood in this metaphor.
"How long has it been?" I asked.
"A thousand years." He replied. "Slightly over a week has passed for you, but outside, the world is a thousand years older. It is ready for you to return to it now."
I nodded, noticing the wind had died down and the sand had retaken it's natural position, lazing on unending beach.
The wizard chuckled, and sand swooped up and surrounded him. After a moment, it fell lifelessly and without life, spilling across the rock and back onto the sand which was around it but different to the first sand we talked about. But the wizard was gone.
I noticed no change around me. After a few minutes, I got bored of waiting for society to find me, and crossed a sand dune.
I was therefore surprised to mind myself in Ipswich. A bus pulled up to a stop near me, and a group of people got off. I approached them, and asked a small man in a hat what year it was.
"2010" he replied sullenly.
I cursed. That was the last time I trust a wizard who demands payment in sand. Why did he need more sand?
A few minutes passed. I followed the short man in the hat. I wanted to know why he was so sullen.