https://youtu.be/knzOpw2iuLo
Lifting himself off the hard marble floor that he had unexpectedly been lying on, Immanuel Quickley looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings and quickly came to the conclusion that, wherever he was, it wasn’t anywhere that he was supposed to be.
A grand hall, lined with towering cathedral-style windows, extended to the haze-shrouded horizon in both directions. Silver clouds drifted above him, clouds imbued with the golden glow of hidden sunlight. The place had a distinct dream-like quality to it. Immanuel wondered what he should do next. Seeing few options available to him, and not having anybody around to ask questions of, he simply began walking.
As he walked, the only thing that mildly troubled him was the fact that his thoughts were, on the whole, untroubled. Despite the extreme oddness of his situation, he didn’t feel any anxiety, just an all-consuming sensation of peace and contentment. Whatever weird place this was, he thought that he wouldn’t mind staying there for a while. It was a lot better than having media people asking you inane interview questions, or older teammates making you carry their luggage.
There were stone benches here and there, one of the few breaks in the otherwise unchanging decor. Immanuel decided to sit at one which was next to a small fountain. He was not thirsty, nor were his legs tired, but he sat anyway, and tested the water in the fountain. It was cold and refreshing on his tongue.
Immanuel sat for a while, content to relax. However, after some unknown amount of time had passed, he saw a distant figure approaching him. He watched curiously as the man drew closer. It soon became apparent that the man was naked. That was fine; he was used to seeing naked men. As it turned out, he himself was also naked.
“Yo, where are we?” the man shouted once he got within earshot.
“No idea, man.” Immanuel replied. “I hoped you might know.” Immanuel’s NBA career seemed very inconsequential to him at that moment, but his mind eventually came up with the name of the man who he was conversing with: De’Andre Hunter of the Atlanta Hawks.
“You’re that Knicks rookie, aren’t you?” De’Andre asked as he sat down on the wide bench.
The fact that the other player didn’t remember his name did not bother Immanuel. “Yeah.”
“Crazy how our dreams have combined like this.”
So De’Andre had come to the conclusion that he was dreaming. Immanuel wasn’t so sure about that. He was about to express his doubts when he heard running footsteps approaching them. Both of them turned to look at the source of the sound.
Another man was running towards them. His white robe billowed out behind him as he ran. “No! No! No! No! No!” he shouted, his voice getting louder as he drew closer. “Separate yourselves at once! Gatherings of two or more are expressly forbidden in the Hall!”
“Looks like we got a hall monitor here,” Immanuel joked, drawing a snicker from his companion.
The man was standing in front of them now, his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “The Hall…of the Thirty Point Scorers…is supposed to be…a place…of solitudinous reflection,” he panted. “Not…a place…of crude…fraternization!” While he said this, he grabbed two additional robes out from inside his own robes, and threw them at the two players. Immanuel put his on and was astounded by the luxurious comfort it afforded him.
“So we’re here because we scored thirty points?” De’Andre asked.
“Yes.”
“You live here or something?”
The man seemed to be recovered from his run. However, he still seemed nervous about something. “Yes, one could say that his is my residence. I am Carlos Delfino, the Appointed Guardian of the Hall. And, by decree of The Overseers, you two must separate at once.”
Immanuel started to reply, but was interrupted by a bolt of lightning that was immediately followed by a huge boom of thunder.
“I’m pretty sure that was just a warning shot,” Carlos said, his skin blackened and his hair smoldering after the direct lightning strike to his cranium. He noticed that his robe had caught fire and patted it out. “They could kill me if they wanted to.”
Immanuel shared a confused look with De’Andre. Would they be next to be targeted by the deific tyrants known as “The Overseers” if they didn’t comply with Carlos’ directive? Immanuel didn’t want to find out, and he also didn’t particularly want to be anywhere near Carlos if Carlos was going to get zapped by more lightning bolts. He was also eager to regain the peace and quiet that he had lost with Carlos’ arrival.
“I’m gonna split,” he said. “Congrats on the thirty points, man,” he added to De’Andre.
De’Andre nodded. “Likewise. Nice going, rook.”
Carlos pushed Immanuel in the chest to get him to start walking. “No more talking! Go! If you leave now, I might yet be spared.”
So Immanuel began walking again, feeling distinctly that the Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers was best experienced alone.