Where next?

I like motorways. Not to drive on or even to travel on as a passenger, I like the constant rush of traffic and the lights. I like the idea that every passing metal cocoon contains a microcosm of society, person or persons travelling with their thoughts running riot. I like to watch from a convenient flyover or bridge, you wouldn't believe how many private bridges there are, reserved for animal traffic, cattle, sheep and the like. It's best at night, even better when the traffic isn't moving so well so I can see the driver and passengers. Tonight is slightly different, I needed somewhere to collect my thoughts, away from people, when I say that I mean that I am away from direct interaction with people. The phone call yesterday certainly gave me plenty to consider. My world has been changed yet again, this time probably more more drastically than the first, this time may leave me nowhere to run.

When I left my family I thought I was doing it for them as well as for me, my perception of the world had changed so drastically that I felt that severing my ties would save my sanity and indeed that of my family. I maintain that I did this with the best intentions at heart in order to save any good memories Emma and the kids may have about me. I would far rather be apart and have them think the best of me than to be with them and have them think the worst, if that makes sense. It appears that one of the two entities that I experienced during my encounter with the refuse of the Flower's Barrow project have decided to make me a target. The dark bastard I consigned to the Solent has returned and is doing his level best to get rid of me. The worst thought that has run through my mind is that Emma is involved. She, and the kids, deserve better, they deserve a world without the complication I bring. I stood on that bridge over the M6 for hours, I ran every conceivable scenario through my mind, tried to find some way I could avoid the only two choices that seemed to be my only way out. Time and gain though my elaborate and fanciful plans reverted to the same two outcomes; either I drop out of society altogether, shunning the new world that had embraced and become a part of me or, or what? Or, I face the music and fight for my right to hold a place within a community that until recently had made me feel welcome and at home.

With these two options running in my mind in a constant cycle. I thought of a drawing I had seen as a child, of Ouroboros, the serpent devouring its own tail. A constant cycle, without beginning or end. Daft I know, but it gave me an idea, so I'm glad I can be daft every now and again. I had been couch surfing for nearly a year and a half and as such my presence was broadcast every time Patrick or Paul, or even me, put out feelers for my next potential bedroom. The whole otherworld community was probably aware every time I decided that I had out stayed my welcome and needed a place to stay. I needed to be more self-sufficient, stop relying on others, stop announcing and loudly declaring my intentions. This would hopefully drop me below the RADAR as it were, give me a chance to come up with something. That was the problem, I had the first bit of my plan but that was all. I knew I had to strike at the heart of the problem but, OK, it terrifies me. I can still feel the horror when I had to face the dark spirit, the fear as the voices of a hundred trapped souls were released.

With the traffic moving swiftly below, the lights flashing beneath the bridge, I made a decision. I decided to make my way back to Portsmouth, make sure Emma and the kids were OK then find Patrick and come up with a means to, what. What? Am I missing the point? Perhaps the real target for me and the means to find a resolution is to find out more about this new project, Silver Puppet? Either way I'm leaving tomorrow. Gareth should be back soon, I'll wait up and try to talk to him. It would be pointless if I leave tomorrow and Gareth broadcasts it to the world. I need him, at least, to understand and keep his mouth shut.