Chapter 8 — Flower Garden
And thus begins Chapter Eight.
Pirates of Parvati.
The council erupts.
At last.
The rave.
The event.
The quest marker that had been hovering over the horizon since Bald Man and Ponytail first spoke its name.
Now.
I awoke at dawn.
Excited.
Genuinely excited.
The kind of excitement usually reserved for children on holidays and idiots about to make questionable decisions.
The council nods.
A category in which I comfortably qualify.
Now.
The hostel remained silent.
The pack slept.
The mountains slept.
The entire world appeared asleep.
And I was confused.
Children.
I had forgotten something important.
Raves happen at night.
The council applauds.
A breakthrough.
An obvious revelation.
One that somehow hadn’t occurred to me until that moment.
Now.
Presented with an entire day to occupy,
I wandered.
Naturally.
The council approves.
Now.
I made my way to the Spot.
Smoked a cigarette.
Watched the mountains.
And then noticed something.
Across from Valhalla.
A flower park.
The council waits.
Children.
I am a simple man.
I see roses.
I approach roses.
This is one of the oldest instincts I possess.
Now.
The entry fee was five rupees.
The council gasps.
A devastating expense.
Financial ruin.
The sort of cost one spends minutes contemplating.
Yet somehow I persevered.
The ticket was purchased.
The council applauds.
Now.
Into the park I went.
Flask of whiskey in one hand.
Joint in the other.
Headphones over my ears.
The council nods.
A deeply concerning combination.
And then.
something happened.
The council grows quiet.
Nothing.
For once.
Nothing happened.
No plans.
No conversations.
No disasters.
No revelations.
No chaos.
Only walking.
The council listens.
Children.
For as long as I can remember,
my mind has been noisy.
Thoughts.
Questions.
Memories.
Ideas.
Regrets.
The endless machinery of being me.
Always running.
Always moving.
Always speaking.
And for a little while,
among the flowers,
it stopped.
The council grows silent.
Not permanently.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough to notice.
Enough to breathe.
Enough to exist.
Now.
During this great pilgrimage through petals and peace,
I befriended a dog.
The council applauds.
An inevitable development.
Children.
Dogs find me.
This has happened too often to be coincidence.
The dog appeared.
Decided I was acceptable.
And followed me.
No discussion.
No paperwork.
No formal introduction.
Simply.
“You seem lonely.”
“I shall accompany you.”
The council approves.
A noble creature.
Now.
The dog and I wandered together.
Past flowers.
Past pathways.
Past nothing in particular.
And somehow.
three hours vanished.
The council nods.
Because peace has a strange relationship with time.
Now.
Eventually,
I returned.
The dog remained behind.
The flowers remained behind.
The silence remained behind.
But the memory came with me.
The council smiles.
Now.
Back at Valhalla,
the pack had awakened.
And children.
The atmosphere had changed.
The council leans forward.
Whiskey was being poured.
Joints were being rolled.
Preparations were underway.
The cryptids had begun assembling.
A beautiful sight.
The sort of scene that feels important while you’re living it.
Even if you don’t yet know why.
Now.
The day drifted onward.
Stories were exchanged.
Laughter echoed.
The mountains watched.
And eventually.
night arrived.
The council cheers.
At last.
Now.
Gunman appeared.
The commander of the expedition.
The herald of poor decisions.
And shouted.
“Are you ready?”
The council waits.
“YES!”
I shouted back.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
Without reflection.
Then I stood up.
And realized something.
The council already knows.
Children.
I was sloshed.
Completely.
Catastrophically.
The sort of drunk where functionality becomes a premium feature.
One I could no longer afford.
The council applauds.
A terrible strategic decision.
Now.
There I stood.
Smile on my face.
Whiskey in my blood.
Adventure ahead.
And for perhaps the first time that entire journey,
I felt all four emotions simultaneously.
Excited.
Afraid.
Concerned.
And curious.
The council nods.
Because that combination has preceded every worthwhile adventure in history.
Thus concludes Chapter Eight.
The Day Before The Storm.
The Flower Park.
The Dog.
The Silence.
And the moment before the music began.
For somewhere beyond the mountains,
beyond the roads,
beyond the campfires and brownie shops,
Pirates of Parvati was waiting.
And children.
The road is about to get strange.
