It's called Flirty Fishing after the cult recruitment practice [Wiki] and it's based on a man I met recently.
I don't really know how long I'd been walking. The agonizing monotony of these plains has been lamented by many a traveller, but I had always thought they were exaggerating when they said there were literally only a couple of landmarks throughout the entirety of it. My feet were sore from navigating the dry, cracked earth, and I couldn't even tell if I was walking straight or in circles.
On the horizon I could see another traveller, and as he got closer, I realized I had passed this man before, just a few hours ago. He looked just as lost and exhausted as I felt. As our brown eyes met, I could tell he recognized me as well. He approached me, pulling a tattered map out of his pocket, and asked in frazzled exasperation, "You haven't seen a tree around here, have you? It's a very... distinctive-looking tree. I'm sure you'd remember it."
I searched my recent memory for any recollections of a needle in the haystack of mundane wasteland scenery. "Kind of." There was something that had caught my attention earlier for its oddly phallic shape, but... "I would hardly have called that a tree. More of a sapling, really; but I guess even growing that high was an accomplishment in this place." I turned directly behind me and pointed in the direction from which I had came. "It can't be more than an hour from here."
"A sapling is merely a tree with the desire to be," he replied, and I got the feeling he wasn't talking to only me. "Are you left-handed or right-handed?"
"Right. Why?"
"Without paths, people don't walk straight," he explained. "It's why so many die in deserts; they walk around in circles until they run out of water and wonder why they're not getting anywhere."
"Oh." Suddenly I was painfully aware of how oddly light my canteen was.
"I think we were brought together for a reason." He extended his hand. "I'm left-handed. If we hold hands while walking, we'll keep each other straight."
Apprehensively, I took his hand. It was significantly warmer than mine - it felt almost hot against my skin. I felt a little sheepish to be sharing a gesture I considered intimate with a complete stranger, but my interest in survival and his interest in finding that tree seemed to keep the awkwardness at bay.
He was a charismatic and conversational traveling partner, and he told me stories of small, but amazing and unbelievable things he had experienced. He was a deeply spiritual man who saw the significance in everything; I began to wonder what he would do after he visited that tree. I began to long to know him.
We were deep in conversation when I noticed the lone silhouette of the obscenely-shaped tree on the bland horizon. He picked up the pace enthusiastically, and I struggled to keep up with him, drinking the last of my water, wondering when I'd find more. We reached the tree, and he knelt to search its puny roots while I tried not to giggle about what it looked like he was doing from this angle. After a moment he stood back up, triumphantly brandishing a tiny gold key on a rough hemp string, vastly undeserving of the dainty swan design on the handle it was threaded through.
"This," he said, his grin lighting up his charmingly unkempt face, "is something I've been seeking for a long time." He carefully slid the rope around his neck and hid it under his shirt, then took out his map again. I watched him gently lick one long, dextrous-looking finger and raise it to feel the wind, realizing with only mild surprise that I was biting my lip. I was relieved that he didn't notice, and uncharacteristically elated when he asked me to continue journeying with him a while longer.
We hadn't walked for long after that when we came across a great crater in the ground, its eroded surface covered in dried-up seaweed. Disappointed, I looked down into my empty canteen. There probably had been water here, once upon a time. He must have noticed and guessed my dilemma, because no sooner had my canteen fallen back to my side than his found its way into in my hand. I only took a sip to be polite, but he smiled and told me to drink as much as I wanted. I gratefully accepted. The water inside tasted a little fruity, but it quenched my thirst.
After we had walked for a few more hours, I began to feel so heavy and tired that I could barely lift my feet. My eyelids were drooping and I wanted nothing more than to lay down on the trail and take a rest.
"Come on," he cheerfully urged me, pointing toward the horizon, "Look, we're almost there!"
He was right. Growing closer with every step was something I'd have sworn was a mirage if he hadn't pointed it out. It looked like a small mansion, surrounded by tall, neatly-trimmed privet hedges that seemed unaffected by the harsh climate. I felt my pace picking up.
As we got closer, I could hear the sound of water hitting water. I could see the tip of a majestic marble fountain crowned with a jar-bearing angel over the hedges, and the air around me cooled with every step I took. I could smell orchids and lilacs and peach trees - there must have been a garden on the other side of the hedges.
We approached the ornately-designed wooden door of the impressive stone house, its whiteness almost blinding thanks to the unforgiving sun. He tried the handle - I was delighted when it gave way with a soft click and he pushed the door open, leading me inside by the hand. It wasn't necessary, but at this point it was comfortable.
The room inside was lavishly decorated in pale blue and black and furnished with several comfortable chairs and one plush sofa. The extravagant designs on the small oak table would have intrigued me more had they not been holding a delicate porcelain bowl piled high with exotic fruits and a pair of tall, crystalline glasses full of red wine. I was apprehensive about stopping here, but my companion's relaxed demeanor and the softness of the chairs quelled my complaints.
"So, what are you going to do now?" I asked him as he pulled the key from underneath his shirt and began casually looking around the room. He didn't reply, save for pulling a small box out of a nearby work desk that looked like it had never been used and placing it on the table. He handed me a glass of the wine and then raised the other in his hand, toasting his success, then took a sip and slipped the key into the lock on the box.
By this time, I was so exhausted that it was all I could do to keep my eyelids open, so I hardly noticed when he pulled a small ornamental dagger out of the box and placed it in his pocket. I should have been more alarmed when he said what he did next. "How do you feel about death?"
I shrugged. "Happens."
"Why though?"
"You run out of time."
He shook his head and laughed. "Wrong. Life is like waiting in line - death is when you finally get what you've been waiting for."
I raised an eyebrow. "What have I been waiting for?"
He smiled, the kind of smile you'd give a child when they didn't understand something incredibly simple.
"Wisdom. Wisdom and love and realization of what you truly are. I can give you that."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, noticing how heavy my body felt. There was a slight fruity aftertaste in my mouth - I've been drugged, I thought, struggling to lift my arm and put my wine glass back on the table. "I.."
"Your body doesn't want to become useless, but your soul is begging to be freed," he explained, raising the dagger to my neck. I felt powerless - too sluggish to even lift a hand in protest, let alone escape. I turned my head away, but he took my chin and made it face him, closing my eyelids with his fingers and pushing my head back gently before pressing the cold steel against me.
The last thing I felt was a warm liquid running down my neck as my eyes closed and my heart opened. The last thing I heard, his voice: "Liberation at last."
---------------------
The ending doesn't really make sense unless I add in more spiritual pandering on the way, but I'm apprehensive to make it tl;dr. Whaddaya think?
I don't really know how long I'd been walking. The agonizing monotony of these plains has been lamented by many a traveller, but I had always thought they were exaggerating when they said there were literally only a couple of landmarks throughout the entirety of it. My feet were sore from navigating the dry, cracked earth, and I couldn't even tell if I was walking straight or in circles.
On the horizon I could see another traveller, and as he got closer, I realized I had passed this man before, just a few hours ago. He looked just as lost and exhausted as I felt. As our brown eyes met, I could tell he recognized me as well. He approached me, pulling a tattered map out of his pocket, and asked in frazzled exasperation, "You haven't seen a tree around here, have you? It's a very... distinctive-looking tree. I'm sure you'd remember it."
I searched my recent memory for any recollections of a needle in the haystack of mundane wasteland scenery. "Kind of." There was something that had caught my attention earlier for its oddly phallic shape, but... "I would hardly have called that a tree. More of a sapling, really; but I guess even growing that high was an accomplishment in this place." I turned directly behind me and pointed in the direction from which I had came. "It can't be more than an hour from here."
"A sapling is merely a tree with the desire to be," he replied, and I got the feeling he wasn't talking to only me. "Are you left-handed or right-handed?"
"Right. Why?"
"Without paths, people don't walk straight," he explained. "It's why so many die in deserts; they walk around in circles until they run out of water and wonder why they're not getting anywhere."
"Oh." Suddenly I was painfully aware of how oddly light my canteen was.
"I think we were brought together for a reason." He extended his hand. "I'm left-handed. If we hold hands while walking, we'll keep each other straight."
Apprehensively, I took his hand. It was significantly warmer than mine - it felt almost hot against my skin. I felt a little sheepish to be sharing a gesture I considered intimate with a complete stranger, but my interest in survival and his interest in finding that tree seemed to keep the awkwardness at bay.
He was a charismatic and conversational traveling partner, and he told me stories of small, but amazing and unbelievable things he had experienced. He was a deeply spiritual man who saw the significance in everything; I began to wonder what he would do after he visited that tree. I began to long to know him.
We were deep in conversation when I noticed the lone silhouette of the obscenely-shaped tree on the bland horizon. He picked up the pace enthusiastically, and I struggled to keep up with him, drinking the last of my water, wondering when I'd find more. We reached the tree, and he knelt to search its puny roots while I tried not to giggle about what it looked like he was doing from this angle. After a moment he stood back up, triumphantly brandishing a tiny gold key on a rough hemp string, vastly undeserving of the dainty swan design on the handle it was threaded through.
"This," he said, his grin lighting up his charmingly unkempt face, "is something I've been seeking for a long time." He carefully slid the rope around his neck and hid it under his shirt, then took out his map again. I watched him gently lick one long, dextrous-looking finger and raise it to feel the wind, realizing with only mild surprise that I was biting my lip. I was relieved that he didn't notice, and uncharacteristically elated when he asked me to continue journeying with him a while longer.
We hadn't walked for long after that when we came across a great crater in the ground, its eroded surface covered in dried-up seaweed. Disappointed, I looked down into my empty canteen. There probably had been water here, once upon a time. He must have noticed and guessed my dilemma, because no sooner had my canteen fallen back to my side than his found its way into in my hand. I only took a sip to be polite, but he smiled and told me to drink as much as I wanted. I gratefully accepted. The water inside tasted a little fruity, but it quenched my thirst.
After we had walked for a few more hours, I began to feel so heavy and tired that I could barely lift my feet. My eyelids were drooping and I wanted nothing more than to lay down on the trail and take a rest.
"Come on," he cheerfully urged me, pointing toward the horizon, "Look, we're almost there!"
He was right. Growing closer with every step was something I'd have sworn was a mirage if he hadn't pointed it out. It looked like a small mansion, surrounded by tall, neatly-trimmed privet hedges that seemed unaffected by the harsh climate. I felt my pace picking up.
As we got closer, I could hear the sound of water hitting water. I could see the tip of a majestic marble fountain crowned with a jar-bearing angel over the hedges, and the air around me cooled with every step I took. I could smell orchids and lilacs and peach trees - there must have been a garden on the other side of the hedges.
We approached the ornately-designed wooden door of the impressive stone house, its whiteness almost blinding thanks to the unforgiving sun. He tried the handle - I was delighted when it gave way with a soft click and he pushed the door open, leading me inside by the hand. It wasn't necessary, but at this point it was comfortable.
The room inside was lavishly decorated in pale blue and black and furnished with several comfortable chairs and one plush sofa. The extravagant designs on the small oak table would have intrigued me more had they not been holding a delicate porcelain bowl piled high with exotic fruits and a pair of tall, crystalline glasses full of red wine. I was apprehensive about stopping here, but my companion's relaxed demeanor and the softness of the chairs quelled my complaints.
"So, what are you going to do now?" I asked him as he pulled the key from underneath his shirt and began casually looking around the room. He didn't reply, save for pulling a small box out of a nearby work desk that looked like it had never been used and placing it on the table. He handed me a glass of the wine and then raised the other in his hand, toasting his success, then took a sip and slipped the key into the lock on the box.
By this time, I was so exhausted that it was all I could do to keep my eyelids open, so I hardly noticed when he pulled a small ornamental dagger out of the box and placed it in his pocket. I should have been more alarmed when he said what he did next. "How do you feel about death?"
I shrugged. "Happens."
"Why though?"
"You run out of time."
He shook his head and laughed. "Wrong. Life is like waiting in line - death is when you finally get what you've been waiting for."
I raised an eyebrow. "What have I been waiting for?"
He smiled, the kind of smile you'd give a child when they didn't understand something incredibly simple.
"Wisdom. Wisdom and love and realization of what you truly are. I can give you that."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, noticing how heavy my body felt. There was a slight fruity aftertaste in my mouth - I've been drugged, I thought, struggling to lift my arm and put my wine glass back on the table. "I.."
"Your body doesn't want to become useless, but your soul is begging to be freed," he explained, raising the dagger to my neck. I felt powerless - too sluggish to even lift a hand in protest, let alone escape. I turned my head away, but he took my chin and made it face him, closing my eyelids with his fingers and pushing my head back gently before pressing the cold steel against me.
The last thing I felt was a warm liquid running down my neck as my eyes closed and my heart opened. The last thing I heard, his voice: "Liberation at last."
---------------------
The ending doesn't really make sense unless I add in more spiritual pandering on the way, but I'm apprehensive to make it tl;dr. Whaddaya think?
