Chapter 4.
It was 11:47 when Gavin left. Where? I do not know. When I entered his room for the first time in the day, it was no longer morning. The decorative foghorns were sounding from time to time. Those were being sounded from time to time, not so densely packed as to be imposing. Minutes upon minutes would pass after the initial sequence, the surrounding would fall into silence again. Then suddenly, but not aggrevatingly, the ghostchasing sequence would reiterate. Martyrs of the old world were rising from the sea. Its poisonous waves were hoisting the dead souls in flames rampantly. The decorative foghorns were erected in Gauntville as to keep the souls tethered to the ocean. To warn them: the soil has ended, the ocean has become its purgatory. Remain as you are. Maritime transportation is a thing of distant past, and the local government erected the foghorns as remembrance of things past. Humans like to be reminded of their history, even in cases where the string of events do not follow through the same book. The great war had necessitated an entirely new book altogether, one that is soaked in constant repentance with no hope for salvation, but the echoes of distant past still venerate its rutted pages. These pages have an oleophobic layer, as if they are not made of paper anyway but gelded glass. They resisted the toxic fumes emanating from the surrounding vast ocean. Day and night. Underneath, human fables were being continually written. Excavated ink and blotting papers from the past sometimes joined them as if to remind them of our legacy. And thus, these decorative lighthouses with their nostalgic foghorns were erected. Most living people had never heard of foghorns in their pragmatic context before. Neither had I. Gavin told me that their purpose was to warn the ships near the shore of its fatal land and protruding stones. When there were thickets of fog, the sailors, being unable to spot obstructions, would run into the merciless posture of stones. Mankind learned about it and found a way to circumvent: throw rotating flocks of light about, and parametrically soaring packets of sound for those further still. Mankind learned of many things through experience and pitfall, trial and error, invent and circumvent. Gavin once told me about the great war before the greatest war, when the entire world had fallen into disarray and the ensuing race-fisticuff for power dictated the fate of its realignment. Trial and error. Invent. Circumvent.
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Hexwaves Mk. 2 II / Left of Passage