Fun Guy

The Hurlers
It must be a Sunday for he was aware of a church bell off somewhere in the distance. Other than that he was aware of the silence, that bloody bell being the only manmade sound he could hear. When the bell stopped ringing he became aware of his own voice, it must be in his head, because he wasn’t speaking. Then there was the sound of the air, and its movement, even though it was a still morning with no wind. The only thing he could imagine was that he was hearing nature’s heartbeat. Suddenly this was interrupted by the peculiar, distinctive sound of the Cornish equivalent of the bagpipes. He looked about him, and could see no one, he was sure of that because he could see for miles in every direction. Next came the voices, all full of enthusiasm and excitement, with one clear above the others
‘Come away the lads, let’s to the game, take your hurley sticks and we’ll begin.’
He was beginning to think that he had fallen prey to some sort of madness, for here he was surrounded by the standing stones with no other living being in sight.
Things suddenly fell silent, but it was not silence, it was the total absence of sound. It was such an absence of sound that he thought he had suddenly gone deaf. He thought this because no matter where we are there is never a total and absolute silence, there is always sound of some description.

Suddenly there was silence, no not silence but the total absence of sound. He thought he had gone deaf suddenly. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. There was a sudden rush of air. He opened his eyes and was staring at a map on his desk. What the hell had happened to him?

He closed his eyes, then he realised that he could still see the stones where he had been standing alone in the silence. That he could still hear the heartbeat of nature. That he could still hear his own voice, even though he hadn't been speaking. That he could still hear the movement of the air, even though there had been no wind. That he could still hear the shouts of the hurling game being played around him - but he had been alone, no one else in sight. That he could still hear the sound of pipes being played frantically.

He opened his eyes and stared at the map, it was Cornwall, specifically Bodmin Moor, even more specifically he had drawn a circle around the stone circles known as The Hurlers. Why had he circled them? Why had he been standing among the stones on Bodmin Moor when he was sitting at his desk in Edinburgh?