TELEPHONE POLE

In the small guildhall of Endaltar is a tiny section in the back dedicated to Oulgan history, the centre piece being a large, archaic book under brown silk cloth. It’s pages detail many tales and ideals of the Oulgans that had lived in the immediate area. Some of these old worshipers of nature, on drunk nights, might refer to themselves as the true settlers of Endaltar.

An entry nearing the tail end of the crinkly, dusty book is called “The Telephone Pole”, it is undated and without an author, as is the usual practise.

“Early one particularly shiny morning, Grei’um went to work as per usual, it was late week and nearing the ‘days of the Unbending’, so she decided to take the farmyard work with a light hand. On the meander over, she saw three people setting up a large wooden pole, after detouring to gain nearness, she asked them what it was. “Telephone pole ma’am.” they spoke from atop a ladder, “and its gunna connect you all.” Grei’um liked the sentiment, but feared the pole. It’s progression and installation seemed wrong, ‘what’s wrong with mail and chatter’ she thought to herself.

After arriving at the tractor-trenched lines with a bag of fresh bare root plants on her back, she grabbed her trusty shovel and got to tormenting the ground.

She’d push in dirt and stone, pulling out rocks so large they’d get in the roots way. Then she’d pop in a plant, checking the label, and pulling off a tab to keep record. The plants today that she had bundled were mostly recently spliced apples and pears, there were no plans to be followed. Just her general ideals entrusted to her by Jarn and Meg, the old farm owners. Jarn, nicknamed Neeben, was too crooked in the leg to work the land, Meg was too broken in the back.

Grei’um surmised that a lifetime a’ farm work lends itself to buggered bodies, as is the horrors of tormenting land. Problem is, a lifetime a’ office work equals buggered brains. The horrors persist. Yet Grei’um still works the land.

She has a long time to think to herself as she looks out on the planes of tilled land, she envisioned trees a plenty, then burning, then scorched land, and then she stopped daydreaming and saw what lay before her: an empty landscape. Back to work she goes. Neeben would get aggy had she not finished the dues promptly, efficiently and with each treebabe a foot apart.

All this envisioning got her head flustered. The bright shine heats her head and catalyses the issue. And as she carried on, as she worked and sweat dropped from her brow, she felt the telephone pole right behind her. A buzz brought Its attention to her. She swooped round at the feeling. But nothing was there, empty landscape.

A scrunched anguish on her face, she squeezes her spade in anger, but yields to the long empty lot that needs filling. Sapling goes in, mud comes down, stomp, stomp, stomp, and onto the next. After a while she has found her working flow and is in a cool jammy rhythm. The sun rises higher and higher as she moves slowly further west. Her lower back aches and her blisters have opened, but she thinks of homely pleasantries, wifemade lemonade and the like.

Until… BUZZ! Again from behind. The electric zapping, she feels it. Spinning with the spade in hand she belches out a scream. But the pole was not there. ‘I’m losing it‘ she thought, until she was startled again. Swinging back, dust blows in the breeze. Haze settles in the distance. Houses pop over the trees and there is still no telephone pole behind her.

Having the feeling of this large, electrical entity behind stayed with her until she finished the work. She decided to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening as she filled line after line with young pear and apple trees, closing in on the setting sun. Eventually she neared the end of her working day. As she started to move back east towards the farm house, she finally let herself think about the pole again. Her mind was wiped of the pound notes that Neeben would hand to her, instead Grei’um stared down at the ground she was previously disturbing.

A long shadow had grown on the floor next to the tiny trees. It’s shape was that of a tall pole, with lines protruding out of it, aiming itself at far off and unseen things. It was the telephone pole that she no longer heard, no longer felt, and yet here its shadow lay, plain as the dying day.

Stunned by the shadow she couldn’t turn around from, promptly she returned promptly home.

Her wife met her with a forehead lick and some lemonade, it tasted sharper than usual. They attempted to tune the vibradiorator, however they found nothing but far off signals and buzzings. The bath they shared never became more than lukewarm and the night time cuddle gave nothing but itchy skin.

That night she dreamt of following lines in the sky to large metal structures. One in particular was mountainous, and constructed out of long metal poles. It called her to its red glowing, pointed brim. A current ran through her, tugging at her nerves to enter the metal structure. Where deathly sparks played wildly with the poles and wires.

Awaking in sweat, she huffed a sigh of short lived relief for her eyes fell down to the end of her bed, where the telephone pole waited.”