SCP-4945 (unconfirmed).
Special Containment Procedures: Currently, no method exists to effectively predict, navigate, or contain SCP-4945. If encountered, personnel are encouraged to document their experiences thoroughly, and if possible, record any interactions with SCP-4945-1.
Any directions offered by SCP-4945-1 should be followed. Staff should be aware that, while typically benign, SCP-4945-1's advice may lead to unintended, or otherworldly destinations.
Description: SCP-4945 is an extradimensional space, appearing as an open area where multiple paths intersect. This space will resemble the geographical, material and visual conditions present directly before being entered; for instance, it will resemble a junction of hiking trails if encountered in a forest, or converging hallways if encountered in an office building.
For an individual to access SCP-4945, they must:
- Have a destination or purpose for traveling.
- Be on a constructed or established path.
- Not intend to find SCP-4945.
- Be currently lost.
Entry into SCP-4945 will be signaled by a run up of visual and auditory cues; a steady rise in ambient noise, the sound of rushing wind, and the appearance of distant, shadowy figures. These figures will aggressively pursue individuals up to the moment they enter SCP-4945, when they will abruptly vanish.
If an individual begins deliberating on which path to take, SCP-4945-1 will present themself. Though human in appearance, this entity has demonstrated a wide variety of anomalous knowledge and abilities. Notably, their attire will follow the same adaptive quality of SCP-4945, such as hiking clothes on a trail, or formal clothing in an office. After engaging the individual with sarcastic banter and cryptic inquiries, they will offer directional advice.
298 missing person reports, social media posts, and blog entries have been linked to SCP-4945. These accounts have not been substantiated. Additionally, due to its unpredictable nature, there are currently no reliable means of accessing SCP-4945 for testing.
All credible information on SCP-4945 has been derived from three unplanned encounters by Foundation personnel.
Incident 01 | 2011/09/03
Primary: Researcher Minda Ubisse
Transcription Source: Written notes, Foundation Standard field notebook.
Field Notes SCP-3171, AN 1.12, Kavango–Zambezi, 2011/09/03
All fluid canisters stored. Heading back
Observation Log, Unknown Location
My name is Minda Bongani Ubisse, Level 03 Researcher, and I have become lost.
I recently finished overseeing the collection of SCP-3171's fluid sacks. It was a predictable affair, and the cacti were in good humor. Many of my team had never seen Victoria Falls, so on the way back to Site-58 I consented to a small detour.
Several of my colleagues stepped out to use the facilities. Others went down the embankment to get a closer view. I found myself falling asleep in my car seat. It had been a long day. I was awoken by a frantic Aayan, who told me Nilsa was missing. After a brief hike down into the valley, he had turned a corner and lost sight of her.
We split into groups, taking our equipment with us. Momed and I followed the river-paths eastward. We hiked for 20 minutes, calling out for Nilsa. She was nowhere to be found. While Momed was updating everyone over the radio, I saw a brief flurry of moment on one of the paths. Hoping it to be Nilsa, I followed it.
The moment I lost sight of Momed, I began to notice changes in my environment. The air became still. There was a low, deep humming sound. The river beneath my feet slowed, and thinned. While my surroundings calmed, I grew tense. Every shadow behind every rock seemed to come alive, twisting thin shapes from the dark. They seemed to follow me, reach towards me. I began to run.
The river became suddenly steep, and I tumbled forwards. A sound, much like a great intake of breath roared in my ears. Then, silence. I feared I might be concussed, but my vision was clear and my head was only wet with water.
Now, I find myself in this curious place. My equipment won't so much as turn on. I am not trapped, but I am bound by my uncertainty.
I am at the center of a wide, shallow pool surrounded by towering, red rock walls. Beneath my feet, the ground is a flat blanket of smooth, colorful pebbles. The pool is fed by many streams, each a path of its own making. Each river has its own current, some as fierce as rapids. Despite this, my circle-pool is still and clear as glass.
As I write, I am looking to the east. There is a winding stream, frothing with small black tadpoles that disappear before meeting the pool. I turn my head, and there is a shallow brook framed with mason-cut rocks. I turn again, and the water feeds from a great high waterfall possessing no momentum. The water does not roll, or break, but falls smoothly as if from a great bathroom sink.
When I turn my head back again, the paths have changed. New rivers have taken the place of the old ones, with their own strange qualities.
How fascinating.
Someone else is here.
They're watching me, up on the bluff. I can't make o
I am back in my world, walking against the current of a new river. I shouldn't write while I walk, but have to document this experience before I forget any details. I have just met an interesting person entity.
Within the span of a blink, they moved from the distant cliffs to standing right in front of me; silent, smiling, and bouncing back and forth on their heels.
They were between 150 - 160 cm 5'4", with a large head of curly black hair and dark olive skin. They had dense freckles along their cheekbones, a sharp oval-shaped face, and a wholly androgynous build. They were dressed in a tan button-up shirt, shorts, and green rubber boots.
I asked them who they were. They said they have many titles. I asked them where I was. They said it's a place between places. I asked them if to clarify. They laughed. They were very curious about my notebook. They read the hasty noted I'd made, and informed me they are "five foot four, thank you very much". I'll have to revise my log.
They asked me if I was scared. I told them I was.
They asked me why I wasn't panicking, or asking how to get home. I told them I was part of an organization, one that uncatalogued unusual phenomena. I told them I would very much like to know more about them, and the unusual place we were in.
They seemed very pleased by this. Ecstatic, even. They quickly, and loudly asked what my people called themselves. They asked what other things we've documented. They asked if they were the most attractive creature we've encountered. They said we didn't need to answer that, as they already know the answer. They say this while brushing back their hair with both hands.
I told them I would love to discuss this further, but one of my colleagues was missing, and I needed to find them. They told me if my friend was lost, they would have ended up here. I asked them to explain. They did not.
Their expression turned sad annoyed disappointed? They pointed at a path with a noisy, rushing river, the one I walk in now. They told me this was the right path. I asked them how they could tell. They said they knew the paths by heart. from heart. No, that's not right. I believe they said they knew the paths "at their heart"? I can't recall.
I have found Nilsa. She is safe.
She was fifteen minutes down the river. Her ankle is broken, along with some cuts and bruises. She says she slipped on the rocks, and her phone was ruined in the fall. My equipment is working again. Momad radioed back, and said he was glad I'm safe. He and my team are on the way with medical supplies.
When I was last with Momad, it was 6:14PM. My watch tells me it's 6:19PM. Nilsa's watch says the same. I don't know how long I was gone, lost in that place where the rivers met, but it was long enough to ponder, fear, and converse with that remarkable being. How has such little time passed?
I wish I'd had my lab kit with me. I wish I could have taken more thorough notes. I truly hope I find myself there again.
It was a strange, but wonderful place.
End log.
Incident 02 | 2011/11/17
Primary: Level-1 Security Officer - Cedric McLaren
Transcription source: Body camera footage.
VIDEO LOG
McLaren is frantically running through the corridors of Site-██. Alarms are sounding. A robotic voice comes over the intercom. Three pips. A general announcement, high priority. "Containment Breach. Please evacuate to Level 1. Containment Breach. Please Evacuate to Level 1." Emergency lighting flickers, allowing for half-second bursts of red-tinted video feed. Shouting and screams are heard, and flashes of gunfire are seen in passing corridors.
McLaren rounds a corner in time to see Researcher Häuser down one of these halls. His legs are blood-soaked and mangled. He moves with a drag-to gait, using the railings to pull himself forward across the adjoining gangway. A dark shape rapidly approaches from behind Häuser. He reaches towards McLaren, shouting something before the security doors between them snap shut. A sudden, deafening impact is heard from beyond the door, followed by a scream, a sharp 'snap', and silence.
McLaren hesitates, moving a half-step towards the door, hand poised over his firearm. Turning sharply to his left, he observes a dark mass forming on the wall. He turns, and runs in the opposite direction.
For the next 20 minutes, Officer McLaren chooses paths without deliberation, barreling down corridors and opening doors at random. Each time he stops to check behind himself, SCP-106 is seen steadily walking towards him. After a series of left turns, McLaren finds a caved-in section of hallway, congested with thick, silvery webbing. The sound of wet footsteps are heard nearby. McLaren turns, and runs down the only available path, heedless of the creeping shadows that begin to spill out of the walls.
The video feed distorts and crackles with static, accompanied by the sound of air escaping a pressure-seal. Officer McLaren finds himself in a startlingly quiet intersection, uniform and well lit. He breaths hard, checks over his shoulder, then breaks back into a run.
SCP-4945-1 stands in his way, hand pressed over his chest. They are wearing large black glasses, and an overlong lab coat.
SCP-4945-1: Whoa! Whoa there cowboy. Easy on the reigns.
McLaren: What? Look- we need to get out of here! Come on, follow me to-
4945-1: Oh you have no idea where you're going. That hall could lead into, like, a giant mouth or something. Unless you're into that, how about you stop and take a breath, huh?
McLaren: Buddy, you don't understand. You have no idea what's chasing me. We're both dead if we don't get out of here soon.
4945-1: Buddy, you don't understand. None of those things can get in here, not even Goopy Grandpa. There is no "dead", and there is no "soon", because death and time aren't allowed in. Okay? Breathe.
Officer McLaren pauses, still panting softly. He looks behind himself again, seeing only an unoccupied corridor. He turns in multiple directions. While still conforming to Site-██ architecture, each hallway is noticeably different. One path is caked in a dull, blue light. Another is partially flooded. One door bears a Global Occult Coalition decal, where another appears to be made of plain white-painted wood. Officer McLaren watches one open hallway for several seconds. Whenever the light flickers, the halls total length seems to change.
McLaren: I… where am I.
4945-1: There you go, deep breaths. Where do you think you are?
McLaren: I don't… what?
4945-1: Look around. An impossible inter-dimensional intersection? An extraordinary, enchanting encounter? A mystifying- Mac, come on. You had a briefing about this, like, a week ago.
McLaren is briefly silent before the camera, and his shoulders, drop several centimeters.
McLaren: Holy shit is this 4945? Am I in the Junction?
4945-1: I'm sorry the what?
McLaren: The Junction! That weird crossroads place they found in Africa! Yeah, yeah you're the dash-one! With all the messy hair and-
4945-1: Stop. Wow. Just wow. Okay, first? "Junction" sounds like a nasal infection. You could have said "Byroad", or "World Crossing", or "The Faerie Crossroad". Over all that, you chose 'Junction'!? And my-
McLaren: Hey, listen, I'd love to stay and talk about this, but I need to get to Level 1 as soon as possible. Do you think you could, you know…
4945-1 pinches the bridge of their nose. They pull a small cloth out of their breast pocket, cleaning their glasses' non-existent lenses.
4945-1: "Messy hair", I swear to great fiery Ōsobiue… what? No, look, did you not hear me? Time doesn't matter in here.
McLaren: Well, it matters to me. I can't just stand around for a few hours, even if those hours don't count. Can you please tell me which path to take?
4945-1: Sheesh, fine. Hold on.
4945-1 is seen looking between paths, thumb and forefinger tented under their chin. Without looking at Officer McLaren, they continue speaking.
4945-1: For the record, I get it. I'm hurt you don't want to stay and chat, but I get it. I know some of the things you guys keep penned-up… like, personally. We tend to run into each other through the centuries. I respect wanting to get the heck away from all that.
McLaren: What? No, I'm-… I need to get to Level 1 to help with EVAC. We need to form a perimeter around the extraction points.
4945-1 stops, and looks at McLaren.
4945-1: You're going up there to join a firing line? You saw what's chasing you. You can't kill that.
McLaren: I can slow it down.
4945-1: With your corpse, maybe. Buddy, you- seriously, you said this yourself a minute ago. If you don't get out of here, you're going to die!
McLaren does not respond immediately. After a moment, he reaches up, tightening the straps on his security vest.
McLaren: I need to get to Level 1. People are counting on me.
4945-1 considers McLaren for several seconds, then points at a path without looking. The hallway is unlit, and the door has been partially wrenched open. Claw marks are present on the walls.
4945-1: That one.
McLaren looks at the hallway, then back towards 4945-1. After a brief pause, he begins walking.
4945-1: Really? No "are you kidding?" Not even "are you sure?" How do you know I'm not just fucking with you?
McLaren: I don't.
4945-1: Visual evidence would imply I am.
McLaren stops and looks back at 4945-1.
McLaren: These doors can lead anywhere, right? So even the safe-looking ones could be a one-way trip. Your word is all I've got. You say this is the path I need to take, so I'm taking it. If you're fucking with me, well, then I guess I'm fucked aren't I?
4945-1 stares at Officer McLaren for a long moment, then smiles, crossing their arms.
4945-1: I like you, Cedric. Good luck out there.
McLaren does not respond. He turns around, and presses himself through the torn-open section of blast door.
Addendum Officer Cedric McLaren was killed in action shortly after Incident 02. Emerging on Level 4, he discovered a barricaded laboratory beset by a group of SCP-939. Officer McLaren was able to create a distraction long enough for all 15 trapped researchers to escape, and reach the Level 1 extraction zone. McLaren's body cam was later recovered by a multi MTF sweep team.
Following this incident, Officer McLaren has been post-humorously awarded the Foundation Star.
Incident 03 | 2012/01/28
Primary: Researcher Maria Nantes
Transcription source: Sub-dermal microphone.
Forward: On December 18th, 2011, 7:35PM, Agent Sam Fieldman reported witnessing Researcher Maria Nantes entering SCP-4945 multiple times throughout the week, seemingly at will. A transceiver was injected into Researcher Nantes right arm during a medical screening on 28/01/2012.
The next day, Researcher Nantes did not report in for work. She was discovered in her apartment, catatonic and disheveled. Her left leg was coated in a large quantity of luminescent, multi-colored powder, and her face was covered in dark symbols from an unidentified language.
Agent Nantes was remanded to Foundation medical care. The following audio was recovered from her implant, and reviewed by an investigatory committee.
Agent Nantes is heard walking for several minutes, then stops suddenly. After a brief shuffling noise she resumes walking, her footsteps significantly louder. The comittee briefly debates why this occurs, before Agent Fieldman, the only woman present, identifies this sound as high-heels on metal walkway. Nantes pace briefly hastens while she mumbles "shit shit shit fucking shadows shit". The microphone then crackles with the sound of rushing wind. SCP-4945-1 is immediately heard making a "squealing" sound, and running towards Researcher Nantes.
SCP-4945-1: Aaah! Maria! It's so good to see you!
Nantes: What? We saw each other, like, two days ago.
SCP-4945-1: Pfft. Days? You know I don't have those in here! Oh who cares; I love those boots! Are they new?
Nantes: No! I've had these for years! But you know, since I got this job… actually, I never really had a chance to use these in Uni either. I thought I'd need party boots for, y'know, parties. I don't know why. I mean, look at me.
SCP-4945-1: Yeah, look at you! Maria, come on, you are too PhD to be this dumb. You're gorgeous!
Nantes: That's sweet, but I think you might have different standards than, you know, people out there. Don't forget, I've seen who you cozy-up with.
SCP-4945-1: Hey, don't judge! I just have a different selection process. It's not my fault you blood-sacks are obsessed with "skin" and "eyes" and, I don't know, kidneys? You guys are into kidneys, right?
Nantes: Oh yeah. Love a good kidney.
SCP-4945-1: Exactly, but me? I see into the truth of things. I can see a person at their core, and Maria, you're gold and diamonds all the way down. You're a knock-out!
Nantes: Hah, thanks… for everything, actually. I mean, this is how I thought life was going to be working at the Foundation. I mean, I was hired to work with storybook monsters! Time paradoxes in a bottle! Floating… plasma alligators that barfed lightning!
SCP-4945-1: You made that last one up.
Nantes: Probably! The point is, I thought I'd found my dream job; somewhere I could live my best, weird life… but instead, I'm alone in a lab at ten o'clock at night, re-writing all my reports for a fourth time. No one asked me to, but the head researcher mentioned my chemical analysis was "a bit sloppy". Not even bad, just messy. Apparently that's all it takes to turn me back into an anxious little freshman. So when my terminal crashes, I go and sit in that big, cavernous bathroom by the east stairwell and just cry for an hour. Over a stupid report. What's wrong with me?
SCP-4945-1: Nothing. Maria there's nothing wrong with you. You were just a bit… well, lost. That's why you wound up here that night. I'm sorry I scooped you up like that, but you just looked so…
Nantes: No no, don't apologize! The past few weeks have been… God, I don't even know to describe it. It's like all my dreams about life behind the curtain had come true. I thought this job would be super-science Scooby-Doo, but instead all the monsters are real and they all suck so much.
SCP-4945-1: Seriously. Especially that lizard guy. Like, how about you just chill out and die a bit?
Nantes: Right? God. But since I met you, it's been all sparkly swamp-men moonlight discos and robot factory techno raves! It's one big non-stop dimension-hopping party! But… more than anything, it's been really cool just having someone to, you know, hang out with and talk to and… everything.
There is a brief pause. SCP-4945-1 is heard sniffling.
SCP-4945-1: Oh girl now I'm going to start crying. Stop it, stop! Seriously, I should be thanking you! You know how long it's been since I've had, like, a real friend?
Nantes: None? Since time doesn't exist here?
SCP-4945-1: Oh it exists; I just don't invite that bitch in. Seriously, time needs to chill out more than anyone. And the answer is forever, by the way. It has been forever since I've had friend to tear up the omni-causal reality with. So tonight, honey, it's all about you. We're going to land you the most superficially gorgeous thing in existence, I swear on my name!
Nantes: Speaking of… as long as we're being all mushy, will you finally tell me your name now?
SCP-4945-1: Maria, you know I can't. Names work differently in different places. If I give my name to you, I could have trouble traveling through… certain places.
Nantes: Well, I'll give it right back? Come on, please?
SCP-4945-1: Uhg. Fine… it's Rider.
Nantes: Rider? Whoa, that's actually really c-… wait.
SCP-4945-1: What?
Nantes: Are you just making an Eric Clapton reference?
SCP-4945-1: Wow, Robert Johnson you mean! Also no, I was making a Cream reference since- uh, I mean… no?
A soft 'paff' sound is heard. Agent Fieldman informs the comittee that the sound was likely Nantes punching 4945-1 on the arm, given she often does this to show affection. When asked how Agent Fieldman knows this, Agent Fieldman does not respond.
SCP-4945-1: Ow! I just can't okay?
Nantes: Fine, keep your name. You can keep the hotties too. They're always focused on you anyway.
SCP-4945-1: What? Oh! Honey, no no. I just attract a lot of attention from certain types. It's not about appearance. What they see is my power, my knowledge, and my age. They're just, like, magic fuckboys. We'll get you someone sweet; someone pretty inside and out. Promise.
Nantes: Look, I appreciate that, I do, but… I don't know. I'm not really into that scene. I know it sounds dumb, but I really just want someone I can, like, cuddle up on the couch with. Someone I can watch old sci-fi movies with, and order take-out with, or maybe go to the farmers market with and-
Researcher Nantes continues mumbling for several seconds, until SCP-4945-1 releases an explosive sigh.
SCP-4945-1: Alright! I wasn't going to tell you this but… uhg! So, you know I've been hanging around your "Foundation" for a while, right? Seriously, you guys are the most interesting humans I've encountered in millennia. Underground monster prisons? So cool! While I was snooping, before I met you I mean… well, there's this really cute lady named Agent Fieldman, and she's really nice, and she sort of has a crush on you? Like, she spends all her time watching you- but not in a creepy way! Like in a "I want to know what this lady is about so I can ask her out one day" sort of way? Heck she's listening to us right now.
Nantes: Wait what?
SCP-4945-1: Yeah. Recording device. Sub-dermal. Plopped it right into your arm during the medical exam.
Nantes: What!?
SCP-4945-1: Oh, yeah, your bosses know we've been hanging out. They're all listening right now. Who cares. Fieldman, though! She was so worried when you started disappearing. She stressed out for, like, three days trying to figure out if she should report this, or confront you, or what. Did you know she paces? Seriously, like a super villain. It's adorable.
Nantes: Oh my god. Oh my god I'm going to get fired. Oh my god that cute Agent likes me. Oh my god I'm going to pass out.
Agent Nantes begins hyperventilating. In the briefing room, Agent Fieldman has moved her chair to the far corner, sitting with her face in her hands and kicking her legs.
SCP-4945-1: Oh relax. They "encourage" you to report when you end up her, right? So, you just weren't encouraged enough! The worst they'll do is chew you out, it will be fine. The Fieldman thing though… I can't help you there. You're pretty awkward.
Agent Nantes frantic breathing gives way to erratic laughter.
Nantes: Wow, Thanks. Believe it or not, I do know how to ask someone out.
SCP-4945-1: That a fact, science girl? Well then, I'll expect a full report on exact that next time we hang out. If Fieldman doesn't ask you first, I mean!
//SCP-4945-1's volume increases suddenly. While the committee discusses if they were shouting, or merely speaking closer to the transceiver, Agent Fieldman excuses herself from the room. Her face appears flushed.1
Nantes: God, you're the worst! Fine, but I can't promise I won't drop my "report" running from those shadow monsters.
SCP-4945-1: Shadow monsters?
Nantes: Yeah, you know, the wispy black things? The ones that chase you before you get here?
SCP-4945-1 is silent for a few seconds, then snorts, and begins laughing uncontrollably.
Nantes: And… that's funny apparently?
SCP-4945-1: Oh, honey, sweetie, gorgeous, those aren't "shadow monsters". Those are just-… Hm. I guess the best word would be "suitors"?
Nantes: Suitors? What? You mean they want to… get with you?
SCP-4945-1: Sort of, yeah. They want to join with me. They want to be part of my power. Like I said, it's different for my kind. They aren't chasing you, dummy. They just see that the portal to my world is open, and they want to get in here before it closes! They're racing you!
Nantes: Huh. I wish I'd just asked you about that, like, weeks ago. So, wait, you're saying they only look like shadows to me because-
SCP-4945-1: Because of your dumb human eyes, yes. They're really not half-bad looking. Er, in my terms.
Nantes: But none of them your type?
SCP-4945-1: No, no it's not that. I'm just… I'm waiting for someone.
Nantes: Mr. Right?
SCP-4945-1 Something like that. We met a long time ago, back in back in a different age. Not "age" like you understand it, with your linear bullshit; a different age for my kind. Things were different then. Things happened.
Nantes: Like?
SCP-4945-1: War. Worlds being shaped. Worlds dying. New magic, carved in the bones of dead Gods. It's not important, really. I just mean to say, in the midst of all that chaos… I found someone. Someone incredible. Like, "cuddle on the couch" kind of incredible. They knew so much, but were always curious. They had such terrible power, but were always kind. Always. They could have been anywhere but… they chose to be with me.
Nantes: They sound nice.
SCP-4945-1: Nice… you know, that's actually the perfect word. They were really nice… and it wasn't an age for nice people. They tried to help someone; a person with a hole in their heart. They tried to make all the fighting stop. They did, in a way, but… that was the last time I saw them.
Nantes: Oh…
SCP-4945-1: It's fine, really. I've picked the perfect place to wait for them.
Nantes: Wait, you mean… I thought you meant they-
SCP-4945-1: All experiences are paths, Maria. All events are roads, and all roads lead here. I just need to be patient. They'll be here eventually… oh fuck me, Maria, if you start crying again I'm stealing your party boots.
Agent Nantes is heard sniffing loudly, then laughing a single, weak laugh.
Nantes: Heh. Sorry… so, where are we off to tonight?
SCP-4945-1: Microscopic mermaid masquerade in a floating tardigrade.
Nantes: Wait, seriously!?
SCP-4945-1: Oh heck yes. You haven't lived until you've had microscopic martinis. Alcohol molecules are better the smaller you are. Oh, and mermaid dresses are made from actual stardust. You'll love it.
Nantes: Alright, but I've got work tomorrow. Only one drink tonight!
// 4.9 additional hours of audio is recorded.The only terrestrial language recorded is several slurred rants on quantum theory from Researcher Nantes, and the chanting of "Chug! Chug! Chug!". The committee debate if the latter is English, or merely a linguistic coincidence. Strange haunting music, various animal noises, and car sirens from six time periods are also heard. The final 20 seconds of audio is extracted for their potential relevance.
Following a loud rush of wind, SCP-4945-1 is heard, breathing hard and shuffling as they walk. With a 'hup!' the sound of a body hitting a mattress is heard, along with loud snoring. SCP-4945-1 gives a brief laugh, then begins to walk away, singing quietly.
4945-1: I'll see you again, my love, my friend,
4945-1: My darling, and my sweet.
4945-1: Where up is down and lost is found,
4945-1: And all the pathways meet.4945-1: I'll see you again, my darling love,
4945-1: Around the hidden bend,
4945-1: Where journeys start for fickle hearts,
4945-1: And all the roadways end.
I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by.
Well I'm going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
Going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
You can still barrelhouse, baby, on the riverside.
An article that began as a writing exercise. I wanted to write an article based around three stories, each told using a different medium. A story you read, a story you see, and a story you hear; changing the perspective and tone to convey each medium.
Thanks to: Azmoeth Jikandia, ROUNDERHOUSE,
