Calling out your name, I stood in the desert of a widowed king. Seeking answer to the question invested in me by Them. Are there any prophets left in this rotten world, to carry my word through windy cities and into the homes of the forlorn. Gather what is lost, my angel and speak to the free. Two of them I hear, are among them. Look for them, fly, and look. You must approach them carefully, who knows what they can do to you, my poor fellow.
Along the path of whithered roses walks a lonely doe, harvesting tears and gauntlets. A shimmering scimitar seeks her neck as is the case in all the realms. Cut open, the rivers make amends and carry great power, to quench thirst of all the mighty rhythms that play, abound in the wistful air of a Missouri night. There comes the traveller, speaking a lonely language, pensive on the matter of approaching their subject. It is not easily done – i translate, for we do not share a language with the wise kind – , thought they, and a test I must procure to see if this man can really be a true Voice.
He seems lost, and hunted at the same time. Mourning is not his greatest suit, but neither is regret. Ideals, I perceived, and a weariness of spirit. He wouldn’t be the first of his kind to serve as a voice for Them. Oh, look. Here he parked his car. I will see, if I can approach him. Set on the pavement starkly lit by neon, sits a car gently purring, waiting for Leland to return. He is at the ATM, wildly cursing his spendings, as if he could get them back, to spend anew. The creature stalks him from within hawthorn, prickly atmosphere it has, that night.
“Hey!”, Leland shouts, turning on his heels, pulling out a gun, panting, “come out, wherever you’re hiding, show yourself!” Do you mean me, they ask, not really sure he can hear them. “Woah- what the fuck?”, he can hear something, inside his mind, like the greater beings communicate among each other, just that humans were kept from this circle, for good reason. “What are you?” Leland is now more like a rabbit in the headlights, pleading his case in his mind, sending the mouth of his gun searching around the lot. Can you not speak more quietly, I can hear you perfectly fine. “Um, okay, um, what are you? And, and where are you?” Does it matter. “Uh. Oh, I don’t know. Well, what do you want?” Easy question. You. “Are you an alien? Is that what this is? Are you going to probe me?” No. Calm down. It’s nothing like that.