Chapter 9 -
10/08/2017
My hair tussled around my face. My teeth chattered in my mouth. My heart drummed in my ears. The pressure of the hot air seemed to shake every muscle off my bones.
Just when I thought that I had reached the point of unbearable, I heard Bulkee’s voice. “We’ve made it out.”
My eyes blinked open and I squinted down through my kneecaps. We had already begun to descend. A thick cloud of haze approached us fast like a pie ready to smash into my face.
“How are we going to land?” I inhaled sharply, catching a sensation of déjà vu. I remembered how I had arrived at AohhoA. But I had no clue what could happen now.
“Just wait and see,” Bulkee told me.
The detachment in his response caused my unease to swell. I shivered at the fact that he talked like he was high and mighty above it all.
I was terrified of a fall. Not only that, but I also got a weird hunch that we were under surveillance. The moment we had cut through the Pocket of Origination, I sensed a pair of eyes piercing at us from a distance.
I raked the place with quick glances, trying to locate the spectator. My search turned up nothing, but my suspicion grew to a certainty. I just knew, when I was being watched.
A gale of mists surged up. I ran my fingers through my hair. My curls had gone damp. I combed them behind my ears, as I glanced down again.
The overcast had cleared up, exposing a wide waterway down below. The current ran mild. But the flow wasn’t clear like freshwater. The yellow color and the thick consistency struck me as odd.
I was mulling over what could have given the river its texture, when the TimeBook jolted up. I folded on myside and my shoulders slammed to the edge. I stifled a scream and quickly rammed my arms back, digging my nails into the leather for support.
I heard a fluttering sound that resembled the grunts of a car engine during acceleration. I glimpsed to see the bottom cover of the TimeBook popped open. The leaves flapped like the wings of a bird. The loud shudders mortified me. I was scared that we'd smash into the river and be devoured by whatever sneered beneath the surface.
I turned to Bulkee, searching his face for a sign of assurance. But his expression was hard to read. With furrowed brows, his forehead creased and he appeared cynical.
I felt a slackening wobble of the TimeBook and a realization settled over me. The ruffling pages had slowed us down, averting a straight plummet.
The bottom cover of TimeBook snapped shut right before we landed. I blew out air after disembarking. My gaze was fixed on Bulkee, as I waited for his next move.
He thrust his arm into the river. A beat later, his hand resurfaced and a yellowish white nugget appeared in between his thumb and index finger. He rubbed the stone against his arm before bringing it for close examination.
My jaw dropped, when he flicked it straight into his mouth. Was he nuts? Lost his mind again, like when he claimed to have seen a flying Red Tiger? I watched in disbelief as his cheeks scrunched up.
But his face quickly relaxed and the corners of his lips turned slightly. “Sweet corn it is,” he said. "Try one."
I stared down to the river in confusion. It seemed to be covered in an opaque film of oil. My arm moved in slowly and the current felt warm. I could feel floating nuggets swallow my lower arm. The river was flooded with them.
I retrieved my hand, drawing a few corn kernels in my fist. I picked one up and tentatively placed it on my tongue. A pungent syrupiness exploded all over my mouth. The kernel was dangerously sweet.
I swallowed, again uneasy with the sense of being under scrutiny. Who was watching us? I surveyed the area, as we drifted along the bank.
I found nothing else in sight besides endless ears of corns tall and compact. From far the conglomerate of cornfields looked like a large canvas smudged with yellow and green strokes.
The scene appeared peaceful. Yet the serenity felt deceiving like a conspicuous plan had been made behind the view. My heart thumped with certainty that I was being watched like a hamster in a pet cage.
Only this time by somebody else.
The gaze that I sensed now was different, more of a curious glance than the previous wicked stare. I felt that the second observer was watching us from inside the cornfields.
I stood up from the TimeBook and I tried to steal a look. My scalp tingled, when I caught a flicker. Someone’s waving at me. I was about to call for Bulkee, when a sudden convulsion beneath my feet threw me off guard.
The river jostled, rocking the TimeBook back and forth. I stooped down, my hands clamped tightly to the cover. I heaved, as I gazed into the film of oil around us. It had darkened and the kernels now roamed into waves. There was a shift in their texture. Something had changed.
The skin around my temple tightened, as I reached into the river again. I took another scoop. The kernels were no longer moist.
Coated in oil they felt dry. They had shrunk in size. They had grown dark in shade. And they shifted briskly on my palm. It hit me just then that the kernels moved not because of the waves but that they were bouncing on their own.
The TimeBook lurched up again, slanting sideways. Another jolt came sending me an unpleasant reminder that it might not withstand the river’s reeling. No matter how firm it was, a book was not built to be a carrier.
“We need a boat,” I said.
Bulkee turned around. The look in his eyes told me that he recognized the severity of the situation. “Let me try with a MindShape,” he said.
My eyes darted from his solemn face to the cover of the TimeBook. I waited for transformation and I hoped for a miracle. But it became disquieting, when a moment went by and there was not even a slightest sign of transformation.
“Too much movement,” Bulkee shook his head with a frown.
“What are we going to do then?” I asked softly, masking my fear.
He tossed a glance at me over his shoulder. “Why don’t you do it with me?”
“Do what?”
“Close your eyes. And think of a boat or something. Can you?”
What trick question was that? I gaped at him.
“Don’t overthink it. Your thoughts are too distracting.” Bulkee pointed a finger at my forehead. “Now what do you say?”
“I will take a jab at it.” I replied, although I wasn’t sure how I could really rally around to help.
The churning river had us in a constant sway. It was very difficult to visualize a stable image of anything. Eyes shut and toes scrunched up, I did my best.
I repeated the word “boat” over and over in my head, as I began squiggling a mental image of a floating device. My sketch was far from perfect but I kept on with the chanting and the scribbling.
A frizzling noise broke me out of concentration and my eyes snapped open. I was startled to find myself on top of a small wooden raft. Not exactly what I envisioned. But I was glad to have the support that I hoped from the raft.
“You did it,” I congratulated Bulkee on his Bionic Raft.
But he didn’t respond nor even turn around. He stood by the edge of the raft, spooning his little hands in and out of the river.
“What are you digging?” I asked him.
“I am not digging.” He muttered without looking up. “I am trying to get us out of this.”
“Out of what?” I asked again.
But I really didn’t have to wait for his answer. I glimpsed over to catch the sludge of kernels shift its course.
A lump formed in my throat. Ahead of us the river had turned into a giant twirl and a hole had formed in the middle. The dark pit looked bottomless, sucking in the winds, the kernels, and everything else it could get a hold of.
Even more terrifying was that the river bank had started to bend in shape. It contorted along the warp like a gigantic trap and the ears of corns worked like teeth, squeezing us into the core of the sludge.
The sky darkened, murky and unsettling. It reminded me of the gloom right before a thunderstorm. It sent chills down my back.
Bulkee went on, his arms paddling fast against the rising currents. But I hated to admit that his efforts were fruitless, no pun intended. Despite his shoveling, we sank deeper into the middle of the whirl and I could almost see the end coming.
Kneeling down, I threw my hands into the river and I began to paddle. We worked together and slowly got the Bionic Raft away from the collapsing center.
I heaved with great effort. I felt the kernels become hotter and heavier each time I brushed them aside. Their consistency had changed, turning sticky like a thick paste. My arms had gone sore and I was beginning to feel exhausted.
Would I make it?
Would I ever see my family again?
I felt so tired.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
Doubts speared into my head and chipped away a part of me, robbing me of my senses. I feared that I would eventually fail and be left alone in this terrifying place. I was like a deflating balloon, my core drained from my body.
The Bionic Raft jolted to a stop and then started drifting back toward the pit. I dropped my arms and stared into the convulsion, my mind empty of any hope.
Just when I thought that I had reached the point of unbearable, I heard Bulkee’s voice. “We’ve made it out.”
My eyes blinked open and I squinted down through my kneecaps. We had already begun to descend. A thick cloud of haze approached us fast like a pie ready to smash into my face.
“How are we going to land?” I inhaled sharply, catching a sensation of déjà vu. I remembered how I had arrived at AohhoA. But I had no clue what could happen now.
“Just wait and see,” Bulkee told me.
The detachment in his response caused my unease to swell. I shivered at the fact that he talked like he was high and mighty above it all.
I was terrified of a fall. Not only that, but I also got a weird hunch that we were under surveillance. The moment we had cut through the Pocket of Origination, I sensed a pair of eyes piercing at us from a distance.
I raked the place with quick glances, trying to locate the spectator. My search turned up nothing, but my suspicion grew to a certainty. I just knew, when I was being watched.
A gale of mists surged up. I ran my fingers through my hair. My curls had gone damp. I combed them behind my ears, as I glanced down again.
The overcast had cleared up, exposing a wide waterway down below. The current ran mild. But the flow wasn’t clear like freshwater. The yellow color and the thick consistency struck me as odd.
I was mulling over what could have given the river its texture, when the TimeBook jolted up. I folded on myside and my shoulders slammed to the edge. I stifled a scream and quickly rammed my arms back, digging my nails into the leather for support.
I heard a fluttering sound that resembled the grunts of a car engine during acceleration. I glimpsed to see the bottom cover of the TimeBook popped open. The leaves flapped like the wings of a bird. The loud shudders mortified me. I was scared that we'd smash into the river and be devoured by whatever sneered beneath the surface.
I turned to Bulkee, searching his face for a sign of assurance. But his expression was hard to read. With furrowed brows, his forehead creased and he appeared cynical.
I felt a slackening wobble of the TimeBook and a realization settled over me. The ruffling pages had slowed us down, averting a straight plummet.
The bottom cover of TimeBook snapped shut right before we landed. I blew out air after disembarking. My gaze was fixed on Bulkee, as I waited for his next move.
He thrust his arm into the river. A beat later, his hand resurfaced and a yellowish white nugget appeared in between his thumb and index finger. He rubbed the stone against his arm before bringing it for close examination.
My jaw dropped, when he flicked it straight into his mouth. Was he nuts? Lost his mind again, like when he claimed to have seen a flying Red Tiger? I watched in disbelief as his cheeks scrunched up.
But his face quickly relaxed and the corners of his lips turned slightly. “Sweet corn it is,” he said. "Try one."
I stared down to the river in confusion. It seemed to be covered in an opaque film of oil. My arm moved in slowly and the current felt warm. I could feel floating nuggets swallow my lower arm. The river was flooded with them.
I retrieved my hand, drawing a few corn kernels in my fist. I picked one up and tentatively placed it on my tongue. A pungent syrupiness exploded all over my mouth. The kernel was dangerously sweet.
I swallowed, again uneasy with the sense of being under scrutiny. Who was watching us? I surveyed the area, as we drifted along the bank.
I found nothing else in sight besides endless ears of corns tall and compact. From far the conglomerate of cornfields looked like a large canvas smudged with yellow and green strokes.
The scene appeared peaceful. Yet the serenity felt deceiving like a conspicuous plan had been made behind the view. My heart thumped with certainty that I was being watched like a hamster in a pet cage.
Only this time by somebody else.
The gaze that I sensed now was different, more of a curious glance than the previous wicked stare. I felt that the second observer was watching us from inside the cornfields.
I stood up from the TimeBook and I tried to steal a look. My scalp tingled, when I caught a flicker. Someone’s waving at me. I was about to call for Bulkee, when a sudden convulsion beneath my feet threw me off guard.
The river jostled, rocking the TimeBook back and forth. I stooped down, my hands clamped tightly to the cover. I heaved, as I gazed into the film of oil around us. It had darkened and the kernels now roamed into waves. There was a shift in their texture. Something had changed.
The skin around my temple tightened, as I reached into the river again. I took another scoop. The kernels were no longer moist.
Coated in oil they felt dry. They had shrunk in size. They had grown dark in shade. And they shifted briskly on my palm. It hit me just then that the kernels moved not because of the waves but that they were bouncing on their own.
The TimeBook lurched up again, slanting sideways. Another jolt came sending me an unpleasant reminder that it might not withstand the river’s reeling. No matter how firm it was, a book was not built to be a carrier.
“We need a boat,” I said.
Bulkee turned around. The look in his eyes told me that he recognized the severity of the situation. “Let me try with a MindShape,” he said.
My eyes darted from his solemn face to the cover of the TimeBook. I waited for transformation and I hoped for a miracle. But it became disquieting, when a moment went by and there was not even a slightest sign of transformation.
“Too much movement,” Bulkee shook his head with a frown.
“What are we going to do then?” I asked softly, masking my fear.
He tossed a glance at me over his shoulder. “Why don’t you do it with me?”
“Do what?”
“Close your eyes. And think of a boat or something. Can you?”
What trick question was that? I gaped at him.
“Don’t overthink it. Your thoughts are too distracting.” Bulkee pointed a finger at my forehead. “Now what do you say?”
“I will take a jab at it.” I replied, although I wasn’t sure how I could really rally around to help.
The churning river had us in a constant sway. It was very difficult to visualize a stable image of anything. Eyes shut and toes scrunched up, I did my best.
I repeated the word “boat” over and over in my head, as I began squiggling a mental image of a floating device. My sketch was far from perfect but I kept on with the chanting and the scribbling.
A frizzling noise broke me out of concentration and my eyes snapped open. I was startled to find myself on top of a small wooden raft. Not exactly what I envisioned. But I was glad to have the support that I hoped from the raft.
“You did it,” I congratulated Bulkee on his Bionic Raft.
But he didn’t respond nor even turn around. He stood by the edge of the raft, spooning his little hands in and out of the river.
“What are you digging?” I asked him.
“I am not digging.” He muttered without looking up. “I am trying to get us out of this.”
“Out of what?” I asked again.
But I really didn’t have to wait for his answer. I glimpsed over to catch the sludge of kernels shift its course.
A lump formed in my throat. Ahead of us the river had turned into a giant twirl and a hole had formed in the middle. The dark pit looked bottomless, sucking in the winds, the kernels, and everything else it could get a hold of.
Even more terrifying was that the river bank had started to bend in shape. It contorted along the warp like a gigantic trap and the ears of corns worked like teeth, squeezing us into the core of the sludge.
The sky darkened, murky and unsettling. It reminded me of the gloom right before a thunderstorm. It sent chills down my back.
Bulkee went on, his arms paddling fast against the rising currents. But I hated to admit that his efforts were fruitless, no pun intended. Despite his shoveling, we sank deeper into the middle of the whirl and I could almost see the end coming.
Kneeling down, I threw my hands into the river and I began to paddle. We worked together and slowly got the Bionic Raft away from the collapsing center.
I heaved with great effort. I felt the kernels become hotter and heavier each time I brushed them aside. Their consistency had changed, turning sticky like a thick paste. My arms had gone sore and I was beginning to feel exhausted.
Would I make it?
Would I ever see my family again?
I felt so tired.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
Doubts speared into my head and chipped away a part of me, robbing me of my senses. I feared that I would eventually fail and be left alone in this terrifying place. I was like a deflating balloon, my core drained from my body.
The Bionic Raft jolted to a stop and then started drifting back toward the pit. I dropped my arms and stared into the convulsion, my mind empty of any hope.
