Aus einer Laune heraus habe begonnen, eine Idee, die mich sehr gereizt hat, als Geschichte umzusetzen. Das hier ist ein doppeltes Experiment, weil ich erstens noch kaum geplant habe, wie es weitergeht, und weil ich noch nie eine Geschichte in Englisch geschrieben habe. Das habe ich nämlich ebenfalls aus einer Laune heraus getan, und es fiel mir leichter als gedacht. Sicher, ob ich dabei bleibe, bin ich jedoch noch nicht.
Anyway, hier ist der Anfang. Und mehr gibt's auch noch nicht. :>
First they came home late, then they left their homes altogether. They abandoned their work, their families and their names in order to move around. They called themselves "Migratory Birds" or "Drifters". The newspaper called it the "desponsibility syndrome", but researchers had yet to come up with a conclusive theory about what led people to become Drifters.
Rich or poor, man or woman, old or young, black or white, it didn't matter. They came from all countries and there was nothing they had in common except for their desire to "drift", as some of them called it. Their destination? No one knew, not even they did. Truth was, however, they were all driven by something. Their feelings told them to move from place to place, or rather: their instincts did. You know how sometimes you feel the sudden urge to get up and go outside? I think that's not too different from what Drifters feel, but their sensation is much more intense, almost spiritual.
I've always wondered about one thing, though: No Drifter ever wants to return home. Returning to a previously visited place is not unusual for a Drifter as long as they don't stay for too long, but they avoid to go back to where they came from at all costs. I've seen Drifters who were forced to go back, and all I can say is, it didn't end well. Some tried to run away again, but some of them didn't have the liberty to so. Kids, especially, were common victims of their parents' protective attitude. You see, a Drifter's drive to be on the move is so strong that they become restless if they stay in one place for too long. That's how it starts, anyway, but more often sooner than later they lose their minds entirely. They might just appear to be absentminded at first, but eventually they will hurt themselves, and it never ends well. If suicide is the only way out, they don't hesitate to meet an untimely end. If this doesn't work, however, they go on a rampage or worse. As I said, it never ends well.
But never mind that. Let's go back to where I started. The newspaper called it "desponsibility syndrome", I said, which is, of course, just a fancy term that doesn't make sense at all. It's utterly wrong, even, and the term only got popular because the first Drifters that received public attention were working adults with families. Of course society thought it was a curious case of some stressed out people who wanted to run from all their responsibilities. Naturally there were also children who left their homes, but no one pays attention to a bunch of runaway kids when there are working members of the society suddenly missing, or families without someone to feed them.
In any case, most people were oblivious about why Drifters decided to leave their homes. What they didn't understand is that it was not a decision, but an instinct. I've talked to a couple of Drifters who'd left their families behind, and although they avoided talking about this topic when they could, it was easy to see that what they had done pained them greatly. It was never a matter of responsibility. I think many Drifters led happy lives, but one day they went out of their houses and didn't come back, just like that and without prior warning.
This phenomenon probably began about two years ago, but it's been less than a year since Drifters started to attract public attention. Of course everyone knew about them now, and what started as a shock for everyone had quickly turned into somewhat of a fashion because the concept of "being free" seemed to appeal to many young people. Most of them had probably never done so much as left their home towns without their friends or family, though, and the majority gave up living a "drifting life" after a couple of days or weeks. There were still a lot of wannabe Drifters everywhere, though, and with them came organizations spreading their esoteric drivel about the "True Call" or something. That's all nonsense, obviously, but it made it even more difficult for people to grasp what a real Drifter actually is.
Our story starts in a spacious hotel somewhere in a port town in the east of North America. This place was a popular gathering spot for Drifters because ships took off from and arrived here. This is also where I met a young man who would soon become the protagonist of my story – that's what I wanted, at least. To tell the truth, it all began because I needed material for my weekly column "Drifting Life" I wrote for a reasonably well-known newspaper, and an acquaintance of mine had arranged a meeting for me with a "highly interesting" person, as he’d told me. I was not convinced, but what choices did I have? That's how I came here, grumbling to myself the entire way. As I entered, I was greeted by a gush of warm air and the countless voices of all the people that had assembled in the hotel's foyer. Unconvinced that I would find my person of interest in this crowd, I paved my way to the bar nearby where I was supposed to meet him. On the way I bumped into countless shoulders, and I started to get tired before I’d even arrived.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, I was finally able to secure a free spot at the bar and order a beer. A quick gaze at my watch indicated that I was still five minutes early. “Good,” I thought, but then it occurred to me that I had no idea how to find the Drifter I was supposed to meet – the very vague description my acquaintance had given me certainly didn’t help in a place where I couldn’t see more than two steps in any direction.
The bartender had probably forgotten about me because I never got my beer. Then a voice right behind me called my name.
“Mr. Auteberry?”
As I turned around, the cheerful face of a young man with bright blue eyes and brown hair looked straight into mine. For a moment I was too perplexed to say anything, but after a second I regained my composure.
“Yes, yes, that’s me. Then you must be—“
“Falk Peregrine. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
He smiled brightly and I chuckled – a name like this was just too common for a Drifter. Then I fished my hands out of my pockets in order to greet him properly. While shaking hands, I suddenly felt incredibly excited for the first time in a long while and I, too, smiled.
“Pleased to meet you to, Mr. Peregrine.”
This is where everything began.
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