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Amnesia and Star Child	By : coldblood Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Linkin Park Views: 1642 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Linkin Park. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Same ol’, Arnie?” The barman asked.
His face was jolly, the wisps of hair wiry and grey under his navy beanie, tied back in a ponytail.
Arnie gave a slight nod, leaning on the bar as he watched the other regulars around the tavern; most of them were talking about the fishing and the weather, they were all of fishermen families, and had been for years.
Arnie’s hands themselves were calloused and deeply scarred from the lines of heavy, spirited fish.
The barman, Kay, a giant by any standard - was no less than a fisherman either - having lost his entire hand to a nasty fish in the waters that coiled the wires around his wrist and ripped his hand clean off. He was a natural born story teller as well, always entertaining the few tourists about tales of what swam deep in the Loch.
He was always convincing, and the locals had endless hours of fun watching the tourists fall for every word he spoke.
“Wee Nessie be a beast aye.” He would say. “Ne’er know when the bru’e’ll go fer ya. She no ordinary fish - oh no. Nei’er lad nor lass knows what Nessie really looks like, aye, but by the s’ump of me ‘and, thar be a bru’e down thar...”
The tourists would hang off every word.
Yes, old Kay had many a yarn to tell, many of them centered around the Loch and what lay in the depths, and some spoke of old folktales around the area - such as the one he was telling now.
“... It be ol’ ‘ideaway Fingal. So they say, a s’ranger even to these par’s, not a frien’ly lad, oh no - ‘e s’ands on them rocks, out in the dis’ance, playin’ the pan flu’e ter an invisible audience, aye. Ne’er see ‘im ‘ere, very quiet lad. Very much inter goin’ ‘bou’ ‘is own goin’s on aye. Look ou’ with binoculars on a s’ill nigh’ like thas and ya’ll see ‘im, s’andin’ there, playin’ songs so ‘aun’in’ that ya could sit in the wa’er an’ not care that yer toes be freezing off from the bi’er cold...” Kay continued on, even though everyone knew the story off by heart.
Arnie, who was a bit of a light goer on the whisky, looked out the tavern’s window to the Loch.
It’s surface wasn’t even rippling on this night - it was still and as flat as glass, so peaceful that he couldn’t even bring himself to think about how tomorrow the fishermen would be out again and disturb the lake, going about their business, hauling in fish for their tables and for the marketplace in Inverness or the local town.
But ah, it was business, and Arnie had never come across Kay’s ‘Nessie’ - it was suffice to say that none of the locals did - Nessie was just media propaganda over hoaxes they insisted were authentic.
He settled back and sipped his drink.
Out on the waters again tomorrow, to bring in his pay, and maybe catch a glimpse of the fabled Hideaway Fingal... Or as usual see nothing and be able to dismiss all of Kay’s stories as nothing more than yarns for the tourists.
- 65
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Amnesia and Star Child