In distant seas sits a distant land. A land like no other. Hidden from the manipulation of Man's hand. The seas are harsh and the waves crash against the shore line. Along the beach lay debris from broken ships and lost artifacts of broken men.l On this island, dwells a peculiar man with peculiar habits. He was once consider a pioneer in the areas of experimental science and mathematics. Now though he is little more than a recluse on a desolate island in the middle of nowhere.
The island is not complete with out the intervention of Man, but rather is the manipulation of one man and his family.
This strange land is foreign to explorer and seamen alike. It won't be found on any map, nor taught about in any geography class. It's environment and inhabitants our one of a kind. A breed to which there are no similarities with the rest of the world.
A far reaching wilderness extends shortly after the shore line. With treacherous seas keeping visitors at bay. A slow and steady fog masks this land of mystery and intrigue. The beach is jagged with rocks of an unknown mineral. Smooth, marbleized black with flickers of purple and the residue of sea salt. Prolific trees with spiked bark and prehistoric moss cling to the gnarled branches. They have an eerily, delicate disposition, but remain rooted in their stance against the harsh winds and heavy tides.
Beyond the white sands, past the gigantic rocks of black, and looming after the scarce trees lies dense forestry. There are no birds singing. No animals lurking. The forest has a stillness unmatched. With the exception of insects and other small animals not much is found in the forest which goes on for acres upon acres. The deeper one goes, the higher the trees extend. Until eventually masking out the sky. Even on the brightest days the sun doesn't penetrate the tops of these trees. Giving way to entire bouts of night time darkness.
After what can be days of travel on foot the forest begins to clear. The trees become fewer in number and light begins to illuminate the ground. The grass grows lush, with wild flowers rainbowing the ground with colors of vividly bright blues, purples, reds, yellows, and orange. Allowing Mother Nature's true color spectrum to shine.
From this, colored seashells create a path from the ending of the forest and winds ever forward. The elevation climbs as does the intensity of the grasses green hue. The path comes to a fence of unique construction. Built from scraps of varying materials from metal to wood with gizmos and do-dads decorating it in no set pattern. Reflectors sparkle. Pieces of scrap metal clank together as the wind blows. Dream catchers and wind chimes hang from parts of the fence. All of the dings, bangs, whistles, and chimes give an orchestra of sound that only a mad man could have conspired. Or perhaps a genius.
Past this fence stands a sign pointing to the lone hill. The sign reads," Burgundy Hill" in hand painted red lettering. To call it a hill is an understatement. It would be more appropriate to label it a mountain except that it is not. Perhaps, the biggest hill in the world. At the top of this grotesquely large hill is, but one house. Matter of fact, In all this land there is, but one house. It is perched on the very height of the hill...
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