Gooma and the Hitch in Time

Press Play for the Atmosphere

Gooma is a fruit from a modest, inconspicuous, nameless tree. How these fruits came to life, nobody knows for sure. Some say that they were touched by inexperienced magic; others witnessed a falling star in the thickets. There is different gossip about it, but one thing is true, once upon a time this tree’s fruits came to life and went ahead traveling in all directions over our vast continent.

It happens that in the middle of his travels, Gooma withers and from the seed in his head a new tree appears. Its fresh fruit comes to life and continues this desperate journey.

Gooma keeps a diary during his entire life, and then his followers continue traveling from the last page where the life path of the older Gooma stopped.

Look at the huts rushing. Either the wind is pushing them, or they are running downhill. Their hooves are clattering, and they run, they won’t wait, and they won’t tire out. Someone has been living in one of the booths for a long time, the other one has been filled with all kinds of trash and set on its way, and Gooma happens to follow the same path. Wherever the way takes it.

This journey has no goal. But it would be nice to look at the sea. To raise the sail of a light boat and get as far from the coast as possible. Finally, to take a breath of the salty air.

But for now, the hooves are clattering, the booth is rocking, and the entire herd is rushing wherever luck takes it.

It’s getting late. The booth run is still frisky and friendly, but will they bring it somewhere before it gets dark?

Clip-clop. Clip-clop. For a while now, one can see no houses or trodden paths. It would be nice now to find an old hut, a cave, or at least a hollow in a tree... Only broken branches are cracking under the hooves, and little pebbles are being scattered.

They ran across another hill and here, at a distance, at the very edge of the cliff above the sea, a structure appeared, a stone island with winds blowing in every direction. Apparently, it never had any walls, but the roof seems to be strong. It will be cool, but at least it will be dry.

Gooma gathered everything he had, jumped off while the hospitable booths were still moving, looked back at them and headed to his night shelter. He heard the crunching sound of last year’s dried grass under his feet.