(no subject)
Two years ago, Chris had been on a lake with a boat full of curling stones. He'd dropped them in one by one, watched them sink and disappear from view, the water rippling gently in the wake of each. Hours later, he'd packed up only a single suitcase, thrown them into his beaten up car and left town for Toronto.
Only he'd never gotten there.
Actually, the timeline didn't quite work out right. The Golden Broom had been in May and his and Julie's wedding had been scheduled then, too, just a day after the tournament. But, when Chris had stepped onto the beach of the Island, it'd mysteriously been mid-April, some fifteen years later. Chris had tried to make sense of it before, but that'd never worked very well, frequently only resulting in him getting a headache.
All he really knew was that, going by the calendar on the Island, he'd been gone two years come tomorrow.
Two years.
In some other universe, he'd eventually gone back, he knew that now. Neil and Eddie and his father had all told him as much. He'd gone back home and they'd buried Coach Foley and won the Golden Broom without cheating and he'd made some kind of reconcilation with Julie and... ended up with Amy. And, no matter how often he'd thought about that, he still couldn't make any sense out of it. Somehow, the idea of finding himself stranded on a magical tropical island, befriending people he'd previously only ever thought of as fictional, learning how to build homes and organize a crew, marrying his best male friend and spending an afternoon in a curling match with zombies while his father hung in a cage twenty feet in the air seemed less bizarre.
He gave a soft, silent breath of a laugh at that and stretched his legs out in the water of the pool, his jeans rolled up to mid-calf and wet up to the knees, toes wiggling. Somewhere nearby a frog sounded, eliciting a quiet russle in the brush. With the exception of that and the soft, constant spray of the waterfall, the Hamlet was quiet, most of the inhabitants having gone to sleep hours before. But, Chris couldn't. His mind too full of everything he'd left behind, everything he'd gained since, everything that had apparently happened in some other lifetime or universe or dimension.
Two years. In that time, he'd seen Neil and Amy both come and go, not to mention the countless other friends he'd met here and lost.
Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder when his own time was going to run out.
[OOC: Timed to late tonight and open up to anyone and everyone who might be happening by. He's being only very slightly mood and wouldn't at all mind meeting someone new. ST/LT welcome as always.]
Only he'd never gotten there.
Actually, the timeline didn't quite work out right. The Golden Broom had been in May and his and Julie's wedding had been scheduled then, too, just a day after the tournament. But, when Chris had stepped onto the beach of the Island, it'd mysteriously been mid-April, some fifteen years later. Chris had tried to make sense of it before, but that'd never worked very well, frequently only resulting in him getting a headache.
All he really knew was that, going by the calendar on the Island, he'd been gone two years come tomorrow.
Two years.
In some other universe, he'd eventually gone back, he knew that now. Neil and Eddie and his father had all told him as much. He'd gone back home and they'd buried Coach Foley and won the Golden Broom without cheating and he'd made some kind of reconcilation with Julie and... ended up with Amy. And, no matter how often he'd thought about that, he still couldn't make any sense out of it. Somehow, the idea of finding himself stranded on a magical tropical island, befriending people he'd previously only ever thought of as fictional, learning how to build homes and organize a crew, marrying his best male friend and spending an afternoon in a curling match with zombies while his father hung in a cage twenty feet in the air seemed less bizarre.
He gave a soft, silent breath of a laugh at that and stretched his legs out in the water of the pool, his jeans rolled up to mid-calf and wet up to the knees, toes wiggling. Somewhere nearby a frog sounded, eliciting a quiet russle in the brush. With the exception of that and the soft, constant spray of the waterfall, the Hamlet was quiet, most of the inhabitants having gone to sleep hours before. But, Chris couldn't. His mind too full of everything he'd left behind, everything he'd gained since, everything that had apparently happened in some other lifetime or universe or dimension.
Two years. In that time, he'd seen Neil and Amy both come and go, not to mention the countless other friends he'd met here and lost.
Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder when his own time was going to run out.
[OOC: Timed to late tonight and open up to anyone and everyone who might be happening by. He's being only very slightly mood and wouldn't at all mind meeting someone new. ST/LT welcome as always.]