Post by franklinmarsh on Nov 27, 2008 16:05:49 GMT
At last!. Carl had waited years for this. And now he was going. He’d read about it. Seen news clips. Had a DVD of an old music festival. (Shame that wasn’t still happening.) But to actually be there would be unreal. Stonehenge. Summer Solstice.
He’d read that upwards of thirty thousand people attended, but that it was all good natured. A lot of litter afterward, but no trouble. He didn’t suppose he’d see much, but just to say he’d been there would be enough.
He didn’t dare mention it to anyone he knew. He’d be full of it afterward, though. That was the trouble with being alone. No-one to share these things with.
His little Punto flew down the A303. It was 11 pm on the 20th June. A light misty rain was falling. That was a shame. He hoped he’d actually see the sun in a few hours.
Carl couldn’t help noticing the absence of traffic. He’d expected to be crawling in a jam by now, but the road was clear. Where was everybody?
He put the radio on, panicking in case he’d got the wrong day. The Punto swerved violently as a shockingly loud burst of static assaulted his ears. He hauled the car back into the left hand lane, and desperately pushed buttons on the radio façade. Nothing except white noise. He switched off with a grunt of disgust, his ears still ringing.
The silence was unnatural. He was sweating from the earlier swerve. The perspiration turned cold on his skin.
Carl squinted through the windscreen, and slowed. Was it getting darker, or were his headlights fading? He’d slowed to a crawl, and was still having trouble discerning anything outside the car. This was dangerous. He pulled over to what he thought would be the side of the road. A bump against the kerb had him fighting the wheel again.
He turned off the engine and tried to control his breathing. As he regained a little composure, he could hear the ticking of the engine.
He opened the car door and stepped out. He shivered at the cold. Summer? Huh!
Looking around, he still couldn’t make out anything definite. The quiet was getting to him. Had he ended up on the wrong road? He turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees on his heels, ears straining. Was that some sort of noise to his left? A dark hill rose in front of him. He wasn’t sure but thought there might be some sort of light emanating from behind the hill. He was sure there was sound! Bells ringing? Chanting?
Carl stepped out into the road. A horn blasted. He was illuminated from head to toe in stark white light. He felt the slipstream as the vehicle shot past him. He stumbled forward, shaking.
The opposite kerb tripped him and he fell onto damp grass.
He trembled all over. The faint sounds that must be coming from behind the hill calmed him. He pulled himself to his feet and set off for the hill.
As he climbed upward, Carl remembered that he hadn’t locked his car. He dismissed the thought. He was getting closer. Mustn’t waste any more time.. The noise increased in volume, the light brightened.
His pace increased. He was breathing heavily again, almost gasping. The gradient of the hill grew steeper until he was practically on all fours, scrambling toward the peak.
As Carl reached the summit, the noise stopped. He paused, suddenly frightened, a vital lifeline cut off. He watched the light begin to dim. This galvanised him into running to the top of the hill, and looking down.
Stonehenge. Silent. Deserted. Dark.
Carl looked around desperately. He was alone. He willed himself to move down toward the stones, but something held him back.
Frustration grew within him. It was as though he were paralysed, rooted to the top of the hill. He whimpered, his arms flailed in the air, but his feet refused to move.
Off balance, he tumbled forward and rolled down the hill, faster and faster, completely out of control. The ground levelled, and he gradually ceased to move. Breathless, he struggled to gain his feet.
Awed by his proximity to the stones, Carl edged forward, constantly glancing around. Still no-one in sight. Something nagged at him. There was no fence! No visitors centre! Just the stones in a field. He smiled, not caring. The stones were his
‘*********************
Carl entered the circle through the Heelstone end, walking between two huge Sarsens, an idiot grin on his face. His skin tingled. He felt the hair on the nape of his neck prickling. The tips of his fingers throbbed. The crotch of his jeans tightened as he gained an erection. He’d never, ever felt more alive! He whirled around, laughing uncontrollably, throwing his arms wide. My world! Mine!
After several rotations , he staggered to a halt, the laughter dying. The front of his pants were wet where he’d ejaculated, initially warm, now uncomfortably cold. His arms felt heavy, and dropped to his sides.
Carl was facing the altar stone. He approached it, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. He stopped in front of the slab. Warmth seemed to come from it. He placed his hands, palms down, upon the warm stone. Heat flowed through them. He smiled and lay down upon the stone, closing his eyes.
A sound awakened him. His eyes opened, and he saw a man, clad in a scarlet robe towering above him, a dagger in his hand.
Carl’s eyes widened. He attempted to move but found himself restricted. White-robed acolytes were poised behind the red-costumed figure. Noise crashed in upon him. Bells, whistles, gongs, didgeridoos, flutes, chanting, screaming, droning….
He struggled against his bonds, helpless. His eyes filled with tears, blinking as light from the rising sun shone into them. The cacophony increased, rising in tempo.
Carl began to laugh. He’d seen the sunrise at Stonehenge on the Summer Solstice. That was all that mattered.
END
He’d read that upwards of thirty thousand people attended, but that it was all good natured. A lot of litter afterward, but no trouble. He didn’t suppose he’d see much, but just to say he’d been there would be enough.
He didn’t dare mention it to anyone he knew. He’d be full of it afterward, though. That was the trouble with being alone. No-one to share these things with.
His little Punto flew down the A303. It was 11 pm on the 20th June. A light misty rain was falling. That was a shame. He hoped he’d actually see the sun in a few hours.
Carl couldn’t help noticing the absence of traffic. He’d expected to be crawling in a jam by now, but the road was clear. Where was everybody?
He put the radio on, panicking in case he’d got the wrong day. The Punto swerved violently as a shockingly loud burst of static assaulted his ears. He hauled the car back into the left hand lane, and desperately pushed buttons on the radio façade. Nothing except white noise. He switched off with a grunt of disgust, his ears still ringing.
The silence was unnatural. He was sweating from the earlier swerve. The perspiration turned cold on his skin.
Carl squinted through the windscreen, and slowed. Was it getting darker, or were his headlights fading? He’d slowed to a crawl, and was still having trouble discerning anything outside the car. This was dangerous. He pulled over to what he thought would be the side of the road. A bump against the kerb had him fighting the wheel again.
He turned off the engine and tried to control his breathing. As he regained a little composure, he could hear the ticking of the engine.
He opened the car door and stepped out. He shivered at the cold. Summer? Huh!
Looking around, he still couldn’t make out anything definite. The quiet was getting to him. Had he ended up on the wrong road? He turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees on his heels, ears straining. Was that some sort of noise to his left? A dark hill rose in front of him. He wasn’t sure but thought there might be some sort of light emanating from behind the hill. He was sure there was sound! Bells ringing? Chanting?
Carl stepped out into the road. A horn blasted. He was illuminated from head to toe in stark white light. He felt the slipstream as the vehicle shot past him. He stumbled forward, shaking.
The opposite kerb tripped him and he fell onto damp grass.
He trembled all over. The faint sounds that must be coming from behind the hill calmed him. He pulled himself to his feet and set off for the hill.
As he climbed upward, Carl remembered that he hadn’t locked his car. He dismissed the thought. He was getting closer. Mustn’t waste any more time.. The noise increased in volume, the light brightened.
His pace increased. He was breathing heavily again, almost gasping. The gradient of the hill grew steeper until he was practically on all fours, scrambling toward the peak.
As Carl reached the summit, the noise stopped. He paused, suddenly frightened, a vital lifeline cut off. He watched the light begin to dim. This galvanised him into running to the top of the hill, and looking down.
Stonehenge. Silent. Deserted. Dark.
Carl looked around desperately. He was alone. He willed himself to move down toward the stones, but something held him back.
Frustration grew within him. It was as though he were paralysed, rooted to the top of the hill. He whimpered, his arms flailed in the air, but his feet refused to move.
Off balance, he tumbled forward and rolled down the hill, faster and faster, completely out of control. The ground levelled, and he gradually ceased to move. Breathless, he struggled to gain his feet.
Awed by his proximity to the stones, Carl edged forward, constantly glancing around. Still no-one in sight. Something nagged at him. There was no fence! No visitors centre! Just the stones in a field. He smiled, not caring. The stones were his
‘*********************
Carl entered the circle through the Heelstone end, walking between two huge Sarsens, an idiot grin on his face. His skin tingled. He felt the hair on the nape of his neck prickling. The tips of his fingers throbbed. The crotch of his jeans tightened as he gained an erection. He’d never, ever felt more alive! He whirled around, laughing uncontrollably, throwing his arms wide. My world! Mine!
After several rotations , he staggered to a halt, the laughter dying. The front of his pants were wet where he’d ejaculated, initially warm, now uncomfortably cold. His arms felt heavy, and dropped to his sides.
Carl was facing the altar stone. He approached it, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. He stopped in front of the slab. Warmth seemed to come from it. He placed his hands, palms down, upon the warm stone. Heat flowed through them. He smiled and lay down upon the stone, closing his eyes.
A sound awakened him. His eyes opened, and he saw a man, clad in a scarlet robe towering above him, a dagger in his hand.
Carl’s eyes widened. He attempted to move but found himself restricted. White-robed acolytes were poised behind the red-costumed figure. Noise crashed in upon him. Bells, whistles, gongs, didgeridoos, flutes, chanting, screaming, droning….
He struggled against his bonds, helpless. His eyes filled with tears, blinking as light from the rising sun shone into them. The cacophony increased, rising in tempo.
Carl began to laugh. He’d seen the sunrise at Stonehenge on the Summer Solstice. That was all that mattered.
END