My return, and the tribulations it conceals...

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.

Yes, I'm at another bus stop. I don't know where I'm going...

As I waited at the bus stop, I noticed a curious figure approaching. At first, I was drawn to the fact he was 7 foot tall and dressed in a long coat that suggested he would soon flash me. Then, my attention was drawn to the undersized bowler hat perched on his head. Only once I'd studied his tiny head-wear did I become aware of the fact he was, in fact, a giant cockroach.
 "Good morning" He said, "Could you perhaps tell me when the next bus to Ipswich arrives?"
 "Oh... Well, I'm afraid there isn't a direct bus to Ipswich. You'd have to go to the bus depot, I suppose, and get a bus from there. Or a train maybe."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied:
 "Oh, I see. I'm sorry about this, but you know, I'm a giant cockroach. This morning, a mad scientist mutated me and gave me vocal cords. And this garish hat. So you must excuse me not understanding the intricacies of bus travel."
 "Of course. Why do you want to go to Ipswich anyway?"
 "I don't know." He replied, as sadness covered his face.
I couldn't think of a reply, so we stood looking at each other for a few seconds. Eventually, I got embarrassed. When he turned to look at the bus timetable, I squashed him with my shoe.
 It was kinder than letting him go to Ipswich.

My dangerous life

Flaunting social norms, I have taken to running with scissors. I run everywhere with them - to the bus, off the bus, around the bus. In fact, I have now done many things involving scissors and buses. I don't know why, I just seem drawn to them.
The bus drivers don't seem to like me. Probably because I tend to cut their customers accidentally. Running with scissors is no exact science.
Yet...