There was a sound coming from an odd location. It bounced about the oddly angular hills surrounding the party, then descended towards what they still referred to as "the riverbed", thought what they had thus far encountered on their exploration consistently confounded all of their elementary beliefs of landscape, scientific law, and philosophical theory of all types, from all ages.
The sound was sharp at first, a pulsing of an odd tone, it seemed to have no beginning, no attack, it merely arose from silence and continued to a pitch near spine-tingling. It repeated a good many times until continual silence inserted itself.
The the "rocks" began to shake themselves from the very surface of the ground, shifting about beneath the feet of the intrepid crew. Large chunks flung themselves from the sharp sides of the embankment, and began falling about them, closer and more constant. If it were to continue, none doubted, there would be no avoidance of death this day.
On Xmas of 1992 my brother gave me this journal made of recycled paper with a twig pencil. I eventually filled it up sporadically up to 1995. I dug it out, dusted it off, and started looking through it today, May 6th, 2013. I've decided to reproduce the posts online. It's raw and sure to be embarrassing, but I feel enough time has passed that I can distance myself, yet find a very familiar me within these lines and perhaps find the inspiration to take up the pen again..... Thanks, big Bro.
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