Even though they were both sitting, it was obvious that the Rat would tower over him, standing up, though Sangor was not considered short by any means. Small head, long neck, lanky muscular body and arms, dark blue skin, blue eyes, and blue hair. Sangor calculated the odds in his head: Maybe Sangor could take him. His best bet was to check out the lay of the land.
Funny how they had no maps of this part of the world.
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He wondered about that. Sangor should try to find out what he could and then, when the time was ripe…. Sangor had already chosen life. He had concluded from his captor that the Rat army was vastly superior to the Sap army and, one on one, they seemed quite formidable. It was also clear that the Rats knew the Uncharted Areas far better than his friends and he ever could hope to know.
The smart thing to do would be to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to present itself. As it turned out, the choice was not so obvious. Almost before the Sap captives thought about lunging across the table at their captor or running away from him, the Rats reached across and snapped their time lines, almost as easily as snapping their necks. Tagged as choice , death , dilemma , Lem , life , Rats , Sangor , Saps , table , time line.
He grabbed the material of the bag in both fists and slowly lifted the bag over his mouth, his nose, his eyes, and then up entirely. He lowered his arms slowly in front of him, as though the bag weighed a great deal. His fingers released the bag and it fell lightly to the ground. He looked around himself and saw no one, nothing but thick trees, leaves whispering gently in the breeze, grasses undulating softly, and bright flowers, blue, red, and yellow. Sangor looked up and saw a patch of cobalt blue sky between the tall tree tops. He spun around but saw no one, nothing but the trees, the grasses, and the flowers.
The Rats and the Saps (The Rational, #2) by Mike Stone
A pale yellow butterfly flitted past Sangor. He heard the gentle lapping of water between the trees. After you have done so, you will find clean clothes hanging on the tree by the creek. Put them on and where you saw the butterfly. Sangor walked slowly, suspiciously, between the trees, down the sloping path to the creek. He kneeled down with both hands planted in the soft mud of the creek bank and drank thirstily from the clear cold water flowing by his hands. Sangor removed his clothes that stank from urine and feces and treaded carefully into the cold stream, up to his waist.
He submerged himself in the water and opened his eyes underwater.
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There were only smoothed rocks and pebbles, swaying grasses, and silvery fish darting past. He stood up and pushed his wet hair back behind his ears.
Sangor looked around but did not see anybody watching him. He bent down and picked up a porous grey stone. Your thinking is clear to you.
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Your beliefs and actions are compatible with your thoughts, and vice-versa. Well, for one thing, you think like everybody else around you. How do you know that? Can you read their minds? Well, nobody around you has told you that you are not thinking rationally. Maybe they are just being polite. Look, I know what I see and hear.
There are formal rules for logical implications and proofs. But we are not logical systems, ourselves.
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Being biological systems, our commitment to logic is haphazard and unreliable at best, and non-existent at worst. We can be illogical and still survive for an indefinite period of time, depending on whether the person taking care of you is relatively rational, you are rich and powerful enough to hire rational people to protect you, or other factors. Okay, so my commitment to logic does not go all the way down my cellular level. Assume that logic is second nature to me.
Assume that the cells of my brain, containing my memories, my capacity to process different kinds of information, and my abilities to muster my motor system into action, are going dark, slowly but inexorably. Now, my question is this: Obviously, it is not so difficult for us to answer that question about others; however, about ourselves is another question altogether. If there is no fail-safe mechanism that can let us know beyond a doubt that we are not functioning rationally, then what good is rationality?
Certainly the demented, the neurotics, and the psychotics have no use for it. A child said, What is the grass? I do not know what it is any more than he. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black…. View original post more words. The man sauntered up to the woman with a beard.
He seemed familiar, not familial, not famous, just…familiar—a shadow that crossed her path on a distant-past sunny day. When he said her name, he held her in his power. She knew he came from before. Clouds lifted from sea cliffs, and she saw him decades ago, his hair long, pulled back in a pony tail. Leave a comment Filed under Uncategorized.
The Wombwell Rainbow Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. The Wombwell Rainbow Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following poets, local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. Mike Stone Raanana Israel. An unexpectedly amazing poem for your edification ….
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I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess the grass is itself a child. A lovely read …. He said her name. They made love on the beach, in the woods, rarely in bed. Where have you been? Lurking in your memory , he whispered.