At times, Flash felt as though he were just a bystander, watching the events of his life fall, eventually, into place. At other times, he felt that he had a hand in how events occurred. He couldn’t take credit for anything. He didn’t know what might happen next, yet he was part of the process. He was part of it all.
Sometimes, it felt as though the universe had pulled the rug out from under him, but so far, he had always persevered. In retrospect, the time he spent worrying was pointless. He decided to trust something bigger than himself.
He put his arm around Lem and Poikani, her son. His fingertips just happened to graze the corner of the Ololian book. Subconsciously, he fondled the book, flipping the page corners with his thumb. He felt relaxed, his mind unencumbered by any conscious thought.
The cockpit of the mothership was well lit, but Flash had a far away look in his eyes. His vision transcended the physical world, and thoughts bubbled up from somewhere. He was aware of memories and dreams that floated up from his own distant past, and some that started from someplace deeper still, from the river that flowed through, and connected all human beings.
Wordless fragments rose, their undulating shapes passing through him from some ancient place, and continuing their ascent far beyond him without labels or definitions. He would catch up with them one day, when, free from the confines of his now necessary cells, he also surfaced.
Eventually, something unnamed beckoned only to fade. The longing alone remained, both comforting and taunting him, until he picked up the book.
Here, too, images were presented, only these engaged his conscious mind.
Certain whales preferred a connection to the ground, and hovered so close to the soil that their flippers touched down.
Flash read that they swam so low that they left a trail of grooves in the dirt. They fought the tendency to float any higher.
Over generations, their limbs would transform into feet, and these few whales were content, touching the ground.