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Description
“Welcome to Stonehenge.  This is one of the biggest mysteries in history.  No one knows why it was built, how it was built, or even who built it.  As we approach the actual structure, you will see that it looks like just a bunch of rough pillars standing up out of the ground…”
The guide’s voice drags on, but I stop listening to him.  I don’t need to listen; I’ve visited the Henge more times than he.  And what of what he thinks of the stones?  He is a fool.  This tour matters little to me except that I must get to the Henge; I am meeting her there, and that is all that matters.
The bus stops just short of a small path leading to the Henge.  As I slowly push my way out of the bus, I look for the point where I think she may come from.  The tour tediously crawls into the circle of stones, making fool’s exclamations the entire time.
“Look, Timmy!  Look at the big stones!  Aren’t they pretty?”
“My God, Cheryl!  Can you believe how large these stones are?”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Won’t the guys back home be jealous when they see these pictures!”
All of these so-called intelligent people come here, and ogle a bunch of stones without any understanding.  Fools, all of them.  I walk to the center of the Henge, and, turning a full circle, look for where she will come from.  Finally, I decide where I think she will emerge, a spot between a pair of pillars which have a crosspiece atop them.  I begin the song, dancing to a music only I can hear.
Things around me quiet down as I continue.  People watch me move, enraptured by the nameless, wordless melody I sing.  A child, no older than four, joins me when he learns the pattern I dance in the center.  He dances clumsily but happily beside me, knowing only that he is enjoying himself.  But soon, my pattern changes and increases in tempo, and he is left behind as I begin to whirl around the stones.  My weaving moves me faster and faster around the circle, faster and faster I pass each stone.  My voice rises in excitement, the song carrying itself out of my soul.
Slowly, a faint shimmer appears between the pair of stones I had decided upon.  It spreads from the center of the gap outward until it hits each of the four barriers around it.  The people gawk, mystified.  They know what their eyes see, but their minds wish to deny it anyway.  And then she walks through.
I stop my dance, which has brought me back to the center so that I face the now open gateway.  I hear gasps from those around me, and understand that they are surprised as much from her appearing as from her appearance.  Her ivory skin, smooth and unblemished, nearly glows in the sunlight.  Brown, bleached-blonde hair cascades down past her rounded shoulders, allowing a section in the front to cup her angelic face with its jade eyes and long, soft nose.  The dress she wears is a dark silver-steel with black trim.  It is cut in a fashion similar to that of both a Greek toga and a Japanese kimono.  It wraps around her; covering her shoulders and hanging down to the ground while leaving her arms completely bare.  Her eyes meet mine, and once again I find myself enthralled by her beauty.
The little boy again is the only one to approach.  He does so timidly, as she and I look at each other.  Then, grabbing a handful of her dress, he tugs to get her attention.  When she looks down, he asks her, “Aah you a ainjil?”  She looks down at him and smiles.
I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder as I reply, “No, son, she isn’t an angel.  She would answer so herself, but she can’t speak English.  She comes from a place far, far away.  You see, once there was an island ‑ in the sea out there ‑ that was moved for the safety of those who lived there.  It was set on a shelf, apart in time and space.  It is where she comes from, where I came from.  Now, I go home.  Remember today well, you will be the only one here who will be able to.”
“Why?”
“You are going to be given this memory as a gift.  You will remember everything and if you one day wish to, you may come to my home there.”
“Where?”
“In Atlantis.  Now I must go, good-bye, boy.”  I rise and, grasping her hand, leave the boy and the tour behind to return to the home that I had left so long ago.
* * * *
The boy watched the strange man and beautiful woman walk through the shiny wall between the big stones.  He was not really sure what had just happened, but he understood that he probably would never see such a strange thing again in his lifetime.  The shiny wall began to disappear, a hole of normalness appearing in the center and slowly opening up until there was no longer any shiny.  The boy’s spirit was dampened, but he decided that he would find other things to entertain himself.  The tour guide restarted his drawl as if it had never been broken, people moved around the circle once more; oblivious to the event which had just taken place.

Description
“Welcome to Stonehenge.  This is one of the biggest mysteries in history.  No one knows why it was built, how it was built, or even who built it.  As we approach the actual structure, you will see that it looks like just a bunch of rough pillars standing up out of the ground…”
The guide’s voice drags on, but I stop listening to him.  I don’t need to listen; I’ve visited the Henge more times than he.  And what of what he thinks of the stones?  He is a fool.  This tour matters little to me except that I must get to the Henge; I am meeting her there, and that is all that matters.
The bus stops just short of a small path leading to the Henge.  As I slowly push my way out of the bus, I look for the point where I think she may come from.  The tour tediously crawls into the circle of stones, making fool’s exclamations the entire time.
“Look, Timmy!  Look at the big stones!  Aren’t they pretty?”
“My God, Cheryl!  Can you believe how large these stones are?”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Won’t the guys back home be jealous when they see these pictures!”
All of these so-called intelligent people come here, and ogle a bunch of stones without any understanding.  Fools, all of them.  I walk to the center of the Henge, and, turning a full circle, look for where she will come from.  Finally, I decide where I think she will emerge, a spot between a pair of pillars which have a crosspiece atop them.  I begin the song, dancing to a music only I can hear.
Things around me quiet down as I continue.  People watch me move, enraptured by the nameless, wordless melody I sing.  A child, no older than four, joins me when he learns the pattern I dance in the center.  He dances clumsily but happily beside me, knowing only that he is enjoying himself.  But soon, my pattern changes and increases in tempo, and he is left behind as I begin to whirl around the stones.  My weaving moves me faster and faster around the circle, faster and faster I pass each stone.  My voice rises in excitement, the song carrying itself out of my soul.
Slowly, a faint shimmer appears between the pair of stones I had decided upon.  It spreads from the center of the gap outward until it hits each of the four barriers around it.  The people gawk, mystified.  They know what their eyes see, but their minds wish to deny it anyway.  And then she walks through.
I stop my dance, which has brought me back to the center so that I face the now open gateway.  I hear gasps from those around me, and understand that they are surprised as much from her appearing as from her appearance.  Her ivory skin, smooth and unblemished, nearly glows in the sunlight.  Brown, bleached-blonde hair cascades down past her rounded shoulders, allowing a section in the front to cup her angelic face with its jade eyes and long, soft nose.  The dress she wears is a dark silver-steel with black trim.  It is cut in a fashion similar to that of both a Greek toga and a Japanese kimono.  It wraps around her; covering her shoulders and hanging down to the ground while leaving her arms completely bare.  Her eyes meet mine, and once again I find myself enthralled by her beauty.
The little boy again is the only one to approach.  He does so timidly, as she and I look at each other.  Then, grabbing a handful of her dress, he tugs to get her attention.  When she looks down, he asks her, “Aah you a ainjil?”  She looks down at him and smiles.
I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder as I reply, “No, son, she isn’t an angel.  She would answer so herself, but she can’t speak English.  She comes from a place far, far away.  You see, once there was an island ‑ in the sea out there ‑ that was moved for the safety of those who lived there.  It was set on a shelf, apart in time and space.  It is where she comes from, where I came from.  Now, I go home.  Remember today well, you will be the only one here who will be able to.”
“Why?”
“You are going to be given this memory as a gift.  You will remember everything and if you one day wish to, you may come to my home there.”
“Where?”
“In Atlantis.  Now I must go, good-bye, boy.”  I rise and, grasping her hand, leave the boy and the tour behind to return to the home that I had left so long ago.
* * * *
The boy watched the strange man and beautiful woman walk through the shiny wall between the big stones.  He was not really sure what had just happened, but he understood that he probably would never see such a strange thing again in his lifetime.  The shiny wall began to disappear, a hole of normalness appearing in the center and slowly opening up until there was no longer any shiny.  The boy’s spirit was dampened, but he decided that he would find other things to entertain himself.  The tour guide restarted his drawl as if it had never been broken, people moved around the circle once more; oblivious to the event which had just taken place.