Life has become a series of such unusual experiences I fear I can no longer trust my own perception. Nothing seems plausible, yet everything feels quite real, even as it offends my sense of reason.
I commit these events to paper in the hope that the ever-shifting sands that are my current existence may be pinned down more definitely, that some pattern may yet be established, though the meaning of these last days has evaded me thus far.
I seem to be travelling, though this is no society lady’s tour, gaily collecting trinkets and anecdotes to please at dinner parties. There is no itinerary on this grand tour, no merry boarding of ships, all noise, bustle and jollity. No, simply a hard fog and sudden arrival.
And what arrivals! I have done a little travelling in my youth, but never to such lands as these. I thought I had seen people of most types, and all the physical deformities that might be found, but I’ve been confronted with such strange physiologies even my dreams could not conjure up such twisted visions. But here they are, in abundance, and seemingly as solid as myself.
There are others also being whisked between lands, and it has become some comfort that there is a little continuity in this world, as it seems a few of us are now linked together. I hesitate to describe our desperate band as a group of travelling companions – none of us are especially companionable – but familiarity is of itself becoming a welcome thing. The group is not welted together – we have been separated occasionally, but it seems we are bonded in some loose manner.
The mists in which we travel may keep us together, but currently there is a schism between two of our party of their own making, though I was not privy to that which passed between them. Certainly the newest man to join us is a dark soul, quiet and brooding for the most part, though occasionally he is gripped with a desire to ask questions of us, questions that are of the most part personal, and cause a mental anguish I would rather escape. Though such escape is harder to reach these days. He, and our legionnaire friend appear to have come to blows and will not go near each other.
John is a mystery. He would seem to have military training, though also the knowledge of a scientist, understanding matters of electricity in astounding detail. He is currently in an unfortunate state, having just had a rather close brush with death, though escaping such a fate through a means I’m not sure I understand yet. I don’t think I can even write lines about the things I felt prior to John’s healing. My whole sense has been opened to a realm I want to run into, though none of it can yet be reasoned with – although I am no stranger to interesting experiences of the psyche, I have yet to take what I see there into sober life. It feels as though it would be descent and ascent in one blow, and I fear a fundamental alteration would occur.
Catherine was absent from this last station in our journey - a most perplexing person. Quite young, silly and frivolous, yet capable and knowing. Catherine's seen much for someone of that age, I suspect, I have seen others with that mixture of childish whimsy and adult knowing, and they usually have something to hide, even if it isn't of their doing.
Well, we all have things we wish we could erase from reality.
So. I have much to write, but I grow tired, memory in this land causes a fatigue unlike any other. I must rest while there’s still peace – suspecting if things continue as they have been that peace will not last.
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