h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Even today his memory still bothers me.
He had rested on a fallen log, the rain streaming down the rough brown cowl of his cloak, which I doubt was much ward against either damp or cold; its only perpose seemed to be privacy, for which it was well suited. I do not remember his arrival, any more than I remember his name.
I had looked up from my evening respite, and the was simply there, head hanging, sullen, still, the rain covering us both like a blanket.
So, I sat, silent, across from the now-dead fire, its ashes still hissing in the falling rain. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the woods around us and vanished, to be replaced by thunder, drowning out the soft pitter-patter of the rain. I sat, with water dripping through my hair, and looked once again at my silent companion.

At long last, I found my way around the boding silence, and spoke, hesitant, lest I offend.
"Good eve', stranger." I paused. He did not stir. I continued, wary still. "I would offer to share my fire with you, or at least my meal, but the embers have gone cold. Still..."
I dug through my scant belongings, and pulled out another tin bowl, twin to the one that held my stew. I tipped half of it into the bowl, tore my last loaf in half, more or less, and offered them to him.
"...I will offer what I can."

The stranger remained still. After what seemed an eternity, he spoke, a voice I shall never forget. The words came slowly, langourously, as if he was remembering them each, one at a time.
"I... thank you. For your gift of food, of nourishment. I cannot remember the last time I have been invited to share one's meal."
He reached over the hissing fire, took the bowl and bread, and settled back, quiet once more.

I shifted on the wet ground, and tried to smile. "I am sad, then, that there is nothing more I could offer. Cold stew and darkness are little hospitality."

The stranger said nothing. With careful deliberance, he lifted the bowl to his lips, and made to tilt his head to drink it. I would have seen his face surely, but at that moment the dead fire roared to life, accompanied by the sound of the heavens tearing open above us. I made to quickly stand, stumbled, and fell back heavily upon the ground, blinking my eyes in the sudden light and the comforting warmth. My eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, and I saw the bowl was beside the stranger, mostly empty. The bread was in his hand. He had not moved other than that.

I stared at the fire in wonder, and then at the stranger in questioning fear. He made no effort to explain, but simply hung his head once more.

"Who- who are you, stranger?" I asked, my voice quavering uncertainly.
"Who are you that could call fire without flint, steel, or tinder?" My companion did not move, nor speak. For many years it seemed, I sat and stared at him, my eyes not wishing to close for fear or awe. At long last, he spoke once again.
"If you will listen, so will I tell."

...*listens without uttering so much as a sigh...*

*listens intently*

*listens patiently*

Crap. Where's the Muse? Where's MY muse?

I'll write more in a few hours.

Dont keep the audience waiting too long, and why do you want a muse?

*spellbound, hoping said Muse returns with some semblance of haste*

*the faster the better*

Truth.

Yeah

Fine then. I'll have to give it in segments, and I'll post it in this thread. I'll put it into an entry later...

Sounds good!

...*quietly, gentally, blinks & draws a breath...*

I frowned at the sadness in his voice.
"I would be honoured to listen," I said, "A tale would do well to pass time and storm."
The stranger stared at the ground, and spoke quickly, in a low voice, not completly devoid of menace.

"Do not confuse what I tell for some mad tale or foolish legend. All that I speak is the truth, and is no less real than you or I."

I nodded quickly in agreement, and reassured him that I did indeed believe the truth in his words. He looked up at me, sending a quick shower of raindrops scattering from the hood of his cloak. Then, he began his tale.

:::blink:::

*still listens*

...*quietly passes around marshmallows on sticks...*

*munches on marshmallow*
thanks

"My father was a fisherman, a wastrel, and a drunk. I had two brothers, Karo, the eldest, and Marin, the youngest. We lived in a small house, if you could call it that," the stranger sneered for a moment, "by the sea. My father was content to be the drunk he was; my mother died days after Marin was born, of a terrible fever. He was never the same. To this day I marvel that he managed to keep us fed.

"We, however, were not content with the so-called life my father led."