The Mayans had their temples, the Egyptians their pyramids, the Nazca, their mysterious lines. Machu Pichu, Angkor Wat, Tower of Babel, the Moai... Their purposes were once known, but over the centuries their purposes eroded along with their very structures. Many theories had come to be to explain the unexplainable. But what could induce the civilizations of long past to stretch their resources, to span their building plans over decades or centuries, to war over these structures? It could be nothing else but the human wish to communicate with the gods, heaven, a higher power...
The decaf did not help. He was on his knees, trying not to wretch. His fingers were splayed before him in a lush patch of grass, such a change from the harsh city concrete that was under his feet a moment ago, and he could feel the dew seeping through the knees of his jeans. He looked over his shoulder at the column of light, the portal, still wavering in the dim morning light, still open. The prospect of exerting the energy to close it bothered him--all he wanted to do now was to take a nap. Still, he had to do it--undoubtedly he was creating a spectacle with a disembodied rectangular swath of light hanging in the air to any unfortunate bystander.
He got up, gingerly, then doubled over onto his knees again. He vomited. After wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robes, he made a note to bring a box of Altoids with him next time. For a moment, he considered the portal. After all, he could simply hop back through or materialize a box of mints into his palm--that is, if he knew where the nearest 7-Eleven was.
And looking around, he knew he was definitely, for sure, nowhere near one. The light of the portal cast his surroundings in eerie pale blue shadows. He could make out the iconic stones propped on top of each other like gateways that would have completely encircled him had it not been for the centuries of erosion. His grandfather had been here, his grandfather's father had been here, his entire lineage had been here once. Yet he shrugged irreverently--even Japanese tourists have been here--it was Stone Henge, after all. If there wasn't a 7-Eleven, no doubt there would be a gift shop selling mints in the shape of Stone Henge's Heelstone. Now, if only he had an Euro to spare. Or not...
He suddenly felt the same sensation he had on the rooftop--the deep beat of dark wings fluttering through his mind and echoing in the hollow of his chest. It was the sensation that could not possibly have been picked up by mortal senses, yet mortal he was. His eyes flickered to the skies, to his left, his right, he spun around, suddenly on guard. The words, Every angel is frightening flitted through his mind.
He backed away from the shadows, closer to the portal. It was unsafe. His ancestors had guarded these sacred grounds to communicate with the divine. And so he had also come here to seek their otherworldly words.
"Reveal yourself," he said and waited.