He swam for the edge and pulled himself out, looking around; he stood on the edge of some sort of open theatre, long disused and overgrown.He swam for the edge and pulled himself out, looking around; he stood on the edge of some sort of open theatre, long disused and overgrown. Much of the stonework was cracked by the tenacity of nature pushing through it. Nickolai turned around; behind the fountain stood a great, curved wall, and in English writing, obscured by the climbing ivy, it read: WHO CAN CONTROL HIS FATE? - OTHELLO, ACT V, SCENE II. Wm. SHAKESPEARE. "Not me," Nickolai sighed gently. "Perhaps not," a masculine voice said behind him. "But that should not stop you from seeing it." Nickolai turned around, surprised. "Who are you?" "Call me Hal," the man replied. "No relation to Hal Masters, of course, but still... Hal." "Hal," Nickolai said, smiling. "Three quarters of Hall?" "Something like that. I'm here to keep your mind occupied." "For how long?" The man, an older man using a cane to stand, and dressed in a flowing white robe that draped off of his shoulders, walked forward and laid his hand on Nickolai's shoulder. "It's been long enough." He smiled and turned his back, walking up the stairs and out of sight through the theatre. "Hey!" Nickolai shouted, to no avail as the elderly man disappeared. Nickolai ran after him. Beyond the rotting stone archway of the theatre the stone turned to sand and reeds grew up out of the sand around him. He ran, feeling a need to run now more than a desire to catch the old man, and as he ran the sounds of pounding surf caught his ear. He ran harder still, his lungs starting to burn, his body starting to pound with his straining heart. He ran fast, faster than he thought he had ever run before, and when the reeds ended and the sand path ejected onto the beach, he stumbled forwards, losing his footing and falling forward into the sand. "Ooof!" he said, rolling before sitting up on his hand and knees, shaking the sand free of his hair and his clothes. "Yech." "Oy!" a voice said to his right. "Are you okay?" "Um... Yeah," he said. "I think so." Nickolai looked down at himself, bewildered. He was still wearing the t-shirt and jeans he had worn on the walk to the Hall. |