One day I'd love to write a story about two guys who are friends. One of them is starstruck and the other just has this deer-in-the-headlights look. The story would NOT be about them having it all together. The story would be about them having some elaborate birth certificate from another planet or dimension. It would be about them wandering about to try to find out how to get back to this place of birth, which they have not located on any maps or in any atlases. Oh, did I mention the birth certificate is signed with the pawprint of a rather large lion? This makes it harder to carry around, so the starstruck one keeps it inside the zip-up bag for his portable telescope. At different times on the journey, one or the other of these guys cannot see the pawprint, they can't make out the names of the places the birth certificate claims that they come from, and that's o.k. since it's written in a language they can't understand and since they are in characters that they couldn't decipher anyway. However, the words certificate of birth are written in English with standard Roman letters, which are familiar to both the starstruck one and the deer-in-the-headlights one. Also their names are written in the familiar Roman script, but then violently crossed out, and next to each there are inscriptions in gold-as-if-tried-by-fire. These characters are more fluid than arabic, more harsh than cyrillic, more fine and crafted than hebrew, more dangling-yet-firm than sanskrit. None of the wanderers knows what these magical words are, but each knows that it is supposed to be his very truest name. That is why they wander, trying to find some door, some gateway that will get them home, and also, it's a way for them to understand who they have to be in this world as well. Sometimes those names and the pawprint seem to disappear, but sometimes they will conduct these luminol tests and the whole birth certificate will appear to be covered in one huge bloody signature. it seems that at one point, somewhere that whole contract was literally bathed. Luminol doesn't lie. I would imagine the rest of the time they might spend nights camping on roadsides behind trees, eating cheese and crackers, and telling each other stories.
Hey! Maybe I just wrote it. So, let me title it: The Two Wanderers