It began back and forth, a conversation. One thing to another the topic of the weird, unexplainable mingled about. Passing time, just stories, but one stood out. You see most of them we were making up adding invent to imagination, image to content atop each an other. But one them, one of them Gub swore, swore he said, “Man this one’s true.”
There’s this place where all rules fall out of order. His great grandfather, or maybe a generation
or two before found it. He was
fuzzy to the exact timeline of events, but the basic story is his family found
it, and it was their special place.
Now I should be clear they were humble people, a backwood blend of hick
and mountain folk. The extent of
their grasp on science smelled of formaldehyde and looked like a frog. That said they were no idiots and had
no need of physics to recognize that when wilted crab apples fall from a tree
they should hit the ground. And
gravity wasn’t the only thing that disobeyed the ways of the world. Sounds spoken spread with echo and
shifted in tone. Everywhere light
bent normal until it got about twenty feet off the ground and then it bent
awkward and shattered into a million pieces with traces of color like whispers
shifting, shooting drunken and disorderly in every direction as though the
place was encased in an invisible prism.
And this kind of shit, this asperger rain man mother nature hot spot,
where the whole wide world seemed to sleep and dream and come undone, around
here this shit passed for normal, but strange, the strange was just around the
corner.
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