VII
And Micael went awoke, that time it was real. He could move, talk, and even blink. He was sweating badly. From his body down to his crotch was sweat. All over his body. His mother, who was shocked on his happenstance, was speechless but had finally gathered unto something discernible:
"Are you alright, dear? Seems like you had a very bad dream." Micael wasn't really aware of his situation. He was still shocked and thankful it was all just a dream, though something, or someone, would had killed him head on. He uttered a very noticeable sigh, and talked: "I am alright, mother. It was just a very bad dream, I presume." His mother got him a towel and handed it to him. He wiped it all throughout his body, as he was really sweating badly. His emotions were not really gathering as well. He was shocked, scared, thankful, torn and thinking all at the very same circumstance, as if he was speechless but could still talk nonetheless.
He noticed that the omnibus had halted. He gathered his knickers and went on to check the outside through the window, and he saw ships. They were finally at the port, for God's sake. "Here we are, Mrs. Pratt, and we shall be in a hurry as the ship was scheduled to set sail past thirty," said their chauffeur. The door opened, and so did Micael's mind. "Should you find yourself comfortable table, do spill tea, honey," said his mother. Micael just nodded. He simply just did. He was weak but he moved on with it. They all went onto carrying their respective luggage. Micael stretched, did a squat, his knees bent, and grabbed one of the boxes and lifted it up and down he went to the port near the ship's keel.
He handed the boxes to the sailors, as they said they would help them carry their luggage to the ship as they were constricted by time itself, which was currently unfolding inside Micael's mind, and the lad went on. He saw his father on the stall of foods, which seemed like he was buying something far more than food. He rolled himself some tobacco on a sheet of paper, got him a lighter and he sent the roll alight, and smoked some more.
VIII
They all went to put all the luggage of Mr. and Mrs. Pratt unto the ship with the quite of a pace, as they were REALLY into some sort of time constraints. Micael could see the brisk of the sailors and helpers alike unto transporting their luggage inside the ship, and into their very room of which his parents had chosen for Micael's comfort so that he could feel nothing but more like it was just another ordinary vacation himself and his family had booked into rather a very long journey of which could kill them silently and ferociously as time would pass.
IX
Everyone was much more than just ready. There were sailors, guards, and even some civilians who were aboard at the ship. The ship was big, as it was supposed to ship goods to the United Kingdom. The ship's color was the usual scheme for ships. Brown, made of wood, very modest and was named: S.S. Mary.
The jib of the ship was occupied by a mermaid-like figure, which signifies the safety and how the journey would turn out to be, or? It was still sunny, around six past five, and after a lot of preliminary checks, the ship set sail. They chose to occupy the room under the captain's deck, where Micael was really comfortable because it was near one of the windows where one could contemplate, if not else. Micael went upstairs, where he saw his parents talking to the captain about odds-and-ends, at least for someone like Micael. He walked towards their twenty and overheard an excerpt of their conversation.
"So, what are you two expecting on Great Britain? A lot of slangs, I must say?"
"Yeah. A lot of alien words, I presume. My son, actually, will enjoy there, at least on my very expectation."
"Who is this Aleck Millner, by the by?" The captain curiously asked.
"Someone for later. It's not really needed to be talked about, I must say," Micael interrupted after closing the distance and reaching their places, and he was really brave to finally gather up his posture and said something worth remarking. "Anyway, should you want a drink, please do find me at up deck. I will be waiting.," said the captain. "Mother, do you mind if you talk to me for a sec?" asked Micael onto his mother, which she immediately agreed upon. "I must go find my comfortable place," said his father, and went for a walk to smoke another roll. Micael's mother waited for Louis to catch some distance, and worriedly asked: "Is there a problem, Micael?" she asked with a curious voice. It twanged a little, but it did not twang a little longer.
"There's none, mother. It is just, someone haunted me while I was fast asleep. He said that he would join me on my journey forth. THIS REALLY SOUNDS RIDICULOUS BUT IT IS MORE THAN JUST THAT. I am afraid that my past will come back." It echoed around the ears of his mother, as if there was an ongoing war cry inside her head and there were drums beating, getting louder along with the suspense of the circumstance. It became louder, so loud that she forgot to ever reply to Micael's talk-abouts. Louder. Louder. LOUDER until it stopped quite abruptly.
"Your past? That you have done something indefinitely? No, dear. No one haunted you and no one ever will," said his mother, and gave him a quite hug, so tight that Micael gassed a sigh, though of which something that was quite discernible both for him and his mother, but it was a very tight hug nonetheless. "What if it does?" said Micael. "If it will haunt you, it should have happened right away, dear. Cheer up! There are a lot of things waiting for us in London!" said his mother, looked at her, and he saw the widest smile from his mother's face. It was lively, vibrantly, and simple yet so contagious, like a plague, which made Micael forgot the previous happenstance immediately, and smiled back. "Louis! We should get ourselves comfortable by eating. The sun is setting. Oh, by the way, Micael, should you be eating, do find yourself a seat below. I will just prepare our dinner." His mother went downstairs to pack up some dinner for them, while Louis went on to check Micael if he was doing well. The Australian shores were barely seen on the horizon from the boat. It looked like just a part of something small, yet dazzling to look into. It was very flat, except the lighthouse, of course. It was orange. The sky and the ocean were orange. It looked like a ton of tangerines were thrown and light was intentionally focused on the fruits, and there were birds. A few of them.
It was peaceful; calm yet chaotic. The flaps of the birds' wings were echoing, though echoes were much nearly impossible to even take place where the atmosphere acted like walls, it rendered Micael stunned of the fact that he was now going to London.
"What's the matter, Micael?" asked his father, who got rid of his last roll of tobacco right before uttering. Micael could smell the tobacco's taste on the breath of his father, something which he was used to unto of as he tried to roll some and made them alight on his 9th grade. "Nothing, father. It is just that, ugh... I cannot even tell. Thank you."
"Thank you? For what?"
"For being there where no one would be," he said. His father had thought of something much more eventual than his? Tachyon? Aliens? Multi-universes? No one really knew, for he knew what was Micael's think-abouts was. He never really uttered a piece, at least something related to what Micael had said. Patted his left shoulder with his heavy hands, and said: "This will be a while, Micael, like how we waited for you. 6 months? I myself do not know, but all I know is that we will be there in no time." Micael looked at his father. He was wearing a top hat, a double-breasted jacket and what it seemed like a brown vest underneath, a watch beneath the jacket's sleeve, a dress pants and brown dingy leather shoes. One could notice that he was really a helluva man, the reason why he had achieved almost every goal he had set up for himself. "Oh! I almost forgot. We have some company downstairs later. AND I want you to know his daughter. She is nice, pretty, and a hell of a rider, face-wise at most."
"Was that really necessary, father?" he said, followed by a very distinct laughter. "Was it? I shall leave you for now, Micael, for I will help your mother on cooking. As the old poem had said: 'Thou who cooks is thy happiness of them all.'" His father was quite of a reader and poet, after all. He watched his father walking downstairs, with his hat off and the other hand at the side, as he might fall down the stairs and be embarrassed all throughout the sail. He smiled. He really did. But then he grew curious of that girl. He pondered and thought of how she would look like. Someone whose hair is blonde, aligned cheeks and with freckles were one he would admire. He also wanted to have someone whose interest is of music, as well, for his interest was the same, after all. He thought of it a little bit, and he even forgot Jack's whereabouts and the consequent happenstance on the omnibus earlier that day.
"One sure wants to forget something literally unforgettable," he said, and then he looked at the sky which slowly turned from orange to light blue to no color at all, except for the white light being emitted by the stars (they were aligned in a certain constellation Micael could not even tell), then he looked at the horizon, where the only tangerine-colored sky was to be seen, along with the fifth of the sun, where Australian borders where nowhere to be found. Was it just a coincidence? No. The horizon was never really just the beginning, but both a beginning's ending and an ending's beginning. He quite looked at it for some time, thought of the girl once more, and went on for a sing. Talented was he, Micael could sing every note, however flat or sharp it might be.
"Mary had a little lamb… little lamb… little lamb…" it was just a nursery rhyme but Micael made it sound like more than just that. He was singing and humming to compliment with his very tunes. He was singing, and he was into it, but then he noticed something so strange which made one of his eyebrows rise. It was as if someone was accompanying him while singing. And creepier than that, he noticed that it was near him, with him, and it was no ordinary voice at all. It was a familiar voice of someone, someone that he could not tell the name, or point any eyes at all. It was twangy, as strange as poorly-sounding guitar, and dark in its very nature. It was getting louder, like one pianist would have noticed the difference of pianissimo and fortissimo in one eye's bat.
"Mary had a little lamb… little lamb…" It was getting louder, and getting closer as well. The voice quickly sent sweat down his crotch, again. Then it reached to the point where it was so loud as if it was just behind him, a mere five feet, distance-wise.
"Mary had a little lamb… Micael's lamb… Micael was a lamb…" the lyrics had suddenly changed, which made Micael come to stop his singing. 'twas that time that the voice was familiar. It was something very familiar. Let there be light was the voice. It really was. And Micael was again stunned, though not really.
"Micael's lamb… Aleck was lamb… Millner's" and it was very deafening. The only thing that Micael would had done is to look on his six and confront Jack, which he did. He slowly turned his torso towards his back, like the cranking of an old, vintage music box that was not moved for an eternity. He was scared, as his very eyes had depicted (teary, dilated, and not on the conventional focus and movement). But he knew it was the only thing he could do. Nothing else but to look and be open, like a jammed door on a house being robbed. He quickly grabbed his balls and turned his torso abruptly, and shouted.
"STOP!"
Jack's voice was loud. Micael's louder. "Stop? What do you mean, son?" said his father, as if Micael had instantaneously teleported into another independent, parallel universe. Micael was sweating a gallon, though it was very cold atop of the ship. "What's?" followed his father. "Nothing, father. It was just something out of the ordinary," Micael replied, gasping and still shocked of what might seem another nightmare, but he was awake that time. "You couldn't hear me from afar maybe because you are so concentrated on your singing, which is very good, I must say."
"The lamb is cooked, son. Shall we?" said his father.
"It was something related to my singing, huh?" said Micael followed with a quite smirk, though something done just to stop his father's thinking. He quickly followed behind his father and went on to traverse the distance downstairs.
"Eighteen, Aleck. EIGHTEEN." Then Micael stopped, turned on his back and looked at the night sky, which resembled Jack's very torn cape, at least in color.
"Anything out of the ordinary, Micael?" said his father, who had confused from the very beginning as Micael's face really looked like he was shocked, let alone scared. Micael did the littlest shrug, turned his back once more, and uttered: "Nothing, father," then smiled. "Then we shall get ourselves hungry-not, then! Come on, I will let you know someone who is much prettier than you think," and downstairs they went. Though they were like three rooms away from theirs, Micael could already smell the savory aroma of the lamb, which seemed to be new on his olfaction.
"I am kind of excited!" said Micael, while still smelling the cooked lamb by his very mother. "You are sure REALLY excited, son. Of what, perhaps?" replied his father, who had put his mick out of him. "That is something out of the question, father, for you know me so very well," and laugh ensued on the latter. The arch of the hallway was seemed written by a toddler which, though nearly negligible, depicted: Mary's Hall, which made Micael smiled a little, for he remembered how we seemed to be like that when he was a kid. "This night better be good, son," said his father, and he handed him something that shocked Micael.
It was a guide. A guide of some sort. It was arranged like a very sophisticated letter and the front had words written on it: You're Fortunate I Love-like You (which was written in a quite calligraphy-like manner. It was beautiful, catchy and yet so intriguing to open).
"What's with this, Father?"
"Something you will not REGRET reading, but let's find ourselves full first," and off they went to their room with a quite pace, as if they were racing with their horses to win a trophy, but instead a lamb and maybe a girl, perhaps.
...