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Wasn't last chapter a blast? Makes you just feel like Dylan and everything will be fiiiine. Well, we are back with Zeph for a bit. I hope you are enjoying the story so far. If you have thoughts or something you want to share, I'll be looking for you in the comments.
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Souls on the mortal plane weren’t able to retain shape without a vessel. They need a physical form to latch onto. That could be anything from flesh or a creepy doll in the attic.
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When Zephaniah reentered the mortal plane, he descended at such a speed that he thought the impact might be devastating. However, if someone were there to see him, they would be little more than curious about the thin streak of light on the horizon.
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But no one was there to see his quiet descent.
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It was quick, more like a blip. As quick as lighting, but only a straight line in the sky, entering the atmosphere at a slight angle. His trail of red transitive energy bled through in the stratosphere, slowly diffusing into the air of the late morning sky.
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There was no impact, per se and hardly even a sound. He joined the earth.
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He was earth.
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He couldn’t move and for some reason; that bothered him. He became restless. Rock didn’t need to move, but for some reason he wondered why he couldn’t move his arms.
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As he wondered, he felt his arms first take shape, a hewn from solid stone, then lift against resistance. He slowly broke free, discovering where the stone ended and he began. When he emerged from earth, he tried to look upon his body but rocks didn't have eyes.
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As he remembered what it was to see. He remembered what it meant to blink and that blinking should be as natural as anything. As the thought materialized, stone parted atop his new eyelids and the world came into view.
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Down his body, it didn't look as familiar as it felt. His chest looked like a cliffside all the way to his waist and led to a pair of stony pillars for legs. That is, it was all stone until he flexed the fibers of earth and minerals. Crust of shale and dust broke free from the toned human body beneath.
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It was when he tightened his new muscle and flesh that he realized he couldn't breathe. Rock didn't usually breathe but he knew he needed air.
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But he didn't have lungs. He didn't until he gasped, filling a cavity in his chest with air and around it hugged his new lungs. They stretched for the first time, then squeezed out wind and dust from his throat.
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He inhaled his new surroundings.
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He remembered what his purpose was. It was crude, like ore yet solid and unmoving.
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Find Dylan. Save him.
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He wasn't sure who that was but he knew that was his purpose. He looked around and did not see anyone that could be named Dylan. It was only dirt, a few bushes and sun that bent the air just above the ground.
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There was a lingering connection to the earth, even though he knew he wasn't paid of it anymore. It was fleeting, but he knew he could just as easily be any other plot of clay and ash.
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But that didn't matter. That would never save Dylan.
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He picked a direction and started walking.
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For several minutes, maybe hours, he walked in that direction. He wasn't plagued with thoughts as he marched. The burden of contemplation never came to him even as his body twitched with each of its subtle changes.
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His jaw popped as he stretched it and suddenly he could hear the world around him. He forgot about sound, but rock could be forgiven for not concerning itself with noise.
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As he walked, one footstep sounded stranger than the other. He looked behind him a branch of bramble bush dragged behind his foot with each stride. He stopped and lifted the foot to inspect it.
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He slowly dislodged a two inch thorn from the pad of his foot and examined it. He figured that should’ve hurt.
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As quick as the thought occurred to him, pain stung his foot. Not only that, heat from the sun bore into his skin and he felt the immense dryness of his neglected eyes. He blinked tears into them and as his vision cleared again he inspected his foot once more. He wondered why there was no blood.
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Just then, he felt a thump in his chest between his lungs. A heart beat for the first time pumping blood throughout him. Life carved cooling ravines into the earth of his body, flowing like rivers, boring rivers that became veins and arteries.
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He felt a rush build pressure in his fingertips that rhythmically throbbed under the grip he put on his own foot. The feeling washed over him and with it, blood welled from deep within the hole the thorn left behind.
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Blood and oxygen gave breath to his train of thought, fueling it's locomotion much more than before. He had a brain. He could think. He could remember.
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He remembered that little boy’s face and the fear he must have felt seeing his mother the way he did. He remembered fighting to protect him. He remembered Dylan. Zeph's eyes welled again for a different feeling than before. How could he have forgotten Dylan?
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He closed his eyes on tears that quenched dry skin before falling. His eyes opened again on the expanse before him.
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Rock-brained-him had been walking aimlessly for who knows how long. The skin of the desert was tough and he didn't sink into the sand. Looking around him, he saw an arid scape of stillness and sparse vegetation.
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As luck would have it, his senseless wanderings led him to the edge of a savannah. On it, a lone wooden shack marked the end of the desert in the distance. He limped across the dust as quickly as his limp would take him.
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As he drew closer, a man in simple garb crossed between him and the door to the shack.
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The man hitched a foraging basket on his hip and under his arm as he watched Zephaniah come to a stop. His head tilted as he took in the sight of a naked, fit young man emerging from a direction that had no civilization for at least forty miles.
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His head nudged towards the door behind him. “Mind the pot.”
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Zephaniah took that for the invitation it was, and unabashedly hobbled into the little shack, shaking off some dust from his hair and body before entering.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTuVqqyC6Vm
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