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Jun. 9th, 2012 12:23 pmHis feet dangled 25 feet above the ground, and netting pressed into his face. Next to him, Ganymede was tapping out a rhythm on its 36th repeat against his rucksack. Or 52nd, possibly. Sponde had lost count somewhere near the twelfth repetition. He was getting hungry.
"Does anyone know what day it is?" A voice from right and underneath of Sponde broke the silence that had stretched for the last three hours. For a moment, no one answered. Even before they'd been left dangling above the ground for nearly a full day, dates had begun to lose their meaning. Discovering a nation of peoples with no concept of a calendar will do that.
"Wednesday?" someone ventured, and someone else echoed agreement. "No, I think it's Friday," voiced another, and there were a few more mumbles.
"It's Monday," Sponde announced, dour and solemn.
"How do you know?" asked Ganymede, finally pausing that rhythm of his.
"I could never get the hang of Mondays."
"Does anyone know what day it is?" A voice from right and underneath of Sponde broke the silence that had stretched for the last three hours. For a moment, no one answered. Even before they'd been left dangling above the ground for nearly a full day, dates had begun to lose their meaning. Discovering a nation of peoples with no concept of a calendar will do that.
"Wednesday?" someone ventured, and someone else echoed agreement. "No, I think it's Friday," voiced another, and there were a few more mumbles.
"It's Monday," Sponde announced, dour and solemn.
"How do you know?" asked Ganymede, finally pausing that rhythm of his.
"I could never get the hang of Mondays."
