01-15-2025, 09:11 PM
Jude has not lived as long upon the earth as Near, but Jude feels like he has seen many things, enough things. He knows -- or, he knew -- there there was no one else like him in the world, aside from his twin sister. This was the cornerstone of the Family's existence. It had always held up, as evidenced by its success in extracting large amounts of money from their patrons and quietly pushing physics departments the country over in particular directions.
When Near pulls himself from the quicksand of his kitchen floor and there is simply floor in his wake, the cornerstone cracks.
Shock prevents Jude from feeling the enormity of the moment. He looks at the floor and he thinks, hmm. Near curses at him and then barrels around the corner to retreat into a room and slam the door. Running on auto-pilot, Jude commits to his original plan of pulling his boots on and grabbing his backpack from its spot near the couch. The unlaced laces of his boots threaten to tangle as he vacates the ground-floor unit in a whirl. He rushes out to his paint-peeling Forester not cognizant of the ringing sensation building distantly in his ears.
He drives aimlessly for two hours until he has to stop at a gas station, where he watches the digital ticker for the charge climb with undeserved consternation. The satisfaction he feels when it comes to a halt, when the tank is full, is the inverse of the hole that has opened up inside him, which is sucking down all certainty. Still it is not until another two hours later, night at the hotel after dinner at Applebee's, that Jude turns his mind to the unharmed kitchen floor.
Who the fuck is Near Farr anyway?
When Near pulls himself from the quicksand of his kitchen floor and there is simply floor in his wake, the cornerstone cracks.
Shock prevents Jude from feeling the enormity of the moment. He looks at the floor and he thinks, hmm. Near curses at him and then barrels around the corner to retreat into a room and slam the door. Running on auto-pilot, Jude commits to his original plan of pulling his boots on and grabbing his backpack from its spot near the couch. The unlaced laces of his boots threaten to tangle as he vacates the ground-floor unit in a whirl. He rushes out to his paint-peeling Forester not cognizant of the ringing sensation building distantly in his ears.
He drives aimlessly for two hours until he has to stop at a gas station, where he watches the digital ticker for the charge climb with undeserved consternation. The satisfaction he feels when it comes to a halt, when the tank is full, is the inverse of the hole that has opened up inside him, which is sucking down all certainty. Still it is not until another two hours later, night at the hotel after dinner at Applebee's, that Jude turns his mind to the unharmed kitchen floor.
Who the fuck is Near Farr anyway?