And in the distance he saw the small well dressed man walking towards him. He studied him momentarily, his mind making thousands of microsecond calculations. A kind of trepidation filled his body and he knew, on another day in another world that he would probably have crossed the road rather than confront this figure head on. It wasn't that there was anything outwardly sinister about this man, it was just that, well, he was different. An air of aloofness and nonchalance that was almost tangible, could almost be touched radiated from the figure, yet there was still an underlying hint of something dangerous about him.
Falon stopped now, allowing the overhanging briars to obscure him as much as was possible, but without wishing to appear as if he was hiding. He hoisted one foot up against the tree and fumbled blindly with his bootlace, his eyes never straying from the figure. The figure stopped. The mans head began to lift from the downcast position that it had been in........the eyes pierced his. Cold and sharp and knowing, totally knowing. Falon knew that the eyes were the window to the soul, he knew that his soul was touched. He knew immediately that lies, half truths and insincerities were fruitless. The eyes held his own, as firmly as any grip, as tightly as any vice, to look away was to lose something...but what he couldn't tell.
Falons heart began to pound gently, not through fear, maybe just because he knew he was caught. Here he was with his boot half way up a tree studying another man and he knew that the man knew that he was being studied. The figure approached, slightly more brisk and purposeful in his manner now, steadily the distance closed. Falons mind raced again, he knew this man, he recognised him...but where from? Too late, the figure was upon him.
"What day is it, Saturday"? the man enquired quite matter of factly. "Sunday" answered Falon, his mind asking and answereing it's own questions alongside those of the stranger. "Sunday eh"....."still March"?... "No, no it's April" replied Falon quickly, trying to figure out where the conversation was going. "April the twenty sixth" Falon threw in quick as a flash. The small man sucked in his breath as if suprised. "It is the morning ...right"? the figure ventured. "Yes the morning" Falon chipped in. "Well one out of three ain't bad, one head ache and three weeks late seems reasonable to me, that was some ■■■■■■■ party." Falon didn't understand and his expression said it all. "Don't worry about it mate, where's the nearest pub?" asked Charlie....
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One love, peace.
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