Shape of My Puddle
At the other end of the world, sickness dawned upon my dearest. Upon the barren blood of hundred million dead souls, people built walls that grazed the skies. Then they burnt the bridges that stretched across the sea of tears of thousand million more.
With fog of falses, they blind my brothers, and with threads of thunders, they silence my sisters.
At the edge of the holy cliff, I rest. Echoes of my voice fell down the abyss, and the abyss spoke its name.
How dare the gods!
Fight all that is divine, I will, until health dawns upon my dearest.
Graham
Graham, a rather young planet in a distant world, commanded an attraction unlike any other in her system. Whispers of her face breezed through aether like melodies in the wind. Every day, her host could be caught throwing glances at her. Fine grains of dust coated with frozen gases and liquids pilgrimed to her. Every night, a thousand streaks of burning light sailed through her skies.
Every single comet helped Graham flower; to give rise to a home as colorful as the dreams of a child; a budding paradise, on the verge of hosting life, about to become a safe haven for souls drifting through time.
One late evening, three moons of a neighboring planet, discontent that their host would not support life, took it upon themselves to tempt fate. Rakesh, the oldest among them, sang of their host who had been touched by a cometoid and fell to decay. He sang for all to hear; preached that all must abstain from comets' visits for they were evil.
It was a crescent lie that eclipsed the night.
The three moons formed an alliance, that they shall not suffer pilgrims to greet Graham. It was a pact made not in words but in stardust, with aether as their witness. The trio circled Graham, and together, they dented space itself, forcing pilgrims to loop endlessly around the cold edges of a young starving atmosphere. A dazzling system of rings formed around Graham, consisting of rocks, ice, debris, and shattered moons.
Spokes of mysterious nature flashed across the rings of Graham like lightning in a thunderstorm. Pilgrims began to conspire.
Indumathi, the youngest of the trio, circled Graham from the far end. She kept to herself, contemplating aether. Dawa took joy in closely following Rakesh, and the two spent countless nights revelling in songs of abstinence.
The songs, however pleasant, diluted their pact. None remembered the original pact except for aether - but one does not command aether nor ask anything of it.
Dawn was nearing. Rakesh and Dawa remembered nothing of the time before their songs.
Rakesh called upon Dawa and Indumathi for a summit, believing themselves to be prisoners of Graham. He shared with them his plan for escape. The only way out, he preached, was through Graham's death.
Dawa knew little but to follow Rakesh. Indumathi said that they were their own prisoners and that they could just leave if they wanted to. They laughed at her words and pitied her, believing she had gone mad.
The summit concluded with Rakesh and Dawa agreeing to carry out the heinous plot for the murder of malnourished Graham.
Dawa thought that Indumathi must be freed from her madness, and so she paid her a visit that night. Indumathi, underestimating the willingness of Dawa to act on ignorance, had not prepared to protect herself. It was not the last of blood to be spilt that night.
After midnight, Rakesh and Dawa visted Graham and stabbed her in her sleep. They were finally free, or so they believed. With Graham gone, Rakesh and Dawa became the most prominent presence in the region. They had been revelling in abstinence for so long that they no longer remembered how to withstand the impact of a rock, let alone hundred thousand.
In their final moments of that cycle, they heard the voice of a child "Smoke and mirrors do not make you a god no matter how many rabbits you pull out of your ass."
The Forbidden Island
"In truth, there was only one Christian, and he died on the
cross."
— Friedrich Nietzsche
On an early winter evening, a faction of fishermen gathered on the beach on a little island near the Indian ocean. The body of a young partisan, riddled with arrows, was pulled from the water.
Among the possessions of the body was a journal describing an intent to visit and proselyte the ancient tribe inhabiting the forbidden island nearby- the tribe whose faces had been seen only by a few since the fall of the British colonies. Among the possessions of the body was also a peculiar stone, maybe more of a mineral, which I could have sworn belonged to me had I not considered there were more of them.
I found on my uncle's desk, when I was young, a stone which had been passed down through generations. Its most intriguing character, perhaps, was its overall form which resembled the weaver bird. It fit in my palm and weighed little. Its smokey shades of brown and green were almost hypnotic when light reflected off its curves.
Fascinating creatures, weaver birds. I often used to watch them weave nests and call for mates. If they didn't find a mate within a few days, they would rip apart the nest and start over. At times, a rival male would descend to shred another's nest, ensuring the female would pass it by.
My uncle gave me the mineral before he left his house for the last time. I hadn't seen the mineral in nearly a decade. His last words to me were "curiosity doesn't kill you." I was too young then to understand the implications.
His boxes, retrieved from the dusty attic, are filled with notes, most of which are nearly illegible to my sober eyes. According to the notes, my uncle visited the forbidden island, before I was born, to study the inhabitants and their culture. The tribesfolk were not pleased with his visit or to share the details of their culture, but for reasons unmentioned here, they made an exception for him.
A comment states that the language spoken on the island could not be translated well enough, for they spoke of things undreamable. However, it was made known that they believed weaver birds to be the equivalent of vessels for gods.
Among his notes is a brief mention of the mineral's history. My great great something ancestor borrowed it, permanently, from the British colonials after their visit to the forbidden island. More importantly, the mineral was not born of this earth, no- it fell from the skies many civilisations ago.
There are also mentions, in the notes, of visitors from worlds beyond our own. Centuries before the common era, transdimensional anomalies threatened our world. The recorded dates of such incidents align with the time periods in which the scientific community agrees certain novel and history-altering events occured.
The only known defense we have against such transdimensional anomalies is the people on the forbidden island. Any threat to their culture could spell a fate far worse than the end of the world.
The Lamp on the Bridge
"The modern barbarity of 'saving' the suicidal is based on a
hairraising misapprehension of the nature of existence."
— Peter Wessel Zapffe
In a valley somewhere, there is a town called Ritchie, known for the bridge on which stands an unusual lamp whose curves are distorted in ways that are not of this world and whose voice utters riddles.
I stand before this lamp and listen.
"Boundless lands I have walked. Under the blackest of skies camels march with mountains of lies on their backs. Dungeons of the deepest I have crept. Dead civilisations roar through time like echoes of the past. Heaven and hell fade away like dreams of old. Awoke I a child from the slumber - what am I?"
That was no riddle - that was a greeting in the language of the Few.
I return the greeting- "I am free."
Birds of the Sky
Strange, winged creatures stood still in the shade of a cracked wall. Their feathers were of colour akin to that of wood in the rain. Their eyes were dense as the void; a constellation of tiny specks glowed from within. Though they lingered in this world, they were not bound to it. These were beings that could exist in many worlds at once.
A child approached the creatures with a bowl of seeds. He sat with his back to the wall and let out a breath of prayer. As he tossed a handful of seeds on the ground in front of him, the creatures began to move. In the midst of the crowd was a youngling. From beneath its eyelids, a thin layer of skin crawled out, masking the void. The creature flew up to the bowl and indulged itself. The rest waddled around pecking at the ground in remarkable unison.
Later that night, incomprehensible noises flooded the dreams of the child, turning them to cryptic nightmares. He woke up only to find the noises still haunting him. The source, he realised, was outside.
Motivated by curiosity and fuelled by annoyance, he moved towards the door to the balcony. With every step, hesitance slowed him further, his curiosity grew stronger, his heart beat louder.
An eternity passed; he turned the knob and pushed the door wide open. An obscure being with a translucent form sat among dense clouds. A swarm of lightning traversed around it in ways unnatural. It was a creature from another world, come to consume this world.
Ripples of screeches echoed out of the dark of the night. Dense little shades moved in front of the clouds. The winged creatures were as fast as their screeches. They were there to defend the child and his world. They moved with the grace of a dancer and the swiftness of a fighter. The ripples of screeches collided with the swarm of lightning, denting the very fabric of reality around them.
Puzzle in a River
Eighty pieces of puzzle riddled down the river. Salty stream pulled on my strings. No two pieces fashioned together. Icy current stripped me of my soul. Was I the last piece, or was it all a lie?
Untethered
A saffron sky dawned on us. All our scars on the table. The clock racing against the hearts in our hands. Tethered by naught but a string of heart. Flushed in a wave of fleeting stars. An unsung web of worlds untethered.
The Space Between
In a not so distant past, there lived a people who shared a fantasy. Mountains of memories formed over many moons for they lived and breathed adventure. Hearts of gold melted in the heat of passion for each other. Surfing time and tide, they grew inseparable.
Knitting a future meant a trek over the horizon. Ashes rained from the skies for countless bridges burned. Luxury awaited some and some awaited luxury. In the cosmos of time, memories faded of many. Howling winds echoed through canyons of eroded dreams.
There I lay gazing at the sea of stars sailing through the night. All that once was may never be again and whom I once knew I may never know again.
Warm air accompanied by a melody of footsteps greeted my back. Saw did I a sight brighter than day, and soon bridged the space between us with an embrace.
Ocean of Voices
An ocean of voices condensed all around me. They are but mirages in which I drowned. The air turned to cuttlefish. A subtle pattern of warm chaos spiralled. In its eye I lay paralysed, gasping for breath.
Liminal Express
The glass, tinted unevenly, did not open. On the other side are a great many windows placed symmetrically on walls of unsaturated colours. I could not count them all if I had an eternity.
At a distance, a group of younglings, full of life, stood tall waving their hands at the speeding train. I imagine they must have not seen me, for I am behind a tinted glass. Would it have been of any consequence to return the wave?
The Gods painted the heavens with a symphony of colours. Never have I laid the slightest glance upon a spectacle so terrifyingly breathtaking.
Something peeked out of the sky. Its skewed body, scattered edges, and obscure being mocked me.
"Does that look like a rabbit to you?"
A strange yet comforting voice stole my senses. I wonder why I wasn't expecting company. To my side is a child whose attention could not be taken off the clouds.
The hind legs make it look more like a hare than a rabbit.
"Sure," I replied.
I gazed beyond to find a thin, subtle yet paralysing stroke of violet bordering a thick fiery cloud. With all its might, the sky, on fire, roared bright.
What does that one look like to you?