Snippet #1467616

“Hey, come back here with that, punk!” a voice cried out over the thrill of other voices in the mass sea of people that made up the beach this fine evening. The sun was setting over a pink and yellow sky, white clouds dissipating ever more under the fading light of day. This ‘punk’ zoomed pass tourists, jumping over beach towels and stomping on sandcastles, some kids left crying in the aftermath. The punk was gripping a wallet in his right hand, throwing an occasional glance back behind him to see if he was still being followed. Sure enough he was, the owner of the wallet now accompanied by the local beach patrol.

“Incoming, Flin!” the guy shouted as he kicked sand in all directions, some landing on Flin off to the side.

“Huhh?” he groaned, lifting his head up off the ground just in time to see his friend Tony bolt down the strip while other men ran by, kicking sand in Flin’s face as well. “What the!” he yelled to his own device, sighing in a harsh grunt as he dusted the sand off his chest, arms, and face. He had fallen asleep in this spot earlier this day, when most people were already up and carrying out their daily business. Flin spent the previous night drinking and combing the beach, passing out face down where he was now waking up. The sun setting off in the distance was his only clue that he slept until evening, yet another waste of a day in his life when every day seemed waste. He rolled to his knees, stretching his slim, yet toned arms upwards in an attempt to get going. Didn’t work though, he still felt sick and hungover. But now he was hungry.

Flin kicked up to his feet, dressed in nothing more than some jeans and sandals on his feet. A white cotton shirt hung over his shoulder, a shirt he desperately needed to clean for it was no more useful now than as a sweat rag to wipe his face.

“And off he goes,” Flin spoke of himself, referring in third person more times than not. His last possession was a brown leather backpack than he scooped up in an open hand and threw over his shoulder, letting it thud against the spine of his back. Having no particular place to go or people to see, he began to walk southwards down the beach. On days when he had more energy, Flin would find himself sparking conversations with random tourists, ranting on about the jellyfish and their mission to rule the domain of the beach. Most would giggle and pretend they were interested, all the while trying to leave the conversation in a way that might not seem so rude. Today Flin wasn’t feeling on top of his game, so he retreated to keeping to himself, letting the quiet of his steps drown the tick in his brain that chattered like a squirrel. Flin would continue his silent trail of blankness until something caught his eyes. And indeed something did.

Under the boardwalk, a light began to shimmer. Looking over his shoulders to see if anyone was coming, which there wasn't, Flin jogged forward and looked at the source. It was a pair of black sunglasses reflecting the light from the waning sun. He picked them up, slipped them over his eyes, and felt a sense of accomplishment in that moment. Flin had been meaning to steal himself a pair of sunglasses and this saved him the trouble. Without another moment of hesitation, Flin moved out of his spot by the board walks. He knew not to stay in the scene of the crime after his first few attempts at stealing. Now he considered himself a pro, getting away with most of his illegal antics.

The rest of his short day passed swiftly, only getting up an hour or so before the sun had set anyway. After roaming the beach for a good two hours, Flin made his way up to the boardwalk and to a local diner that he would eat at occasionally. The owner there knew of Flin and felt bad for the kid being homeless and all, so he’d provide Flin a meal for free every now and then when Flin decided to show up. This was one of those occasions.

“Hey Mister Arty,” Flin said as he opened the door to Donal’s Diner, Arty being the main man being the counter most nights. Flin still had on the sunglasses, pushing them to the top of his head now that he was indoors.

“Lookin’ sharp, kid, where’d you get those glasses?” Arty asked with a raised eyebrow while pouring Flin a small cup of coffee, knowing most likely that they were stolen property on his forehead. Flin knew all too well that Arty might think he stole them, and began waving his hands most passionately before him.

“No, no, NO,” his voice fluctuated, a hint of fire to his last ‘no’. “I, in fact, was bestowed this marvelous pair of sunglasses by none other than the Queen herself. Came right up to me, placed them on my head, and dubbed me Knight Flin while she was at it. Very kind lady, I must say, though she smelled like dead fi...” Flin began to ramble, though cut off mid-sentence by Arty who wasn’t in the mood for such nonsense in the moment.

“Right, right, the Queen gave them to you,” Arty repeated afterwards, right eyebrow raised in humor, but annoyance as well. Either way, he slid Flin the cup of coffee and pat him on the shoulder. “Take care, I have other customers to tend to,” he said, and walked off moments after. Flin took the cup of coffee in his hand, looking down at the brown and black swirls that danced in unison in his cup. Flin took the sunglasses off his head, smirking at his reflection. His hair was a wreck, stuck in the direction at which he had fallen asleep in the night before.

“Ah, well, I’m sure she is a nice lady,” he continued to mutter, still referring to the Queen. Anyone had to be nice to live in a palace like she did, with guards and money and food galore. He on the other hand wasn’t so lucky, barely getting a piece of bread without having his hands cut off by store clerks. Beng poor sure had its downfalls, but then again Flin would be homeless any day over living back at home with his family. After a short time in the Diner, Flin waved his goodbye to Arty, placing the sunglasses back over his eyes as he exited the door. He walked with a swagger, trying to appear ‘smooth’ and badass in his new black glasses that looked like they were from the Matrix. His persona he was trying to pull off was classic 1950’s ‘Greaser’, if only he had a leather jacket to match. Some women began to wave at him and giggle amongst themselves while most just tried their best to ignore him. A few futile attempts at some pick up lines, and he was back to where he found himself this morning on the beach, in the same sandy corner he had fallen asleep in. He wasn’t particularly tired already, but the day offered no sign of ending unless he hit the hay... and so he did....

As soon as blackness hit his eyes, Flin felt more awake than ever. Though he couldn’t seem to see anything else but blackness, his body moved and tumbled like he was out in space, or underwater just with no pressure. A dream never felt so real, brisk wind flipping and contorting his face like a vacuum of reversed air. Instead of being concerned or afraid, Flin began to chuckle carelessly, not able to get the thought out of his mind that he was in some Alice In Wonderland type of situation, falling and falling without hitting a bottom. The black spiral downwards seemed to last hours though it was only minutes. A violent thud to the surface jolted Flin back to his senses, eyes flittering until they were strong enough to stay open. Light was the first thing he noticed, which altogether wasn’t right because it was night that last time he checked. Another thing he immediately was able to notice was the different texture beneath him. His hands felt what his eyes were still trying to come in to focus on: hay. This was hay he was laying on, not sand. He literally hit the hay. When Flin’s complete surroundings finally came in to focus, he all but fumbled off the hay stack he woke up on. Surrounding him were various forms of livestock entrapped in a fence where onlookers pointed at which one they wanted to take home and cook.

“Ah! Awful! Ughh,” he growned through harsh sniffs, the overwhelming stench of feces and dung staining the air he breathed in. Taking a couple feeble steps forward, Flin nearly face-planted into the mud but caught himself, thank god. His balance was off after whatever just had happened. Flin gripped his head, trying to make sense of the situation. He felt the sunglasses still there, taking them off his head to make sure they were the same ones and not some inhuman alien creature that took shape to these glasses. The fact they were normal meant this was most probably not a dream. But how did he get here? Surely he didn’t drink during his sleep and pass out on a traveling truck that took him to some rural country side... there was no beach in sight, but booths that ran along one another in some form of controlled chaos. Flin stepped over the tiny fence that held the livestock in, sandals now hitting stone. He wiped off the mud and dung that stuck to the bottom of his shoes as he waited for someone to pass by.

“Where am I?” Flin asked, gripping the sides of a woman passing by who was startled by such forward actions.

“Get your dirty hands off me, you smelly pig!” she cried, her tiny fists pounding against Flin’s bare chest. She was honest, he did smell like pig, probably due to waking up in a livestock barn. He repeated, ignoring her plea and asked her again where was he..

“Jarvaise, you fool,” she muttered, finally managing to get away from Flin as he watched her dash off.
“Jarvaise?” he repeated to himself, almost in a mock, scratching the side of his head. That name didn’t sound familiar, not in the slightest. And she spoke with a weird accent that seemed unlike anything he has heard in the United States. His inability to connect with the woman and his lack of knowledge began to frustrate Flin, throwing his arms up in the air like a beacon in the night. He needed to get people’s attention, see what the hell was going on here. He saw another haystack, this time aiding in holding up the roof to a merchant’s booth. Flin made his way towards it, lifting himself up the hay bale until he was at the top. Standing all the way up on his feet, he was at least 8 feet taller than anyone else walking by.

“Hear ye, hear ye, those of you... peoples.. below,” he began to shout, those in the area slowing in the steps as they looked up at him with curiosity and impatience. Some were fascinated by his looks, the denim jeans he was wearing not yet seen before to them. Others wrote him off as some foreign pest or village freak. “I command thee... you there! What is this place and where is the nearest road to interstate 5?” Flin asked, for from the looks up here there was not a paved road or interstate insight. Fascinating really, the places he must go while he is asleep. His buddy Tony back home would get a kick out of this one. Meanwhile, Flin continued to drawl in a crowd as he sat perched up top the haystack pointing at random people... and creatures?