The Welcoming

The images shifted before his eyes. From the height at which he was situated, one could easily see for miles. But upon what he stood, he knew not. Looking down meant disappointment. His head swiveled back and forth--one landscape for a brief second, followed by another. In the far distance, water splashed against the sand, wave overlapping wave. To the right, people mulled about the streets of a village. A choice few ran to and fro from house to house. Beyond these instances his sight would not reach. His brain waves suddenly spiked, realizing the importance of this situation. The comfort of an easy chair slipped beneath him. His knees crooked, and he felt himself seated. Light descended upon the chair as the sun peeked out from behind a few hovering clouds. He blinked. The light disappeared. He moved a finger up, then back down. The water rose beyond the sand and crashed against land, creating numerous rivulets everywhere as it retreated back into the sea. His brow furrowed deep. Consternation etched across his face.

Slaves toiled in a field nearby. Noticing the sudden lack of light, someone looked up from below and called the attention of a few friends to the skies. More migrated to his position and stared into the heavens. They peered closely at the figure up above, attempting to figure out the situation. An elderly personage sitting upon the porch cried out a name. Some heard him, some didn't. They continued staring, as if waiting for something. But in the city, one other noticed the same thing as those in the field and instantly knew what was happening. Pain stabbed his heart, and he fell. Those standing alongside him saw his plight and rushed to aid him. However, he only pointed weakly toward the sky, then uttered a name. His cohorts looked, and all cried out in astonishment and rage.

The chair rocked to the side, and he plummeted towards the ground.