You got it - here's todays installment....

Part Six

The moon was full and fat, and shed a bright whitish-gray light that danced a slow undulating rhythm along the top of the thick fog that shrouded the rocky coast. From his vantage point atop the gravelly cliff-top, he could look out across the vast expanse of the cove and see the top of the old lighthouse poking up out of the fog, crumbling, dead and silent, no longer a functioning beacon for the Great Lakes freighters that plied these waters. Far off in the distance, unseen, he could hear the long, low bellow of one of the ships anti-collision horns; a deep, somber tone. Almost mournful. He recognized this place: It was the northern shore of Lake Erie. He stood along the cliffs, where he’d come many times as a boy on school and church outings, and then later as a young teenager, on drunken excursions with friends, to watch the massive ships glide by the shore, so close they were able to see the crew members walking about on deck. As a young boy, he would wave excitedly at the ships, riding low in the water, loaded heavy with cargo bound for who-knew-where. Sometimes the crew would call out and wave back to him, and other times if he was lucky, the ships pilot would respond with a deafening blast of the horn. He thought back on these memories, smiling, and remembered that he’d gotten his first kiss here, on a warm summer afternoon.

The present time was different, though. It was night time now, and much cooler. Far below, he could hear the surf crashing against the invisible rocky coastline, hidden by fog. The air smelled so clean and fresh, it was intoxicating. He stopped where he was, small streams of mist curling around his ankles, closed his eyes, and inhaled, swooning, at the flood of feelings and memories that swept through him.

Suddenly a queasiness enveloped him, and remembering that he stood atop a rocky cliff, he decided to sit down, until it went away, lest he lose his balance and tumble over the edge to die on the craggy rocks below. The ground felt cool and damp beneath him, and he found it rather comforting. Trying to will the queasiness away did no good, as he felt the thick feeling in the back of his mouth, that all his life he had known as a precursor to vomiting. He didn’t know why, but amid this massive jumble of emotions and feelings, he felt as if he had done this before. He knew he hadn’t but he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling.

He decided to lie down, hoping that would help him feel better. He kept his eyes closed, inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled his mouth. The cold, moist air felt good in his lungs. He felt his head begin to clear slightly, and opened his eyes. He blinked several times, certain that he was hallucinating. But the image that greeted him didn’t change. If anything, it became clearer. There was a terribly bright light facing him, where moments before there had been a darkened sky. The air was no longer cold, damp and refreshing, but warm and smelled synthetic. He noticed that the ground beneath him no longer felt uneven and rocky, but smooth and cold. He closed his eyes, and felt around with his hands, hoping to feel tufts of grass, or rocks, and dirt. But he didn’t. No matter where his hands explored, everything was smooth, and cold. Rolling onto his right side, he hoped to see the fog, hear the water lapping at far-away unseen rocks, smell the wet air. He wanted to have these, but knew he wouldn’t get them.

All he had was the indifferent metallic walls, staring silently back at him. The only smell was the sterile antiseptic smell of the chemicals used to keep the OSO clean, and the recycled air. He lay on his side, taking it all in, for a long time, then slowly got to his feet, resigned to his fate.

He knew it was all his own fault, and tried not to be angry. But he was unable to contain his disappointment, and with a sudden burst, fury rose within him, and screaming vile curses, he tore the tubes from his nose, and kicked a nearby chair. It slid across the floor, crashing into the wall, and breaking off one of its wheels. He screamed at the top of his lungs, his anger boiling over into long strings of the foulest curse words. His anger was directed at everything around him as he hurled anything within reach at the hated walls, floor and ceiling. He screamed loud, and long until his voice was all but gone. His knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor, crying.

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My cousin Jack can speak to beans. That's right.... Jack and the beans talk