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    The Eden Stream
    The Eden Stream
    The Eden Stream
    Ebook57 pages53 minutes

    The Eden Stream

    By Trevor Zaple

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Farsi lives in a world of crumbling ruins: decayed subway stations, collapsing buildings, and tangled forests where there were once residential neighbourhoods. One day he climbs on top of a roof and spots a herd of elephants making their way down the broken surface of an old roadway - and his life is never the same again.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrevor Zaple
    Release dateSep 7, 2014
    ISBN9781310477874
    The Eden Stream
    Author

    Trevor Zaple

    Trevor Zaple was born in London, Ontario, in the midst of one of the periodic sessions of brutal recession that characterize life in Ontario. He grew up in the picturesque rural surroundings of Seaforth before fleeing to a series of dying industrial burgs across Southern Ontario. He has a bachelor's degree in Contemporary Studies granted unto him by Wilfrid Laurier University, which has about as much meaning as it sounds. He lived fondly in Toronto's Parkdale neighbourhood for several years before retreating to yet another dying industrial burg. He now lives with his wife and daughter in St. Catharines, Ontario.

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      Book preview

      The Eden Stream - Trevor Zaple

      The Eden Stream

      Trevor James Zaple

      Published by Trevor James Zaple

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2014 Trevor James Zaple

      Smashwords Edition License Notes:

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover image originally by George Hodan

      Cover image licensed under Public Domain

      Contents:

      The Eden Stream

      About The Author

      Other Books By The Author

      How To Get In Touch With The Author

      THE EDEN STREAM

      Farsi squatted in the corner of the crumble of brick walls. A circular wind blew through the stepped stone canyon but he stayed out of it, watching it blow brittle leafs and dried grass in a scattered, chaotic dance. Once he had believed that there were spirits here, buried amongst the leavings of a world not quite gone ancient. Once, but no more.

      Across the canyon, on the opposite brick wall, there was a spotted, diseased inscription that had decayed to read MER ILL. Descendants and descendants would call it as such, or perhaps as nothing at all; the sign had decayed even from when Farsi had been a boy, and he thought that, given enough time, the jumbled canyon ruin would swallow all of the letters and leave the place as anonymous as the rest. A sprawled collection of tumbled-down metal, brick, and that curious grey rock that his father had named 'cee meant'. Farsi did not know who Cee was or what they meant, or why that name had been lent to the flat grey rocks that the buildings were made from. His father may have known, but Farsi had never asked him, and now the time for asking was past.

      He knew the names of things but not why. He knew the true name of this weed-choked canyon - Summerhill - but he did not know what this name signified. He knew that the canyon was not really a canyon at all but actually a 'subway', a tunnel that ran on and on beneath the earth. He knew that this vast, collapsing stretch of buildings and breeze-blown kipple was Trawno but, again, beyond the name was nothing but smooth, blank meaninglessness.

      He thought of the ruin, the endless jagged peaks and fractal valleys he knew as Trawno, and wondered what would happen when the relentless crumbling of the endless days buried even the name beneath it. When all of these things stood nameless, would they still be real? Would they become like the wind, wordless and feral, an invisible force set to howl ceaselessly and leave only silence in its wake? He suspected that this was so, and he knew that he was powerless to stop it. He would be powerless even with a voice.

      He stood and his knees popped loudly, like branches breaking under heavy footsteps. His contemplations were gloomy but they were all he truly had now. He felt, as always, for the thick bundle of throwing spears lashed to his back. He wiggled his toes inside of their rough moccasins - wolf-hide, and comfortable. These were the material things that he could lay his hands on and call his own. His clothing, his spears; once, he could claim more, but those days had been carried off by that ceaseless howling wind. Before, his father had claimed, there had been even more. His great-grandfather had been of a time when anything that could be thought of could be obtained, a time when the collapsing buildings around him had stretched to touch the sky and the streets had been filled with more people than there were stars in the cloudless night sky.

      He stretched. Those moccasins, those spears, the rough hide clothing he wore to cut the early spring chill; these were tangible but mortal. His spears would be used, if not today then another, thrown through the air to pin food, or a wolf, to the ground. His moccasins would wear through and need to be replaced. His clothing would catch and tear, and he would have

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