Only after weeping himself to sleep that he awoken happily again. He kept the Book closely even as he scoured for mushrooms the entire morning. He would have been back sooner had he not been gathering extras, whence he planted in a newly furnished basement. It was no larger than upstairs and accessible from inside. But he eaten naught but his own pain. He taken the remaining cotton to maketh yarn and thus a fishing rod. He gone nowhere however thereafter.
No water, he grunted upon plopping on his porch. No water but there. But whence elsewhere?
His belly growled, but he didnt flinch whilst he conjured and reopened the Book. Her sharp circular cursive remained. A tear began to form in his eyes and so was a faint pinkish blush. He turned the page so he would think elsewhere. But the tears sneakily trickled down his ridge and above his lips. He briskly closed it a moment later, lumbering into the warped woodlands with tender treads.
He made himself busy chopping some fungi. Then he mined some stone, later a few gold nuggets. But his tears remain, and so did the compression from within, having arose not long ago again. He collapsed unto his knees when dusk arrived, his pinkish blush glowing red beforetime. Nothing but stumps remained adjacent to the ravine, vertical gashes carved into the rock wherever he gone, darkness blanketing the occasionally howling ambience. He simply stared off and away. Nothing but all the time in the world to think about it.
His limbs and effects were heavy once more when he finally arose, so was his stomach even more so. He cringed and clutched the subsequent growl within his belly, his lean physique all the while wrenching within a simmering internal flame.
I feel like I hadnt need to eat for weeks, he groaned under his breath. But it has only been a day. Is this what man feels like? When he is starved? When he been stabbed in the gut? Ugh...this shouldnt be happening. Not so soon.
Then he staggered away, almost vanishing into the night. Alas, he didnt go far however whence he toiled. It was midnight when he collapsed onto his knees and his face.
Thwoop.
Eh? He slurred with a gaping mouth.
It was upon lifting his eyes and head that he shook himself. Another thwoop echoed. Over the edge.
Water, he croaked excitedly and crawled. Water.
He peered over the edge and smiled, promptly pulling away and rested nearby. It was by tomorrow he was finally sitting by the edge and peering at the reflective abyss below with a bucket beside him. Then he flung the reel and watched it bob and rippled the surface. But his eye grew weary a while when darkness returned. Had it not been for a firm righthanded grip, the fishing rod would have slipped into the water. The tuck awoken him enough however to lurch and step aback to wrench the reel. The yarn burned against his gloves, but he care naught but his catch. Then he made a violent tug. Silence. A moment passed thereafter.
Thoomp.
His gleeful smile slowly melted however.
A rock? He muttered and knelt with a frown.
He tapped his knee a dozen times when he starred at the pitch black shard, its wavy patterns mottled into obscurity.
Of all the things, I catch a rock, he grumbled with clenched teeth.
A sour scowl formed and he went to retrieve his bucket, refraining with most of his might not to chuck it over the edge. He instead planted on the ground before retrieving the stone. A brief inspection was the only thing the rock deserved. Then he turned and violently thrown it into the bucket.
Huh? He stopped and frowned to a strange twinkle in his peripherals.
He lifted and inspected the bucket as well as the stone, eventually lowering it with subtle roughness. There it was again. Sparks.
It took him a moment to panickily grab the stone and thoughtfully rummaged around. First himself and now his thoughts.
Wheres that ingot? He panted rather madly. Where is it?
His right hand eventually patted his chest.
The house, he gasped and rushed into the night.
Daybreak arrived by the time he found his way back in a steamy sweat. He barged through his gate and then the door, stumbly slumping into his chest block moments later. Then he opened it.
There you are, he rasped happily and shakily grasped the iron ingot.
Moments passed until he jogged outside.
It was within the distance there was a click.
Then another click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Thwoosh!
A starry shockwave rippled from the gateway. His hair rustled tenderly from the frigid whoosh of air remaining in place. Nothing to convenience him from stepping back and marvel at its magnificence.
Aw, tis a spectacle, he purred. I somehow half suspected it would be daemonic.
A twinkle shined in his irises before he turned to gather his effects. First his fishing rod and bucket, then his tools. Nothing but a stone axe and shovel in his possession. He reached for the door. But he didnt. They slumped and he rested his head against the carpentry whilst his eyes drooped.
Mum, he whispered dearly and the Book materialising in his right hand. Will you come with me?
There was no reply. But he didnt need one. He cupped the Book and opened it. Nothing new. Yet he reminisced at the first pages, his eyes tearfully landing on the text.
I promise, mum, he sniffled and hugged the Book. I will return.
And thus the Book vanished, disappearing into his consciousness. I will remember, he whimpered happily. Then he wiped the few tears from his eyes and delicately left the house. And his belly? He didnt care. He willingly smiled and straightened his collar and strolled into the sparkling vortex.
His last words? Etched in stone? By the steps?
Ick Ben
The End?
