Prologue - Sins of My Father
“The value of the West is gone – and gone for good – and with it, the industry. The new age of unprecedented progression is here, in the Mainland,” writes Anton Lobek in Progress of Structure. Lobek’s essays on the rapid growth of infrastructure, particularly in the Mainland, is one of many from the renowned author and architect, known for their studies of the West and the growth of the Mainland.
A brawny man sits on the worn benches outside of the station, intently resting his eyes on the words. Published at the turn of the 19th century, Progress of Structure took a toll on the dwindling population of the West. The once vivacious stations and downtowns of the humid land have drained into a shell of civilization. Lobek, who graduated from an institute which nurtured the best of the best architects, has studied the proliferation of the working class in the Mainland. It is with these studies that named the Mainland as “the new frontier,” a diverse set of land for industries to settle into. Evidently so, the population has lessened. The man closed the maroon hardcover of his book and set it gently inside his satchel. A piercing high-pitched tone can be heard from the iron rails in front of the benches, and, upon looking to his left, the billows of sooty smoke could be seen on the horizon. Along with his fellow commuters – other workmen, small families, bums, and government employees – he stood up, gathering his belongings neatly.
This station, one of many in the West, is one of the last stops before traversing to the Mainland. After a lengthy trip via train, one can expect another trip by boat. It is not a fair journey for the common man; it is one to exacerbate illness. Luckily, for the man, now peering in the distance, able to make out the light on the front of the locomotive, this will be his first and last expedition to the Main. Finally, he’s seeking residence and wage in one of the many industries to penetrate the land. The train is closer, its squeaky whistle cuts through the air. Now, the commuters all stand in an orchestrated line, waving papers to cool them off in the scorching heat, patiently awaiting.
Between him and the wild waste of sand and dry shrubbery lay the tracks of wood and iron that played a part in the downfall of his beloved land. Looking out one last time, the man felt an anxious pull in his innards. Perhaps it was fate that his gaze set upon a woman standing out there. The platinum strands of hair draping across her shoulders was almost blinding to look at. A plume of hair followed, extending past her waist, and covering her breasts, effectively acting as garments. She was, essentially, glowing. A strange radiant warmth emanated from her smile, the last detail he fixated on before the train blew past with a deafening pitch. It came to a gentle stop, and the commuters stepped afoot the plentiful selection of carriages.
The wheels moved on in unison carrying the weight of eager passengers, the momentum slowly rising and propelling the locomotive further. Finally, it left the station, leaving the man where he originally stood. A mix of fascination and utter bewilderment fell upon the man as he glared at the wild desert before him. The woman was gone, and, oddly enough, so were the nerves. He thought to himself, briefly, if it was the familiar entity he once knew.
The Sea of Sand is an unforgiving defiance to the laws of nature. As you get closer to the edge of the remnants of a once great ocean which conquered the land, you begin to get closer to complete nothingness. As Lobek once wrote: “That’s part of the whole experience of the desert. It is not friendly. It is not nice. It is not good. You are out there where half a mile doesn’t matter, there is no reason to walk a mile further, you’ve already reached desolation.” The line pangs the man’s heart each time he recalls it.
Now he sits at the bar and slowly quenches his thirst. Once a swarming saloon which resides within the station, spanning the length of the passenger bay, lays here in absence of customers. The dusty haze is ever apparent at this hour of day, as streams of sunlight peer their way into the occasional crevice of the hull. Curiously, the barkeep inquired of the man.
“Seen you out there earlier waiting for the train,” he begins, drying some previous patrons’ glasses, “how come you didn’t get on?”Â
“I suppose you could say that I forgot something.” The barkeep was not surprised by the deep voice that came from the man. It was a smooth and consistent tune, recently coated by some cheap grog.
“Shame. It’ll be about two weeks till the next one.”
As the barkeep returned to his duties, the man continued to read, flipping to the most recently folded corner in his book. He continued to read, and drink, and listen to the snoring of some sleeping patrons folded over the rail. Once the sun was heading west towards the flat top of the horizon, the man knew it was time to leave.
He’s never had an issue with the Sea of Sand despite the countless folklore he’s entertained from townsfolk. It was not “desolation”, but rather, a slice of peace. A reputation amongst the timid travelers that have braced its grounds. One can often tell when they are traversing the radius of the Sea. The pressure in your head causes a tightness. The silent stillness enables you to hear the blood rushing through your ears. There is a certain air of resentment – of abandonment.Â
Thinking about it now, whilst preparing his mat to sleep on and pillow formed from linen stuffed with straw, the man sighed. “The value of the West,” he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was then, while staring at the night sky, that he saw those giant, magnificent beings again. Large, colossal beasts taking up the area of the sky, aimlessly drifting by in what could only be described as tranquility. The saturated hues of orange, pink, and aquamarine light cast down to the surface, coating the sand in a ubiquitous layer of color. Combined with the cool wind, the low vocal humming coming from the distant sky acted as the man’s personal lullaby. He closed his eyes and began drifting off, hoping the thoughts of the woman would assist his brain to conjure a dream.
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