A memories of Myst and Uru Blog

Some of my memories of the games, and the events. Disclaimer: All of these posts are simply my recollections, and my imagination. Nothing here should be construed as fact. All copyrights of Myst, Uru, and any other intellectual properties pertaining to Cyan Worlds Inc. should be respected.

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Location: Gatineau, Quebec, Canada

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Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Chapter 1 of a Cleft Story

The Cleft Story

Chapter 1

She is a lonely woman. Her shoulders bow deeply, and her head hangs low. Her demeanour is tired, lonely, and defeated. Her backpack strains against her shoulders, cutting deep into the flesh, as she treads along. She's too tired to care, too lost in her little private hell. Then, she sees a fence. "No trespassing," claims an old, faded sign. But she sees an old trailer parked in the distance. She swings the backpack off her back, and then swings it over the fence. She carefully holds the old barbed wire strands apart, and reaches her leg through the gap. After she's successfully through the fence, she swings the backpack up again onto her shoulders. The familiar aches and pains soon manifest themselves again. She is saying to herself, "I hope there is water there, I hope there is water there," over and over again.

As she reaches the proximity of the trailer she can tell it's been abandoned for a long time. She knows she won't find any water here. But a windmill in the near distance catches her eye, and she swings course to head for it. A cleft in the ground is near this windmill and a smile breaks out across her face. Her back straightens up and she is almost running now. Her eyes brighten as she peers over the edge of the cleft to see a pool of water below. She notices a ladder down into the cleft, on the other side. She runs to it, climbs down the multiple ladders and kneels by the pool, scooping up water and drinking it thirstily. A voice booms out, ricocheting around the cleft, "that water isn't that fresh, young lady." Her head whips around to find the source of the voice. It is you, standing there like an apparition to her, but all so real as well. "Here, have a drink of some fresh water," you say, as you offer your canteen for her. She comes toward you, wary, yet trusting you. She reaches for the canteen and eagerly drinks some water. You smile, trusting her. "Where have you come from?" you ask her as she finished drinking.

"I've been walking for 3 days," she says, in a tiny voice, that is rough, from not speaking in a long time. "My car broke down, and I've been looking for a settlement since," she continues. You smile at her, benevolence in your gaze, upon her face. Her face is now streaked with dirt where the water had splashed.

You bend down to the pool of water, and get your handkerchief wet and then stand up and approach her. "I'm going to clean your face," you say, in a confident tone. She smiles as you dab at the dirt on her face, cleaning it off. "There, you look a little cleaner now," you say, with a broad smile. You take in the view of her. Her face is strong and angular, with broad cheekbones, and a nice nose. Her eyes are deep set in her face, and her lips are full and luscious and pink. Her clothes are a old khaki shirt and pale jeans which are very dirty, at this point in time. Her feet are in old leather sandals. Her body is full and yet slim and shapely. She stands there, watching you as you survey her. "Would you like something to eat?" you say, with a start, remembering your manners.

"Yes, please, I'm starving!" she says, with a returned smile. You lead the way up the stone staircase to the kitchen area. You indicate a seat to her and she perches herself on a chair. You cut her a thick slice of bread and a piece of cheese, then hand them to her, on a plate. She eagerly eats it up. You pour her a tumbler of water as well, then there is silence. She is intent in her devouring of the food offered. The only sound is the wind in the cleft rustling plants. Then the thin, piercing cry of a hawk is heard. You dream of your grandma at that time, remembering the times here, with her, and how special they were. How you long to see her face again, one more time. Inside you, the tears are there again, at her loss. After all this time, the remembering still hurts, still draws the tears to the surface, like a wound deep, piercing the flesh, and surface healed but never truly closed. How the pain still hurts. It's a part of you forever.

She speaks. "Thank you for the food, I truly appreciate your hospitality." Her smile is wide, showing you her pleasure.

"Oh no, it's my pleasure to offer you my humble food," you say, your reverie brought to a sudden close. This sudden closure to your thoughts is a mercy. "Would you like to clean up now?" you ask her.

"Yes, that would be nice," she says. Her face is lit up by the smile. You show her to a room down at the other end of the cleft.

"I'll bring a bowl of water and a towel for you," you say, then turn and walk away. She thanks you when you return with them. Then, you leave her in peace to wash. Your mind wanders as you stand in the bottom of the cleft, your boots crushing the small violets underneath them.

"Where does she come from? Will she understand what I am? Isn't it lovely having a woman here again, to talk to?" are all thoughts that race through your mind as you stand there, rooted to the spot, as though a frozen statue. You hear her singing suddenly. The sweet sound of a woman's voice, raised in song in the Cleft, is a pleasant sound. It brings memories of long ago times. You push away those thoughts forcibly, not wanting that pain to surface again. You go and retrieve a pair of pants and a shirt of yours for her to wear. You lay them on the lip of the cleft outside the room she is in and you speak through the thin cloth covering the doorway. "I've left some fresh clothes for you out here."

She says "Oh thanks very much but I've got some fresh clothes in my backpack." You remember then that she did have a backpack upon her back.

"Ah well, that's good to hear," you say, with a smile. She appears suddenly and smiles back at you. Her whole demeanour has changed. With the fresh clothes also comes pride and assurance in her natural beauty. "You look better," you continue. The warmth radiates between you.

"Well, with a pound of dust washed off me, I feel like a new woman!" she says, walking towards you. "Hi, my name is Lesley. I have to say thank you for the food, the water, and the towel, for cleaning myself up with. It's a blessing that I found you. Thanks!" Her face is alight with the joy inside her.

"My pleasure to help a lady in distress. My name is Gareth, and I'm very pleased to meet you Lesley." Your face echoes her joy. She reaches out her hand and you shake hands. "Let's go have another drink and have a seat and talk," you ask her.

"Sure, lead the way," she replies. You turn and lead the way to the kitchen.

"Would you like a glass of lemonade to drink?"

"Yes, that would be lovely!" You make up some fresh lemonade and pour two glasses of it. She is sitting in one of the chairs. You bring the drinks over to the table and set them down. The two of you sit and talk, finding things out, about each other. You find out that she was driving out here, lost and that she's not really got a place in mind to go to. It's more a sightseeing trip, with no real plan to it. "I'm likely foolish to admit to you that I'm not expected anywhere, but that's the way it is," she says, shrugging her shoulders. You get the feeling that she's just tired of life. She doesn't seem to care if you are a crazy nut or not. It's all an adventure to her. She seems to be running from something, you think. You wonder if, perhaps, she's on drugs. The thought does cross your mind. But, somehow, she doesn't seem the type. Her clothes speak of obvious quality, and somehow, you can tell she's intelligent, in her thoughtful answers. The alarm bells are not ringing in your head for this woman. Similarly, she feels a comfortable sense in your presence. She does know she's silly to inform you that basically, if she disappeared, no-one would know. You continue talking, the conversation flowing easily.

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" you ask her, the thought suddenly occurring to you, that she'll need somewhere to stay. You don't want to be driving her somewhere at this time of the day.

"Is it a problem if I stay here until I can arrange for my car to be picked up from where it broke down?" She looks at you, questions in her mind. There is an air of tense anticipation about her, suddenly.

"Of course not! You are more than welcome to spend as many nights here as you want!" you declare. "The nearest town is about a half hour drive away." You smile at her, relieved that you'll have her company. Her body relaxes at your words. Between the two of you, there is a feeling of companionship, already. For some reason, the ice was easily broken between you. Then, you suggest dinner. You start to prepare it and she offers to help. You make pizza with her, instructing her how to press out the circle of dough with her hands, then dancing the circle of dough around your finger tips to make it into a smooth even circle of dough. Then, you show her how it goes on the stone. She helps with the toppings for it, by slicing up the green pepper and onion. Once the cheese is grated, and put on the top, you slide it into the freshly cleaned stone oven. It has been swept clear of the ashes and coals, which have been pushed to the side and are glowing in their intense heat.

Once the pizza is done, you both enjoy eating the fresh, tender morsels of pizza until there is nothing left. Afterwards, you talk more. "What brings you here, to live in a cleft, in the desert?" she asks you. You hesitate to tell her the complete answer but you know that anything but the truth, isn't good enough. Still, you hesitate, not knowing if she'll believe you, or not.

"This is my home, and has been for a long time," you start. She sits there, in the fading light, a beautiful woman, alert to your words, eager for them to spill out and inform her. She's scared about what you may reveal, realizing it's going to be good yet dreading them.

Continued in Chapter 2


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