The Pole Shift

Stone Circles

Sean shed stone and silica as he strode up onto a ruined shore. It was an island that he hadn't come across before and as he looked at the contours he could see the area had been washed clean by the Pole Shift waters. There had been homes here, and now nearly eighty years after the cataclysm, old land peeped out of a new sea. The oceans were settling. Perhaps the mantle was being freed of weight, pushing land up? Sean tried to remember the old documentaries running up to the Shift, had they said that? Maybe it was the old man. He tried to think back, but the call of alcohol wasn't allowing him much, it was all but ordering him to get on his rump and start drinking where he stood.

"I'll at least walk around first, see what I can see."

The island had a smoothed look, a thick layer of cracked mud plastered the igneous intrusion, and here and there the foundation of solid homes were outlined. It was some part of Melbourne, not the Dandenong Ranges, some other high place that the waters had released from their dark covers. Drink while you look, Sean thought.

"Just a bit more. I'll clean the mud off this place, to see better, then we'll start."

Sean produced the golden rod. He didn't really understand it, like not understanding how falling asleep works. He just thought of what he wanted, imagined it and the gold rod hummed. He supposed it was a translator, it converted thought into vibration. Without the rod everything would go helter-skelter. The old man had planted or unlocked something in him, to make it all happen, but the rod was what made sense of it. It made him The Giant. What was he again? Was he a man or a giant? Yes still a man. A man who should clean off the mud of this once hill top. Sean looked at the blackened coating covering everything. He said:

"It's a mixture of mud, blood, bird shit and seaweed with a hint of memory." Sean frowned, thinking himself poetic but suspecting otherwise. The thick  blackness shivered, then rose with the sound of dried leaves breaking. Sean imagined the layers of detritus forming a blanket, and it did. A great black oblong rose from the island. Sean made it a circle, then a square, then he cast it into the sea like ashes. He looked back to the land. He said:

"Build it and they will come." He snorted. Then he went to grasp a bottle of vodka but paused, his fingers ready. Instead he continued with a train of thought left to him by Perez. "I'll make a small building, to shield the sun and feel the comfort of walls, be nice to myself and whoever comes across this place."

He looked further around the island, with the mud swept away, he could see how houses had been toppled and their bricks forced into gullies and holes gouged out by the flood. There was no sign of any wood, living or otherwise. Sean looked at his bare feet, he had not clad himself in any mineral and his white toes seemed like enormous maggots. Between them Sean spied green shoots and caught his breath.

"It doesn't take much, life, life just goes on. I feel..." He stood, gold rod in hand. He lifted some of the granite that formed the top of the hill and made them into a tight fitting circle. It was still strange and eerie to see rocks weighing tones glide through the air. He could sense a circuit between his mind, the rod and the granite. This really is a great power, feeling rare wonder.

He made another stone circle, could he make the stones fit tighter? He spent an hour manipulating the rocks and found he could smooth edged to fit snugly. The stone circle had a beauty that pleased Sean, surprised at his creativity he tucked stone in and smoothed off protrusions. Flecks of stone burst into the air as if Sean was a welding.

He thought he might make a third circle, see if he could get the stone edges uniform in spacing and height.

"What about a drink?" He said aloud.

:"Later, let's do this first."

"Okay." He murmured, disappointed. Sean had stopped worrying about how he spoke to himself, it seemed normal now and in fact other characters would join in on occasion too. Their voices were often precautionary but mostly encouraging him to drink. One voice insisted he could probably find all sorts of drugs as well as booze, if he thought outside the box. That voice spoke in a whisper and whilst Sean listened he didn't devote much time thinking about it, Alcohol was his Pure White Lady and it didn't take long for her to put hands on hips and scold him, as if jealous of his activity. Sean said in a feminine voice:

"Stone Circles? What are you a fucking Druid?" And with that Sean sat in his second creation and glugged at his beautiful White Lady. All his creativity forgotten and when he woke two days later, he thought what a waste of time making stone circles was.