On the Threshold of Change
Flying without magical tools is a unique experience. There was no wind in my face or hair, yet I saw the Pine Giants bend and sway in it’s bellowing. Another strange aspect about this flight was it’s speed. I wasn’t moving any faster than walking pace, but I was out of the city with a couple bats of an eye. I was crossing grassy hills and jagged mountains without time to notice any details.
If the flight took any length of time at all, it was lost on me. When I landed I stared at the building in front of me. The windows were round and strange. A tower rose in the center, crowned with a clock reading the same early afternoon time as the clock on Harth Home Hospital.
Without a thought to what lay on the inside of this building, I walked up to the wooden and weathered front door. The stone mantle above the door had four words carved into it, “Your Time Has Come,” and as soon as the words were read the door flung itself open revealing a room lit by rainbows.
Tags: Pure Imagination, Taftka, Writing
Joeysan's Head, The Taftkan Dailies | Joey | 
25 September 2009 11:18 AM
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