XXV
After their very last sip from their cups, Micael had not talked since. His parents kept on talking into each other about different things: the tea, the street lights and how it would look like when the moon would show itself after the setting sun, their business and especially the future of their lives. But Micael kept his mouth shut like a steel girded door. He was thinking of something else. He was thinking of Amy.
It seemed like they had forgotten each other. No. Only Amy did. He never forgot the very looks of her: the smile, the hair, the freckles and the body. One would never forget someone whom he had so much time with. He kept on thinking about it. About her, and maybe he could see her for the time being which was as tantamount as touching the moon with the barest of his feet, however well his wounded sole might had become. The breeze of the ocean winds had hit him, again. He could feel it, as if he had never alighted Marry at all. It felt like he was dreaming but he knew it was just as sober as he thought.
The breeze of the open waters hit him once more. The smell coming from his window and the splash hitting the keel of Mary's bottoms. Her jib and the sail which brought him and his mother beyond British waters, and eventually onto its soil. He kept on thinking, reminiscing. For he knew how one's well-spent time was as just simple as well-wasted. He could feel it down to his flesh and right under his eyes, and he continued with the circling wheels.
XXVI
Fifteen miles had passed and the omnibus held very quiet inside its walls. So did Micael, which chose to kept his mouth shut and only his eyes moving around the Britain streets. He could see some lasses wearing great dresses and their arms wrapped around their lads', of which he smiled. He could see the walks of theirs, very different than how he used to see people walk way back Melbourne. It was quite fancy.
Their legs were moving gracefully as their waists were dancing into eights. He could see it clearly as their omnibus pass the pedestrians. He knew his life on Southwark would be one helluva experience. He felt excited, but there was something more. The child had come upon his very mind again. He tried to think of what he had said.
Time is irrelevant but time is the answer towards eighteen. He curled his brain inside his skull and his thoughts widened. He suddenly felt the urge into trying to go back to the other side of his world once more. He had put it at the very first of his priorities for he knew his questions unanswered would most likely lead to a miserable life, however long his life might be. He thought of it quite deeply and looked at the setting sun as it was slowly being replaced by the moon slowly dancing upon the orange skies, eventually turning it into dazzling blue and then black. Black as his thoughts. He had put himself into a quite dilemma he knew he could not get out of: Buying himself some time to think about the child or be at Jack's place as soon as he managed to get himself another time to sleep and be aware.
He knew something was about to unfold but he kept in inside his mouth down to his stomach. He was planning to hide it until the very verge of time (this time it had become irrelevant, as well). He was helpless and all he could do was to sleep, sleep, and sleep. His eyes had become tired of looking from the very end of his view to the other. He wanted to sleep but he never wanted to be back at his journey down the open gates, yet. He kept himself quiet as his eyes were looking at the rising moon, seemingly replacing the throne of the sun which it had reign for such temporary time, and his eyelids were winning. He was tired. His thoughts more tired. His eyelids turned down onto his eyes while his back resting gracefully on the omnibus' soft seat. And eventua-lly, his thoughts slept right as the street lights turned on with a single flicker and the omnibus continued forth on driving with its passengers fast asleep as drooping melted meringues, and so did Micael's thinking.
With them asleep, they could not track of time and their distance and it felt like the chauffeurs had finally held their breath and got crowns right above their head, and they continued driving the omnibuses and carriages which aligned perfectly like an array of dead trees of which Micael had seen adorning the sides of the dirty path of his way. No, they were adorning the very sides of their way towards the open gates, of which Jack and the child were currently resting with their hands right back at their thoughts and their stomach quite growling for food. It was hunger of that could not be contained by their very being, however brave their minds had chosen them to be. It was anyone's game when one's stomach started shrieking like a child.
XXVII
The breeze of the lonely nothingness hugged Jack and the child up to the bottom of their feet. They could feel the cold piercing through the red campfire Jack just kindled. It was harsh indeed, but they knew they had to went on. The campfire went ablaze and the rabbit carcass was put rested above it. It was skewered with sticks long enough which would protect their very hands from burning. Efforts, however, are something they had to give off for the carcass to slowly cook like heaven.
Beside Jack's foot was his grey skull, kissing with the dirt-way with its lips. But Jack did not bother, and then he looked towards the child.