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talonkarrdeFor Darius Turing, the ritual started the night after his twelfth birthday. After he had his double-chocolate cake — with six of his friends, his mother insisting that more would be too tiring for him — he happily spent the time with his new gifts, playing with the others until late in the afternoon. That night, he was tucked into bed by his mother, who kissed him on the forehead and wished him the sweetest dreams a twelve year old boy could have.
Just before midnight, however, Darius was shaken awake by strong hands. As he opened his eyes, he saw his dad standing over his bed, the look on his father's face one Darius would eventually come to know as a particular mix of pride and regret; it was the look of a proud parent watching their child go places they could not follow.
"Follow me," his father said, in the ironclad voice that he only used when he was absolutely serious — Darius remembered it from when their house had caught fire not so long ago. Darius was confused and sleepy but he didn't ask why or complain; he was still of the age where children think their fathers infallible, and so it was enough for him.
At midnight, January 1st, 1970, Darius Turing stood in the middle of a clearing and put a geode that had been hastily pressed into his hand onto a small, flat rock. His parents watched him from the edge of the woods, and after a few seconds passed, they called for him to head back to them, which he obediently did. The Turing family headed home, and Darius never asked about what happened, forgetting about it in the weeks after.
Next year, it happened again — Darius was roused before midnight, and as millions of others watched the telly and counted down to the new year, Darius stood alone in a park and placed a geode he was given upon the flat piece of rock in the center. Nothing happened as the seconds ticked away, and his parents took him home shortly afterwards.
As the years passed, the boy was roused every New Year's Eve and brought to Greenwich Park, to repeat the ritual over again. As he grew older, Darius started remembering the trips, and as teenagers are wont to do, started questioning them.
His parents told him that it was a tradition that had to be followed, and that he was the one chosen to do it. Midnight every year, they instructed him, with a geode. Darius was a well-brought up child and accepted this peculiar responsibility as something that was his to do, and never thought to tell his friends of it. It was his secret, though he didn't think of it as such: he simply believed that everyone had something passed down to them by their parents, and his was more active than keeping an heirloom or a plot of land.
But even the most responsible will make mistakes, and it was his twenty second year, celebrating the new decade, when he first missed his responsibility. It was an innocent mistake — a night out with his mates, a friendly pub-crawl, and time escaped him as it does all the youth. It was two in the morning when he woke from his sleep on the floor of a friend's flat, the thoughts of his duty crashing into his mind. He had the geode prepared, but it was across the city, and the sun's first rays had come when he finally stumbled to the rock — the altar, as he had come to understand it — where his duty was to be done.
Darius hesitated, wondering if he should wait until next year. In the end, though, he believed his parents would want him to do it late rather than not at all, and placed the geode down on the stone. He didn't know what to expect, but there was nothing that happened; the early joggers simply saw a young man looking down at a stone, in the middle of the park.
There were warnings of earthquakes more severe than usual, and of tsunamis that would swamp coastal regions. There were dormant volcanos that seismologists found to be unusually active, but it was one year, and there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary.
In 1981, the year after, he was on time, in the park at precisely midnight, stopping to place the geode in its usual position in the middle, face down. When nothing happened though, he felt disappointed. Perhaps it was time to move on from this habit, he thought, as children moved on from needing blankets and toys to help them sleep.
He did not return the year after, or after that, and all seemed to be okay. Perhaps the great nations of the world were slightly more violent, perhaps the Earth itself more unstable, but that could never be due to the ritual that started with a small boy. Five years later, Darius found himself watching the news on New Year's Eve, and it was somber indeed - the newscasters skirted around the topic, but it was agreed that this year would perhaps be everyone's last, as the two great superpowers looked closer and closer to destroying each other.
Darius Turing turned off the TV and saw that it was near midnight; he remembered an old tradition he used to do, and suddenly wondered why he had ever stopped. A few minutes later, he crossed into Greenwich Park one more time, a particularly beautiful geode in his hand, and placed it on the altar at exactly midnight, wishing to all who would listen for it to bring him and the rest of the world some hope.
Just before midnight, however, Darius was shaken awake by strong hands. As he opened his eyes, he saw his dad standing over his bed, the look on his father's face one Darius would eventually come to know as a particular mix of pride and regret; it was the look of a proud parent watching their child go places they could not follow.
"Follow me," his father said, in the ironclad voice that he only used when he was absolutely serious — Darius remembered it from when their house had caught fire not so long ago. Darius was confused and sleepy but he didn't ask why or complain; he was still of the age where children think their fathers infallible, and so it was enough for him.
At midnight, January 1st, 1970, Darius Turing stood in the middle of a clearing and put a geode that had been hastily pressed into his hand onto a small, flat rock. His parents watched him from the edge of the woods, and after a few seconds passed, they called for him to head back to them, which he obediently did. The Turing family headed home, and Darius never asked about what happened, forgetting about it in the weeks after.
Next year, it happened again — Darius was roused before midnight, and as millions of others watched the telly and counted down to the new year, Darius stood alone in a park and placed a geode he was given upon the flat piece of rock in the center. Nothing happened as the seconds ticked away, and his parents took him home shortly afterwards.
As the years passed, the boy was roused every New Year's Eve and brought to Greenwich Park, to repeat the ritual over again. As he grew older, Darius started remembering the trips, and as teenagers are wont to do, started questioning them.
His parents told him that it was a tradition that had to be followed, and that he was the one chosen to do it. Midnight every year, they instructed him, with a geode. Darius was a well-brought up child and accepted this peculiar responsibility as something that was his to do, and never thought to tell his friends of it. It was his secret, though he didn't think of it as such: he simply believed that everyone had something passed down to them by their parents, and his was more active than keeping an heirloom or a plot of land.
But even the most responsible will make mistakes, and it was his twenty second year, celebrating the new decade, when he first missed his responsibility. It was an innocent mistake — a night out with his mates, a friendly pub-crawl, and time escaped him as it does all the youth. It was two in the morning when he woke from his sleep on the floor of a friend's flat, the thoughts of his duty crashing into his mind. He had the geode prepared, but it was across the city, and the sun's first rays had come when he finally stumbled to the rock — the altar, as he had come to understand it — where his duty was to be done.
Darius hesitated, wondering if he should wait until next year. In the end, though, he believed his parents would want him to do it late rather than not at all, and placed the geode down on the stone. He didn't know what to expect, but there was nothing that happened; the early joggers simply saw a young man looking down at a stone, in the middle of the park.
There were warnings of earthquakes more severe than usual, and of tsunamis that would swamp coastal regions. There were dormant volcanos that seismologists found to be unusually active, but it was one year, and there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary.
In 1981, the year after, he was on time, in the park at precisely midnight, stopping to place the geode in its usual position in the middle, face down. When nothing happened though, he felt disappointed. Perhaps it was time to move on from this habit, he thought, as children moved on from needing blankets and toys to help them sleep.
He did not return the year after, or after that, and all seemed to be okay. Perhaps the great nations of the world were slightly more violent, perhaps the Earth itself more unstable, but that could never be due to the ritual that started with a small boy. Five years later, Darius found himself watching the news on New Year's Eve, and it was somber indeed - the newscasters skirted around the topic, but it was agreed that this year would perhaps be everyone's last, as the two great superpowers looked closer and closer to destroying each other.
Darius Turing turned off the TV and saw that it was near midnight; he remembered an old tradition he used to do, and suddenly wondered why he had ever stopped. A few minutes later, he crossed into Greenwich Park one more time, a particularly beautiful geode in his hand, and placed it on the altar at exactly midnight, wishing to all who would listen for it to bring him and the rest of the world some hope.
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Date: 2010-04-15 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 12:09 am (UTC)...But thank you!
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Date: 2010-04-15 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 12:25 am (UTC)And on second thought, author's note not necessary ;)
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Date: 2010-04-15 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 02:21 am (UTC)I absolutely love it, hon. Just adore it.
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Date: 2010-04-15 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 09:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 11:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 07:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 09:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 02:29 pm (UTC)Cheers...
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Date: 2010-04-16 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 01:36 am (UTC)You are a fantabulous writer, for serious.
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Date: 2010-04-17 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 04:34 pm (UTC)