Boston looked out at the pond; its otherwise flat surface was wrinkled by a faint breeze blowing down the hole it was in.
He was standing next to a willow tree, which was blocking most of the light coming from the morning sun. The rays of light that penetrated through the leaves swirled and danced like they do on a sandy sea bottom snorkeling in the Caribbean.
The pond wasn’t big, and it was rimmed all along its shores by reeds and grass swaying too and forth in that breeze.
Boston, a teenage boy with long disheveled brown hair, looked over the scene, taking note of all the small details.
He saw the beads of pollen that moved up and down on the ripples of the water, seeing them float together almost like a tiny armada sailing across the sea of pond. Boston wondered if the tiny breeze-blown ripples were like the vast crashing waves of the open ocean to those tiny specks of pollen.
If he looked close enough, he could see little dots poking out of the water, they were bigger and more defined than the specks of pollen that littered the sunlit portions of the pond. And if you ever moved your arm to sneeze they would quickly disappear leaving behind a small disturbance radiating out from its epicenter, the nose of a turtle.
Boston looked up into to abstract painting known as the sky. Even if the artist was not a person but simply the rising air and wind that kept the clouds afloat way up high.
What never ceased to amaze Boston about the clouds was the varying patterns and the ways they ceaselessly integrated together to form a single whole. One portion of the cloud was almost like a chess pattern of fluffy pillows and another like just a broad stroke across that familiar painting few looked too. These two patterns at first glance might seem like they could never be together in the same universe and look good, but there they were, together on the same cloud, but Boston looked anyway.
Intruding through those ethereal clouds was the daylight moon, its intrusion was welcome though. It was in the west and currently in its second to last quarter, but was still rounded out instead of in as would get to be in the next few days.
To Boston, during day it looked all the more like another world than it might of at night if you didn’t have a telescope. Although it might be dimmer in the day, the day is like a blanket, that a child may hide under. The blanket may hide out the nightlight of the stars, but the moon is bright enough to pierce through that impenetrable barrier created by the sun. Enough so that when you see it through that thick woolen sheet, you can see that there is still a world outside of what you can immediately sense right in front of you.
Instead of looking down or up, Boston was now looking forwards and seeing the scene laid out before him. If his friends or family stumbled on this pristine area would merely say “hmmm, pretty” and then move on. But Boston continued to ponder the little things, like the school of minnows darting about in the reeds of the pond.
This happened for other things too. He would bring his 6-inch reflector telescope out on a perfect night and look up at Saturn or Jupiter. He would bring others out to see the things he pointed at with the telescope. Instead of the majesty that he saw though, they would chastise him for bringing them out into the cold.
Boston could, however, stare at the same ‘dots’ for hours on end, having to stop only to readjust the telescope so that he could keep them in the eyepiece.
On Saturn he would see the rings protruding out and into the vast void of space, he would also see Saturn’s largest moon Titan, either behind or in front of the planet. On Jupiter he looked at the bands laid out on the tan plate, looking, looking for that fabled red spot. His telescope was probably too small to be able to see it, but he would look for hours as the cold night air chilled his arms trying to hold the telescope steady.
And those moons! Those wonderful moons! Some nights there would be two or three or none or four out, they all looked the same except for one, Io, the volcanic pizza orange moon that orbited the closest of the four. He could never be sure if they were either behind or in front of the planet.
That dilemma! Like the electronic mask that spins and you can never tell if you were putting the strap around your head or watching someone play a part in a play. He could look at the moons for hours trying to figure either behind or in front of the planet. He could!...
“Hey Bossy you still with us!” a kid up and behind him yelled down.
Boston snickered softly.
And so he turned around, heaved up a 24 pack of water bottles, and trudged his way up out of the hole away from the pond.
Boston was a fifteen-year-old sophomore in high school, he had on his back a black backpack and in his right hand was a red closed zipper binder which contained all of his homework that would be due next Monday. In his left hand he carried a smaller string pack which contained his now dirty clothes as well as other commodities like shampoo and deodorant. He had on colorful tiny shorts and a tank top for the upcoming race.
Boston, who lived in Oklahoma, was currently in Arkansas walking his way over to the start line. The Bus ride here from Oklahoma had been a long one, forced into a crowded school bus with uncomfortable seats for four grueling hours. The only thing to look out to during the whole experience was a sea of grass and hills with red clay poking out from underneath, which was interesting to look at for an hour or so, but it got kind of boring for the next three.
He had to then cramp into a two bed hotel room with three other boys. The room had two queen-sized beds, but Boston had opted to sleep in a chair with an ottoman, finding sleeping in a bed with another person a tad bit unnerving.
The next morning Boston got up from his back-aching sleep at five-forty-five, showered while the other boys lined up outside the bathroom, and ate a single blue berry muffin for breakfast. The group of sixty or so boys and girls then made their way out of their hotel on the fringes of town and stumbled their way three miles to the start line of their meet.
Boston had opted to carry a large pack of water bottles the entire three miles along with all his belongings, and while he was heaving and shifting around with the water bottles in his grasp he had noticed the pond. He had then decided that it would be a great as time as any to rest his sore arms.
It had been a beautiful pond, but now it was time to continue his journey.
Coming out of the depression, Boston could see the grassy path that lay ahead of him. The path was flanked with a field of corn on the left, and a field of wheat on the right. his school was clustered together in a group, a group that Boston was now behind, due to his stop at the pond. He could also see other schools in their own wandering bands behind and ahead of his own. They were all headed in the same direction, towards the start line.
Some of the male members of his team were shouldering and carrying tarps, stand up tents, coolers, and an assortment of other items. Boston, strolling along with them, was constantly shifting position in an attempt to find the perfect spot and relieve the pressure on his arms. The girls, chatting amongst themselves, were carrying nothing.
The school, along with Boston, made their way over a drainage ditch which was bridged together by a small plastic board. As he made his way over the ditch, Boston tried to distract himself from the load he was hauling.
He thought to last night where he had tried to eat some lasagna for dinner, a dish which he had never eaten before in his life. He had always been a picky eater, he could have none of the various dishes like pizza, spaghetti, broccoli, and sauce covered rice, just to name a few.
A week ago Boston had not thought he would have been able to come here to Arkansas, to come to this specific meet he had to have been to all of the practices beforehand. He had missed one when he had to come after school to retake a test he had to have missed, because he had gone to another cross country meet.
Just as Boston had been willing to say that his fate was a blessing in disguise (after all, free time wasn’t something that he had a lot of these days), his coach had come to tell him that he would be welcome to come.
As it was only a few days before the weekend, Boston immediately had thought ‘Well there goes my weekend ‘
Now Boston was stuck in Arkansas where he would spend only about twenty-three minutes running for the entire two days and then spend the rest getting here and back. To Boston it felt kind of like a waste.
After spending some time in his thoughts, he and his group had finally come to set up camp where they would be waiting around for a few hours.
With practiced ease a group of about four boys laid out a large tarp one of them had been carrying on the spot announced by the coaches to be their spot.
Next another group of boys brought down two tents that would provide shade and advertise the schools name. For each tent four boys pulled each of the four sides of the tent away until it was fully deployed.
Other boys hung small hammocks from two nearby trees right next to the tarp, tying the ends around the trunks so as to keep themselves from falling.
All Boston did was gently set the water bottles on the ground, and with that action setup was complete.
With a collective sigh of relief everyone had taken their bags and belongings off of their sore shoulders and placed them down on to the tarp while simultaneously going to sit or lay down.
Quite a few kids used their backpacks and jackets as makeshift pillows and blankets while others used literal pillows and pulled out literal blankets (of which you could see fly in the air before gently falling back down on their occupants).
You could tell that most of them were in for the long haul. Most, in this case, did not include the twelve varsity girls who had already started their warm ups.
Boston was going to be in for the really long haul as he would be among those who would be last to run for the day. JV boys were always the last and largest group.
Boston looked around the chosen spot where his school would be waiting and took note of the area.
In the opposite direction that Boston was sitting in, the terrible smell of the porta-potties wafted by.
To Boston’s right side were the kids with and in the hammocks, they were all dangling from the same two willows. Looking behind and through them one would see the direction in which the start line was lined out. You wouldn’t be able to actually see it though as Boston’s school was at the back of a large congregation of over fifty schools. The colorful other forty-nine tents got a bit in the way it seemed.
To Boston’s left was only one other crimson tent, standing out in the landscape of green (with hints of orange) that was Arkansas. And behind that last tent and tarp were two series of stakes that were connected by a bright orange nylon rope that marked the track.
The track evidenced by the stakes encompassed most of his vision. Boston turned his head to follow the track, it was only when he looked behind it that…
“Is that a cave?” his thoughts had apparently grew too loud.
At that moment runners from the Varsity girls team came sprinting and stomping to Boston’s left and up the track. The multitude of different colors from all the different teams seemed to blur together into a single congealed blob that quickly turned and obscured Boston’s view of the cave.
Boston just shrugged and turned around to unzip his backpack. He scrummaged around in it until he pulled out a small, relatively thin book. On the book’s cover was an illustration of a burning tome, and inscribed on the top were the numbers and words “Fahrenheit 451”.
He was almost done with the book, he had been forced to labor over every word in it for the last half a month and now he had to read the last part of the book. The book was definitely tiny and Boston was a good reader, but he had held off from finishing it as per his teacher’s instructions.
Now that the last week was over he would be able to read the last part of the book and get one step closer to finally finishing this god forsaken novella! No doubt though he would have to scour through this part again to find every single personification, or simile, or something or the other. It would be nice to just read it and absorb the actual information found in the book before he did all that though.
It was weird, the closer he scrutinized at these books he was forced to read, the less of the actual information and meaning he picked up. Funny how that works.
He skimmed his fingers over the worn book (many others had used it before him) and opened it to a heading that stated “Part Three Burning Bright”.
Lying down with his head on his backpack and bottom on the tarp, he buried his head in the book, reading through as the tension in the story increased with every passing paragraph. After a long chase with the mechanical hound, Montag was swept away by a river away from the dreary and doomed city and into a world not of his own.
And there out in the new world Montag found a group of people very different from the ones he had known for all his life. Old writers, English professors, and readers that talked and when they talked words and meaning came out and Montag had known where he might now belong.
Boston looked out to all his fellow classmates as he read this. He saw their mouths move and their heads bob but no words seemed to come out. They all talked but Boston heard nothing. Mass-produced jokes labeled ‘made online’ were thrown around and passing remarks made, but it sometimes felt very little of actual substance was said between the other kids.
Boston sometimes felt like he was a miniscule song bird among a plump of ducks. All of them were trying to make the loudest sound so that they could be noticed by all the others, even if only for a second. The song bird tried to sing its song, but none of the ducks bothered to listen. So the song bird remained quiet.
After finishing the book, he had been reading for the past two hours, Boston dropped it in his lap and stared again at the cave in front of him.
The cave protruded into the side of a large steep hill that the cross-country course went along and was placed firmly at that hill’s base. The grass near the edge of the cave slowly gave way to rough and vector like rock which formed the entire inside perimeter of the cave.
A little light from the morning sun beamed into the cavern, but it barely penetrated into the very inky, hanging black of the cave. Past that penetrating parabola there would have seemed to be nothing but that darkness.
Boston looked closer though, and he could have to sworn to have seen a fainting luminescent glow of green far back reflecting off a wall. Boston wasn’t entirely sure if he was just seeing things or not though.
He pushed himself off the tarp and on to his feet, he then took a step to maybe have a closer look when suddenly a deep voice intruded into his ears.
“JV boys time to warm up!”
That was the queue from his coaches that it was time to prepare for the race. That cave, for some reason, seemed to oddly draw him in, but he had a race to compete and a time to beat. He could look into this cave after he was done.
After all the boys jogged, stretched, and did their drills (which included stepping on their tippy toes) they all briskly walked over to the start line of the race.
Boston felt like water being held back by a dam, all the JV boys from half a century’s worth of schools were all packed behind a line maybe three-hundred feet long. The lake of boys held back by the dam was ready to burst.
Just about a dozen minutes before the starting gun would fire, Boston’s team made their way out and in front of the writhing mass of boys.
They all then formed in a tightly packed circle, and with their arms intertwined, they started to chant their school’s cross-country moto.
Officially the school’s mascot was a rapping raptor, but no one ever used that symbol to represent the school. In its place they went for the school’s older mascot, a clownfish.
Their chant may or may not have resembled a certain other chant, from a certain popular children’s movie.
“Shark bait, hoo ha ha.” They all whipped
“Shark bait! Hoo Ha Ha!” They all yelled.
“SHARK BAIT! HOO HA HA!” They all proclaimed to the sky.
And with that they all dispersed and made their way back to behind the start line. Even Boston, usually a quiet kid, had thrown out his lungs to the chant, and now his unpracticed vocal chords were raspy.
Boston’s newly invigorated group heaved and pushed their ways through the crowd of some thousand or so other kids. As they did so, a fight nearly broke out between a teen in his party and one from another after one of them had tried to make their way through the other.
Boston would’ve put himself into the running start position, but there just wasn’t room in the space they were allotted to do so. In fact, there was so little space that he was forced to stand straight up while he waited.
When a loud speaker suddenly blared, as if by magic, the sounds made by over a thousand kids suddenly went silent.
Boston couldn’t see what was happening, but he could definitely hear it.
“Runners set!” the assumed starter shouted.
Boston tuned out the noises around and focused solely on himself and the words from the starter, they almost seemed to echo in his head as time slowed. The adrenaline he felt seemed to almost super chill his muscles and his mind as he prepared for that one single moment.
“GO!”
And the flood gates of that dam burst open, and then as more kids got out of the way of the others, the dam itself cracked and then burst open in a flood upon the unsuspecting worn and trodden ground.
for the first few seconds Boston didn’t go very fast, the boys in front forced him to keep his stride tiny. He even resorted to essentially running in place to relieve the excitement he had built up.
When the group of kids dispersed further, giving Boston more space, he quickly sped up to his normal racing pace. Many kids passed in front of him, but he knew that it wouldn’t last. Most of these kids were only caught up in the excitement of being around a thousand others of their kind and would not far ahead slow themselves down.
Boston mostly didn’t worry about the other kids around him, he made sure to keep his pace and his breathing steady. As the race went on, like he predicted, Boston started becoming a passer instead of a passé when other kids had spent all their energy sprinting at the beginning of the race and began slowing down.
After what felt like not so long a time, he spied in the not so far distance a plastic sign signifying the mile way point (despite the fact it was a 5k). At this Boston felt a sudden mystical elation. The first stretch of the race had felt like nothing! So as he flew down the hill the sign was located on, he picked up his pace to make up for this perceived opportunity.
Boston went on, but the soil and track were dry, and the grass loose. All of the stomping and treading from kids ahead lifted the muck up into the air and into his face, mouth, and lungs. Combined with the strain of running for so long, his lungs were not happy.
Luckily though, as the race went on, the runner’s differences in speed slowly caused them to move apart from each other. This thereby decreased the amount of pollutants swirling about in the air, even if only by a little.
The intensity of the race was slowly starting to wear away at Boston, and by the two mile mark his body was really starting to strain. His lungs were languished, and his legs were lined with lead. It was through force of will and practiced composure that he pushed his legs forwards and kept his breathing steady. It seemed to him that that push at the first mile point had been a bad idea. He felt he had pushed himself too hard and was now paying the consequences.
Not knowing that he was close to the finish line, Boston in despair had almost slowed down. He reveled in his mistake, berating his every move in the race so far, even thinking about his own life outside of the race.
It was only then, when he rounded a new corner, that he saw the cave once again. The green light he hadn’t even been sure was there in the first place was now filling up the entire back of the cave.
He turned again, but his head eyes stayed fixated in the same direction, towards the cave which captured his attention once again. He didn’t notice that while his attention was elsewhere, he had passed a kid from his school who in other races was usually a minute ahead of him.
The cave had diverted Boston’s thoughts from the race and he had unwittingly sped up.
Long after that event Boston thought back to when he was visiting his cousin’s place in Arizona. He and his older cousin were in the cool pool water attempting to escape from the scorching rays of the desert sun when they had decided to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest.
Boston had won the first couple of matches before his uncle had decided to come and give his cousin some advice for winning. He had told them, “Stop thinking so much. Just imagine Hailey or some other girl and you’ll forget to breath. Worked with your mom.”
Boston, being the little kid he was, ignored the adult’s advice and instead stayed with what had worked before, which was bellowing in his head over and over again don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe.
Before he could do this however, he saw that his cousin’s features were softer than they had been before. He shrugged it off though and they both counted to three before plunging their heads below the surface of the water.
Not long after Boston came up for air and started gasping. He was surprised to still see his cousin under the water sitting there with a bored look. After what felt like an eternity, the cousin slowly lifted his head above the water and smirked.
He had bragged “I came up because I was bored.”
From that moment on Boston learned to listen to his uncle.
Boston finally returned to the waking world to see the finish line barely two-hundred meters away. Hanging from the checkered pole was a large electronic timer. When he had regained awareness the first thing he saw was the timer, it had said twenty-two thirty.
Over a minute faster than his personal record. A minute.
Boston wasted no time (for he had none to waste) and sped up to a bolting sprint. He finally understood what people meant when they said they were flying. For the world around him seemed to blur past, and he seemed to swoop up and down like a bird with every push.
It wouldn’t be the last time today that Boston would feel like he was flying
He pushed and heaved and breathed, until finally, after twenty-two minutes and fifty seconds he broke the finish line. He had beaten his previous record by nearly forty seconds.
As he slid to a stop he silently cheered himself before immediately expelling his tiny breakfast all over the grass.
Boston came back to base camp to see the tent and tarp missing. the JV boys race was the last race of the day after all and they had a long journey back to the bus and back to Oklahoma. The site where they had once sat was now covered in garbage of all sorts lying about.
With a whistle the wind picked up.
He looked over to the mysterious cave once again, for what he thought, would be the last time. When he looked though he saw that the neon light was now even brighter, and pulsating.
He was tired of speculating what was there, so he flung his regular backpack and his string one over his shoulders and positioned his binder firmly within his grasp.
Behind him he heard the sound of the other boys either bragging about new personal records, or sulking after having gone a significantly longer time. Boston paid them no attention though, his eyes and his feet stayed pointed to the cave. His mind was transfixed on that mysterious cavern.
Summoning his courage, he took a step closer to the cave and then another. He ducked slightly and used his one free hand to lift the crowd control barrier so that he could pass under it and onto the track. Then he did it again on the other side, his head and his eyes staying focused on the same point the entire time, the cave.
He stepped on the rugged stones leading up to the cave but then paused. He lost his focus for a second, and looked out behind him. His relatively long hair blew with the breathing of the wind, and behind him he saw all the kids he had raced with over the past two years.
And for some reason, he felt a twinge of sadness.
And with that, he finally turned to continue his trek
As soon as he made his way into the cave the wind blowing his hair stopped, and the sound slowly died out. The change was unnervingly swift for Boston, but the light still shown as bright as ever in front of him.
As he tried to keep himself from slipping and falling in the dark on the hard rock of the cave, he noticed how much more chipper it was inside the cave than it was in the noon sun outside, the air on his sweat made him shiver. It was damp too, he could hear the drops falling from the ceiling, he even felt one land on his head as he slowly plodded through to his destination.
His steps were slow, deliberate, and wide, like that of a stork on the water’s edge. As he inched closer he saw that gradually the apparent brightness and size of the blinking light increased.
He eventually came to a bend in the cave, where he turned and saw what it was he was looking for, the source of the light. It looked like a Chinese New Year lantern like he had seen in videos and books. That is, instead of being a warm white or yellow, the color of the lantern was a neon green.
He was very apprehensive just looking at it from around the corner, it looked like a really big firefly suspended in air, pulsing on and off.
Boston came out from the corner where he had been hiding to take a look at whatever it was that right before him. When he came out the ambient glow from the source turned Boston’s face a dim green.
Then, as if noticing that he had come out of the corner, the ball of light came straight at Boston’s face. Any other person would have immediately shit their pants at that point, as an unknown mysterious force headed straight towards your face tends to freak most people out.
Boston was among the title of ‘most people’.
The sudden movement caused Boston to lurch and fall back on to his backpack, impulsively he semi-whispered “Shit.” He moved his arms to cover his face from whatever was about to happen to him, but nothing did.
Slowly he moved his arms out of the way of his vision and then put them back as whatever it was really bright and right above his face.
As if noticing his discomfort, the light dimmed itself and Boston moved his arms to see what it was that had enticed him so much. His eyes moved up to study whatever the light was, and saw that the light seemed to be doing the same.
Boston saw that it circled around him, like it was trying to size him up, and then it came back to hovering straight over him. It seemed to tilt its head in curiosity, although how a homogenous sphere of light without a head could seem to tilt it was beyond him.
Suddenly it zoomed off and flew down further into the cave and out of Boston’s sight. “Wait!” Boston yelled out, not sure if whatever it was could even understand what he said.
He wasn’t going to just let whatever it was leave him hanging like that. He had no idea what it was, it could be an undiscovered creature or alien. Then again, that could mean something dangerous.
He swiftly put his hands down and pushed himself back up to his feet and tried to sprint to catch up before he landed flat on his face. Spitting out a pebble that got in his mouth, he got back up again and this time walked in the direction that the thing had moved off too.
As he made his way deeper through the cave, Boston’s anxieties slowly crept up to him.
What if it is some kind of mythological creature that will lure me to my death? He worried.
Boston wanted to turn back while he still could, but back to what?
To distract himself from these thoughts he looked around the cave, he actually couldn’t see anything though, so he looked with his ears.
He occasionally heard the drip drop of water falling from the stalactites in the ceiling, but most of all he heard the silence, the deafening silence that permeated the whole cavern. Boston actually liked the silence, it was a nice contrast to the world of distraction and noise he had known. The stagnant silence kept him company.
He took in a breath of the cool moist air which blew into his lungs and cooled them significantly, bringing in a satisfying pleasure that shivered his up his spine.
The endorphins from his run had made him a lot more relaxed for what would usually be a stressful situation. Before he had started running, Boston was a nervous and anxiety ridden kid. He had what the adults would tell him were ‘anger issues’.
With them he would get angry at even the tiniest transgressions maybe pointed in his direction. Like another kid cutting in line, or a slight misplay in a game of four-square. In the heat of the moment he would snap and take justice into his own hands, pushing and shoving and yelling at all who got in his way.
He would spend hours at a time calming down locked inside a room, only during that time would he reflect on his actions, and take note of his mistakes. He would feel immensely guiltier and stressed after all of it was said and done.
The stress kept him up all night at times, he would see a trailer to a potentially scary movie on the television and not get any sleep the next night. He would keep the blanket just up to his neck, but he wouldn’t completely cover himself. For if he did he felt that the Carbon Dioxide produced from his breath would stay there and suffocate him. So, he stayed there looking out into the dark hallway beyond his room, constantly scanning for whatever he thought was there.
He would visit a therapist, he would chew out his shirts, and he would, at times, be taking six pills every night as part of a way to keep his emotions from overpowering him.
He found solace in his books and his hobbies however. He knew everything about dinosaurs and the other prehistoric creatures that used to roam the planet. He loved to learn about the planets and one day imagined that he could go to one (other than his own). And human history, the courses of civilizations and peoples fascinated him just as much.
Regardless, his many issues continued to haunt him throughout his childhood.
That was until he came to middle school and discovered the joyous wonders of cross-country. At first he was very bad at it, having to stop every hundred meters due to his inexperience. He kept at it though, and slowly got better.
When he came home after a long day and a long run he could seem to come home more refreshed than he was when he left. At school he became an easier person to be around, he actually started hanging around the other kids (albeit only loosely) and he enjoyed his time at school a lot more. Most importantly, he just enjoyed his running. All the time he just felt better.
He had breezed through middle school, finding it much more enjoyable then he had elementary. Afterwards he enrolled into high school. Boston felt like he could finally see the light past the dreary days of elementary.
He could also see light seeping into the cave right in front of him.
He quickly picked up his pace to see what the light was, he could tell it wasn’t the same kind of light that had permeated from the orb he had seen.
The bright light halted him. He squinted out of his arm shielding his eyes and saw the forested Arkansas hills laid out before him, and a green valley strewn below him.
He could see dark clouds in the distance.
And right in the middle of his vision was a tree, a large oaken tree standing on the ledge at the end of the cave.
Although oak trees in Arkansas are very common, this one seemed out of place. Boston noticed the roots seemed to splay out around the dirt-less rock and then spill over down below it. Its trunk was wide and tall and it seemed to reach up into the open sky.
Boston didn’t need to know basic botany to realize that a tree should not exist here, let alone one this big.
He looked up and saw that the leaves were full and… Purple? He looked down again and saw a large hollow in the tree. The lines in the bark deflected around the hollow and then resumed their journey to the roots.
The center of the hollow glowed a bright green, the same neon green of the cave that had drawn Boston in earlier. It seemed to draw him in once again, and somehow, the anxiety of earlier evaporated away, leaving only wonder. The same kind he saw in his telescope and in his books.
He put out his arm and slowly started moving it forward into the hollow. The wind picked up on the rocky slope and the clouds above him grew close, but the light on his fingers felt warm and inviting.
As his hand got closer the world around him turned from a bright sunny day into a dark and violent storm, but Boston took no notice of the events around him.
A loud Crack sounded above him, but in his vision, it was only on the peripheral.
He could’ve sworn he heard words yelled out behind him, but It was with one last breath that he made contact with the light.
Suddenly the tree disappeared and the clouds withered away and the rocky slope below him de-materialized. Now underneath Boston were trees. He was high. Really high in fact, and in that moment he felt a twinge of nostalgia.
About a year ago before this point Boston had gone scuba diving in Grand Cayman. He was following his divemaster through a deep ravine. As he inhaled he went up, and when he exhaled he went down. The world seemed to move as he did, cheesily, he felt as though he was one with the ocean.
The rocky ravine stretched on, sea fans were spayed out above the group of divers as they slowly swam through the narrow rocky passes. Small fish rushed into tiny crevasses as they swam by.
Suddenly they came about at another narrowing, Boston slowly made his way through it. When he reached the other side all he saw was blue, down below him a rocky cliff descended down into the depths below.
This feeling was different from regular diving, looking down and around the blue. Although the blue was far away, it felt as though it was right next to Boston, as if it were a cage. He was not scared though, in fact he was euphoric.
The closest thing to this experience he could compare it to was floating in the endless void of space. That is, if space were a dark blue. Boston was merely suspended there, in the great unending nothingness.
He was not here nor there, and he finally understood the vast expanse that was the ocean.
That experience was the closest to what Boston would have felt suspended in the air like that. While he was there hovering, he had no cues other than his eyes to tell him he was high up. He did not feel the high winds on his face, and it did not feel as though he was dangling, more as though he was just floating there.
The land he looked over had an almost glossy glow to it, and it was changing fast. Almost as soon as he touched the oak tree, the leaves on the trees beneath changed into a beautiful array of colors including red, orange, and yellow. Then with the same swiftness they all shriveled and disappeared. So, the world became brown and grey, the glory of a southern winter.
Again, the trees and plants changed, now into a world of a lush light green, and the world was reborn. The leaves and branches jerked back and forth like a glitching enemy in a game, and ‘slowly’ the light lush green turned into a darker basil color.
And then the cycle repeated, over and over, the pace of time accelerating beyond what was comprehendible for Boston still suspended in mid-air. The land around him turned from a landscape into a blur. The outlines of the hills he saw seemed to change as well, and seemed to move and change faster as time itself did.
Then suddenly and without warning, it all stopped. Suddenly gravity resumed its hold over Boston. His breath caught in his throat and his blood rushed to his head. For he was still far above the dirty, rocky ground.