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Abstract

cold, dry dirt.</p><p id="bf7d">Who was this person holding me? Why did they cry? Why did they kiss me?</p><p id="123d">“I thought that I had lost you, my brother,” she cried. “You were there so long, and we couldn’t find you. We searched and searched until we found a remnant of you. A single memory that still fought to remain you.”</p><p id="a3a7">Standing slowly, I ask the young lady, “Who are you? Have we met before? And who are your companions?”</p><p id="516a">The young lady gasped and fainted.</p><p id="d94d">One man, who looked to be the leader, turned to the rest of the group and spoke, “Calm, sometimes they return empty. He should regain his memories. He should…”</p><p id="4b9a">The man stepped towards me as the rest of the group attended to the young lady and spoke, “Welcome, my friend. You’re a traveler, and we welcome you. Come. Rest.”</p><p id="e178">Seeing their superior numbers, I did not resist. But I was wary.</p><p id="ed80">This story is a continuation of <a href="undefined">Josh Knapp</a>’s story:</p><div id="77a3" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-other-side-2948a4956bba"> <div> <div> <h2>The Other Side</h2> <div><h3>When dreams of more appear at your doorstep</h3></div>

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    </div><p id="de72"><a href="https://readmedium.com/190ce06e05cd?source=post_page-----fdd570f1a76e--------------------------------"><i>Paul Mansfield</i></a><i> is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.</i></p><p id="d197"><i>You can follow him on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/pmansfield/">@pmansfield</a></i></p><p id="da13"><i>If you liked this story, you might also like this.</i></p><div id="650c" class="link-block">
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            <h2>Endless Hunger</h2>
            <div><h3>A limited supply of tasty treats</h3></div>
            <div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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A TALE OF THE OTHER SIDE

Into the Vortex

There are real dangers to travel

As I stepped inside the whirling vortex, the wind — I call it wind, but it was like no other — tore at my clothes and bounced me around like a ship in a typhoon. Its fierceness blinded me; its roar filled my ears. The wind was everything; all my being was with the current; I was no longer a solitary creature but simply a minuscule part of this turmoil.

Time passed, but I don't know the extent. Being one with the vortex, there was nothing else. It was all. It was content. It was peace. I was tranquil within the raging storm.

Then, a hand grasped mine. What is this? What has interrupted my slumber? My peace? My tranquility? Who dares!

The hand pulled at me. I struggled, but another hand grasped me, and another. I tumbled out of my nirvana and lay flat on the cold, dry dirt.

Who was this person holding me? Why did they cry? Why did they kiss me?

“I thought that I had lost you, my brother,” she cried. “You were there so long, and we couldn’t find you. We searched and searched until we found a remnant of you. A single memory that still fought to remain you.”

Standing slowly, I ask the young lady, “Who are you? Have we met before? And who are your companions?”

The young lady gasped and fainted.

One man, who looked to be the leader, turned to the rest of the group and spoke, “Calm, sometimes they return empty. He should regain his memories. He should…”

The man stepped towards me as the rest of the group attended to the young lady and spoke, “Welcome, my friend. You’re a traveler, and we welcome you. Come. Rest.”

Seeing their superior numbers, I did not resist. But I was wary.

This story is a continuation of Josh Knapp’s story:

The Other Side

When dreams of more appear at your doorstep

medium.com

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.