[Week 14, Day 1 | Video ]
[ From one nightmare into the next --
Really, Peter should be getting used to this slip and slide between worlds and time, the future and the present, present-future-past colliding in scenes that make no sense. The coldness though -- that's the same anywhere. In the dark on the sea or in the fog of Ireland, thick enough to slice; rain pattering against the cobblestones of Montreal, against the windowpanes for a moment before a slide into New York, empty and desolate and dead. He's not sure what came first -- the coldness in New York, this great empty city echoing with the stuff of dreams, or the sickness -- if the sickness brought on the cold, or if it was the cold that did it. Either way, it doesn't matter -- he's gone and done it again. Slipped into another time and place and it's cold here too. Just as dangerous, but in another way.
At least the air here isn't diseased, even if it's just as cold as the bodies he's stumbled across lying mangled and broken across dirt roads.
The silence is eerie, and Peter -- Peter's just gone and discovered that an iPhone had found its way into his jacket pocket. So he's staring intently into it, a deep frown furrowing his brow, a streak of what looks like fresh blood sluicing down his cheek. ]
Hello? Can anyone hear me?
[ How that phone got there is one thing -- whether or not it even works is another. ]
My name is Peter. I can use a little help here.
Really, Peter should be getting used to this slip and slide between worlds and time, the future and the present, present-future-past colliding in scenes that make no sense. The coldness though -- that's the same anywhere. In the dark on the sea or in the fog of Ireland, thick enough to slice; rain pattering against the cobblestones of Montreal, against the windowpanes for a moment before a slide into New York, empty and desolate and dead. He's not sure what came first -- the coldness in New York, this great empty city echoing with the stuff of dreams, or the sickness -- if the sickness brought on the cold, or if it was the cold that did it. Either way, it doesn't matter -- he's gone and done it again. Slipped into another time and place and it's cold here too. Just as dangerous, but in another way.
At least the air here isn't diseased, even if it's just as cold as the bodies he's stumbled across lying mangled and broken across dirt roads.
The silence is eerie, and Peter -- Peter's just gone and discovered that an iPhone had found its way into his jacket pocket. So he's staring intently into it, a deep frown furrowing his brow, a streak of what looks like fresh blood sluicing down his cheek. ]
Hello? Can anyone hear me?
[ How that phone got there is one thing -- whether or not it even works is another. ]
My name is Peter. I can use a little help here.