Post by Bobbi on Aug 25, 2018 12:07:03 GMT -5
The solid structure behind him turned out to be a wall, and not just any wall but the wall he had put himself against when he sat down to attempt meditation. It was a practice that he had become strangers with over the years. There had been too many distractions, too much work to do, always something else that was calling his name.
He’d thought he’d stolen a quiet moment in the day to acquaint himself with that old friend once more only to find that it was not quite so easy to do as he remembered from the distant past. There was no purpose to it beyond clearing his head, but his head had other ideas.
As he stirred back into the world around him the distant crying of a child was growing louder. Where he had just been was decades away from where he now sat. What he had seen in his mind’s eye was an illusion. Not quite a dream, but he knew it hadn’t been real. Those sharp shards of black sand had gathered into dunes nowhere around him, nor did it cake into his clothing along folds and creases. There was no dust to be moved as he stretched himself into a round roll through his shoulders and then rose stiffly to his feet.
Off balance and fighting a stagger, Solomon wearily made his way through the house, following the sound of crying. Climbing the stairs to the second floor demanded that he hold onto the handrail that led up, and that he take his time. Everything was out of focus except for the sound of that crying and the way it compelled him to find it.
It wasn’t Zach. He still slept soundly in his little tuck of a crib. Solomon found this truth out, having stopped outside the door of that child’s room to listen carefully. The noise seemed still so far away, and his own movements still felt cloud like but heavy like his entire body had fallen asleep on him. Trudging further down, he stopped outside another room and listened with some strain.
Within he could hear Ureala’s demanding cries with the word “Poppa” strangled between sobs. His left hand hit the controls to the door far more solidly than he would have liked under other circumstances, but with motor functions impaired the judgement for force was slightly off. The door opened and he stepped in, his fuzzy focus quickly finding the child who stood in her crib with her arms now stretching out toward her father.
Tears streaked down the little girl’s face, her pale green sleeping shirt moistened terribly from her tears. She was red faced and flustered, looking as if she had been crying for some time.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” Solomon’s steps were quick in moving toward the child, his arms feeling far more unsteady than they actually were when he scooped her up, “I’m here, it’s alright. Have a nightmare did you? Sh, it’s okay.”
In his arms the girl still cried, but no longer did she wail as he had been. Against his body, her little form curled, her head nuzzling against his shoulder, her face burrowing into his shirt as her sobs began to slow and quiet. “Poppa.” He heard her repeat that word several times, her little hands finding his shirt and holding on as tightly as she could as her world calmed down around her.
“I’m here, Ureala. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. I won’t let anything get you.”
He’d thought he’d stolen a quiet moment in the day to acquaint himself with that old friend once more only to find that it was not quite so easy to do as he remembered from the distant past. There was no purpose to it beyond clearing his head, but his head had other ideas.
As he stirred back into the world around him the distant crying of a child was growing louder. Where he had just been was decades away from where he now sat. What he had seen in his mind’s eye was an illusion. Not quite a dream, but he knew it hadn’t been real. Those sharp shards of black sand had gathered into dunes nowhere around him, nor did it cake into his clothing along folds and creases. There was no dust to be moved as he stretched himself into a round roll through his shoulders and then rose stiffly to his feet.
Off balance and fighting a stagger, Solomon wearily made his way through the house, following the sound of crying. Climbing the stairs to the second floor demanded that he hold onto the handrail that led up, and that he take his time. Everything was out of focus except for the sound of that crying and the way it compelled him to find it.
It wasn’t Zach. He still slept soundly in his little tuck of a crib. Solomon found this truth out, having stopped outside the door of that child’s room to listen carefully. The noise seemed still so far away, and his own movements still felt cloud like but heavy like his entire body had fallen asleep on him. Trudging further down, he stopped outside another room and listened with some strain.
Within he could hear Ureala’s demanding cries with the word “Poppa” strangled between sobs. His left hand hit the controls to the door far more solidly than he would have liked under other circumstances, but with motor functions impaired the judgement for force was slightly off. The door opened and he stepped in, his fuzzy focus quickly finding the child who stood in her crib with her arms now stretching out toward her father.
Tears streaked down the little girl’s face, her pale green sleeping shirt moistened terribly from her tears. She was red faced and flustered, looking as if she had been crying for some time.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” Solomon’s steps were quick in moving toward the child, his arms feeling far more unsteady than they actually were when he scooped her up, “I’m here, it’s alright. Have a nightmare did you? Sh, it’s okay.”
In his arms the girl still cried, but no longer did she wail as he had been. Against his body, her little form curled, her head nuzzling against his shoulder, her face burrowing into his shirt as her sobs began to slow and quiet. “Poppa.” He heard her repeat that word several times, her little hands finding his shirt and holding on as tightly as she could as her world calmed down around her.
“I’m here, Ureala. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. I won’t let anything get you.”
