au-Dessus de la Mort

As he looked through his wikipedia articles, the ones he had written, he found that Nate was changing his entries for "au-Dessus de la Mort". There were mention of The Beatles and quotes from Don's correspondence. It was outright mockery. At the same time, Nate managed to install a fantastic logical soft soundboard. This came into use.

When Don woke up in a Brooklyn, he set out to make his way to the clinic to see the medicians. On his way, like children walking to school, his party increased as a very flambouyant Gary and a meek Michelle synced up in the trip to the bus. The bus turned into the train and soon enough, for reasons of necessity and expedience, he ran off from his little army to jump into closing train doors at the A train. Within minutes and before the next stop he was above ground and in a Queens. "Wrong way, shite!"

He had four tokens when he set out, and now just three. He disboarded at the first stop. It was a green oasis in the city, where there was a park sloping down into trees that deceived. When he emerged from the station, expecting to be able to just cross the street and resume his voyage, he turned and looked out over the green park. As he did so, he felt his wallet pocket being molested and three scamps met his eyes as he spun. One of them held it. He yelled, "It has but two dollars, give it back!" and he grabbed it. They mocked him, attempted and failed to threaten him with divided physical imposition, and then left.

When his blood settled, he looked at the citizens on the bench. One of them looked into his face and said, "Don?! I knew it was you! Thank you!" Don couldn't make him for a monkey. "I know you? From where?" The man answered, "You saved my ass. It was about a girl. You were maybe 14." That was a long time ago, but only one girl sprang to mind and he figured the rest. "You're the man Sarah spoke of?" Don asked. "The very one. It's a foretoken, out meeting." The man's face showed ancient writing on it. Old and mystical writing spoke from the flat screens of his cheeks and forehead. It gave Don the usual chill, and he was getting sicker. "I acknowledge this augury for what it is. I'm relieved for you, and grateful that whatever cursed you was beaten back. I must go now, or I will become more weak than I already feel."

"Ha! You, Don, weak! You're no more than thirty years and you'll see thirty more!" It was a condescending mockery and Don resented the old arrogance. "Don't be wounded by my words. They're only meant to steel you." Don stopped this penny prophet, "Fine. Your words are words, and nothing more." "No, I want to show you around the place. You've saved me from more than you can imagine!"

Don followed the old man around an old building, one made from large, cold, grey stones. It was attached to the subway station, but an entirely different realm. Inside were the creaky old ghosts of destiny, a carnival of twisted and fattened forms. He spoke of his own house and the obvious need to take Don in. Don declined, "I just need to catch the train back into town!" There was no refusing. The old man just waved him along, crossing the street to where the stairs should have been for the Brooklyn bound train. There were none.

--tbc