Oblivion: To the Edge and Back
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1/23/03 Until I figure out how to make hyperlinks to my oblivion stories, I am just going to post them here, in cronological order. Page building can be a pain.
1/24/03 I have posted the rest of my stories I have written so far. I will continue to post.
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4/16/03 Man, it has been a long time since I updated the site. Bad me. But I added some new stuff. Enjoy!!
Oblivion
Nothing
The world was green and alive. And so was he. Alive. So good to be alive. The world around him was separate, and yet a part of his being. All was united, and one. He looked behind him, and saw the mountains in the distance. Saw the sun setting behind them. He wished to get a better perspective on his surroundings, and made toward the mountains. The closer he got to these mountains, the colder and darker it got. When he arrived at the base of the mountain, he looked up. The gray and white mountain towered over him. A colossus of the world. He suddenly became aware of his insignificance. Of his meaninglessness, as the great mountain loomed maliciously over him. A shiver was born of these feelings, and traveled the length of his spine. Then the cold crept its way into his body. He began to ascend.
The mountain was extremely rocky and steep. He looked up. The top seemed farther away the higher he climbed. But he would persevere. He had to know. He resumed climbing.
The top was in sight. He hurried the rest of the distance up. He reached the top, and looked. Suddenly, a cloaked man stood next to him. He turned to the man.
“What am I looking at?” he asked of the cloaked man.
“You. He said, are looking at all.”
“All? But I see nothing.”
“Yes. You see nothing.”
“But I don’t understand. He said, I thought you said this was all.”
“I did. You must understand. All is nothing.”
“All is nothing? That can’t be true!”
“You have reached the end. You have obtained your knowledge. You now know what lies at the root of all. Nothing.”
“NO. It’s not true. Not true. Who are you?”
The cloaked man threw back his hood to reveal a grinning skull. “I. I am nothing.”
He looked out at all. At nothing.
“Not…True.”
And he threw himself off the edge of the mountain. And was swallowed by nothing.
Corridor
The corridor was endless, or so it seemed. You couldn’t really tell. All you saw at the end of the corridor was black. A black so inclusive, light wouldn’t even think to dwell there, even for a moment. The corridor was lined with many doors on either side. The doors, too, were infinite, and extended into the blackness. The doors are each unique, taking on the characteristics, apparently, of whatever lay beyond it. The door on your left was black in color, littered with huge indentions, similar to the claw marks of an awesome beast. On your right, the door was red in color, and in the shape of a heart. The latter of these doors seemed the more inviting, so you walked up to it, and grasped the knob. You pulled on the knob, and the door slid easily from its resting place, and revealed its contents. An ear splitting scream, like the cry of a thousand tortured souls, met your ears. You stared into the room beyond. Soon, your own screams were added to the one coming from the room. You stared into the eyes of the living, the dead, the tortured. You stared at hell. At all that you loved and hated. You slammed the door shut, the cries of the Damned still ringing in your bleeding ears. Nothing, you think, can be worse than what lay behind that door. You longed to be free of this hallway. The black door stood in front of you, begging to be opened. Beckoning. You start towards it, and grasp the handle. Your palms begin to sweat, and your heart quivers. You turn the knob slowly, and slowly, mockingly, the door creeps open. An evil blackness meets you, and travels the length of your spine. You stare, petrified, helpless, at the insane. An inhuman ethereal laugh pierces your ears, and lodges itself in your heart. You try to scream, but in its stead comes a laugh. The room swirls. Spins like a hellish merry-go-round, distorting the lines between reality, and insanity. Black and white becomes gray. You fall to your knees, sobbing like a child. The black door slams itself shut with a final, hideous laugh following it. You jump to your feet, and run towards the blackness at the end of the hall. Door after door after door you pass. Doors of a myriad of colors, shapes, sizes, doors of all. Suddenly, you find yourself on your back. The hall does have an end, as all things do. You stare at the door at the end of the hall. A plain, white door. The exit, you think, with much relief. You stand up eagerly, and pull the door open with confidence. You walk through. The door closes behind you. You turn, and pull frantically on the knob. The door does not move. You turn around. A scream tries to escape from your lips, but is frozen there, like your legs to the floor. Your heart, unable to take the strain, also freezes. Pain ravages your body. But you are helpless. Before the blackness at the edge of your vision begins to totally take control, you stare at the reflection of yourself, laughing, as you die.
Time
He stood up, and began to walk. The road was long and arduous, but he was strong and full of vim and vigor. His youthful bounce found its way into his stride. As he walked, he began to notice his surroundings. The birds sang their beautiful song. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze. All was full of life. As his walk progressed, however, he began to notice the subtle changes in his surroundings. The tree’s leaves turned their shades of orange, gold, red, and brown, and eventually, fell off, and rotted. The cold of winter replaced the warmth of the summer. The birds ceased in their songs of joy, and left their homes, in search of warmer climes. But, as he tried to stop his walk and take a longer look at these new turns of events, he realized that he couldn’t. He could not command his legs to cease. This frightened him. He yelled and screamed at them to stop. They took no heed of his pleas, and continued their step. One two, one two. One foot in front of the other. Never cease. Never stop. Always in time. As the man had no control over his legs, he continued to watch his surroundings. They continued to change. The trees became green again, and the birds returned. And they left, and returned. And the trees again became barren, and again green. Always a perfect circle. When a tree or a bird died, there was another to take its place. He could not tell the difference, so why should anyone else? Eventually, he tore his gaze from his proximate area, and focused it instead, upon himself. It was then that he took note that he too, was changing. Though not for the better, it seemed. He no longer had his vigor, his life, that had filled him not so long ago in his walk. His step had lost its bounce. His hair was grayer, skin more wrinkled. But his feet continued on, as if oblivious to his weariness and transformations. Suddenly, he noticed that he could see what lie ahead of him. He felt as if he could always do this, but had never before taken the opportunity. The absurdity of this surprised him, as one should know where one is walking to, even unwillingly. He looked ahead, and saw a gate. With each step, this gate loomed closer and closer, like a predator waiting for his prey, waiting to devour him. His fear weighed down on him like a shroud, clouding his thoughts. It was ironic, really, that with every time he willed his feet to move away from the gate, they only moved closer. He began to notice that the world around him took no note of his being closer and closer to the gate. It went on about its business like it always had. Always in the circle of life and death. The closer he came to the gate, the more weary he became. Still, his feet took no notice, and kept on with their same, steady pace. One two, one two. Left right. Always the same. He shut his eyes, and let his feet carry him. He wished no more to see the ever nearing gate. He just wanted rest. Then, suddenly, he stopped. This was such a strange feeling for him, because he had never known what it was like to not be in constant motion. He opened his eyes. He stared at the gate that loomed before him. It creaked open on rusty hinges, groaning and complaining as they moved. He had not truly stopped, no, this was a mere mockery. One last laugh as his feet began their familiar pace. One two, one two. Left right. Through the gate they brought him, screaming all the while for them to stop. But his screams were met with deaf ears. He screamed until he could scream no more, as his vocal chords, indeed, no muscles were left. He was merely bones. A walking skeleton, a shell of his former self. A soulless being, forced to wander the path for eternity, feet keeping on, with steady rhythm. One two, one two.
Sight
The heart is a pure thing. Awesomely pure, deceptively pure. Undoubtedly impure. For where else does pure evil lie, except at the heart? The core of man. I can see this evil. For I have a terrible gift. Sight beyond sight. I can see what lies in the hearts of men. Ha. The hearts of men. Such weak things. What good is a heart if one does not know how to properly use it? Men are fools. They walk through life, routine after routine, their boring, mundane lives, and ‘try’ to do good. But they live duplicitous lives. The life you see everyday is a mere façade. A masquerade. The person they want you to think they are. But secretly. Ah. Yes. Secretly, they lie, cheat, steal, kill, and think their impure thoughts. And you are none the wiser. Until I came along. I can see through the carefully laid façade, see what they don’t want you to see: truth. Truth, the truth. What a funny word to use in the light of the topic. Truth. Yes. I can tell the truth. And here it is. The truth. There is no good. No good, without evil. They are intertwined, neither one whole without the other. With to much flux in either, the equilibrium is thrown, and left in its wake, is pure chaos. With man of late, there has been such a flux. The evil is winning. True good, dying. These same men who would have you think you are safe. These are cruel men. Give you your safety. All you hold dear, safe. And then, in the dead of night, that very security they so willingly gave, they so willingly take from you. As they kill, rape, and destroy. Take. Yes. I see the truth. The truth, however, is a cruel master. No one wanted the truth to rear its great and terrible head. No one wants the lies exposed. And so, here I sit. Writing to no one. With only my four padded walls for company. This, is my reward. I have accepted my fate. For I am a danger to the world. To the lie. To the evil. To the truth. For the only real truth, I have found. Is Evil.
Dead
“Wake up. It’s time to wake. You have slept for too long. Awake.”
The voice, beckoning from the dark. Awake. Awake. No longer sleep. Don’t wish to wake. Forever sleep. The voice, calling to wake. Calling. Calling. Want you to wake. Then remember. Wake and remember. Remember, life. Remember, death. Remember. No longer sleep. Eyes snap open. The dark welcomes. Bids you good morn. Or night. Time is of no circumstance here. No, it has no influence here. No say. Only the dark. And the voice. They are the ruler, the persecutor, the judge, the executor. They are god. They command. I obey. I. What is the meaning of it? What does I mean? Am I? Am not I? Ponder these, these questions. Everything, a question. The dark laughs at my inquiries.
“What does it matter?” The dark asks. I have no reply. Curiosity seems second nature to me. My very existence, a question. Hanging in the balance. Tip scale too much, all will fall.
“Wake up. You have slept too long. Wake now.” The voice commands. Try to obey. Not yet. Longer. Wait a little longer. Not yet. Feel. Begin to feel. All around, feel. It seems. Confined. Trapped. Don’t like the feeling. Want it to stop. Need it to stop. Again, the dark laughs. Mocks. Scorns. Ridicule.
“What, are you not happy?” Laughs the dark. “You have everything you ever wanted!” Do I? Everything? Question. Inquire. Ask.
“Awaken. You have slept too long. You must awaken. Do not listen. He lies. You are empty. You must drink, feed.” Feed? What is feed? Another feeling. I do not like to feel. I want to stay asleep. Contented sleep. Forever sleep. Exist suspended. Not to feel.
“NO. YOU MUST WAKE. COMMAND YOU, WAKE! YOU ARE HUNGRY, FEED! FEED!” Hunger. To be hungry. I am hungry. But what am I? Hungry? Is that what I means? Hungry? Are my inquiries answered? Am I, hungry?
“Yes. Yes. Good. Hungry. Feed!”
“Do not hark, shut your ears to that fool! Are you not content to sleep!?” The dark questions my newfound knowledge. But the hunger has found a home in me. I now know I. What I is. What it means to exist. Exist. Hunger. I shut my ears to the dark’s pleas, never again will I listen. I have a new master. Hunger. I reach with my hand, feel my surroundings for the first time. Feel, for the first time. Feel my box, my prison, for the first time. I must escape. Hunger commands me. Feed. Escape. Feed. Hunger. Push against my wooden prison. It is strong, resist. But hunger is stronger. Push. Resist my prison. Slowly, it recedes, gives ground. I make my way to the softer, outer prison. Going is much faster. Hunger. Drive. Feed. Need. Free. I break free. Hunger breaks free. The dark makes one last plea.
“You were content to sleep! Do not waver! Come. Sleep again! Ignore the hunger. It did not know you in your sleep! Come!” Thoughts waver for a moment. But only for a moment. To be hungry is to be alive. To be awake. To be dead. The dark is full of lies. There is nothing but the hunger. Hungry. Feed. Need. Free. I pull myself free of my prison. Free to satisfy the hunger. Free. I stagger off into the night, with my fellow hungers, to feed. To feed.
Eaten
The engines roared, their turbines screaming with the speed at which they were moving. Thick black smoke spewing from the exhaust. The engines roared. The conveyor that they propelled moving with steady consistency. The engines roared. The sky turned several shades of red as the crimson sunset, giving way eventually to black. The engines roared. The belt, with sharp piercing objects protruding from it, carried its cargo to the destination. The engines roared. The blood, crimson blood, drizzling from the belt, drizzling from the cargo it carried, collecting in pools on the ground. The engines roared. The beasts of the world, and the men who ran the belts, knelt, and drank hungrily of the blood. The engines roared. The beginning of the belt, constantly being supplied with cargo. The engines roared. The men laugh and jest as they load the cargo onto the belt. The engines roared. One body after another was loaded onto the belt. The engines roared. The men never ceased in their toil. The engines roared. They sometimes loaded familiar faces onto the belt, friends, and family. The engines roared. They simply stuck them on a spike protruding from the belt. The engines roared. They watched, indifferently, as the bodies were carried slowly, steadily, toward their destination. The engines roared. The bodies were carried over miles of belt. The engines roared. Sometimes falling off, being picked up, and pierced upon a spike, carried again toward the end. The engines roared. The glowing red in the distance the only clue. The engines roared. Near the end of the trip, a black shape takes form. The engines roared. The evil head, cavernous mouth takes form from the blackness. The engines roared. Waiting for its next meal. The engines roared. The belt entering the mouth. The engines roared. Swallowing whole the cargo. The engines roared. Hate radiate for miles. The engines roared. Tires soon, of the carrion. The engines roared. Wanting for fresher meat. The engines roared. Make known its feelings, project for miles. The engines roared. The men line up. The engines roared. Stuck themselves upon the spikes. The engines roared. Carried for miles. The engines roared. Seeing their master for the first time. The engines roared. Screaming as they are devoured. The engines roared. Constant supply of meat. The engines roared. Eating his children. And the engines, forever, continue their mission, moving the belt, supplying the meat, continue forever. To roar.
Blessed
He stared out. Looked out at his servants. At his slaves. He owned them. The weak-minded fools. They were no more than zombies, stupidly following orders. He laughed. The power was great. The control, the total control. He loved it. He stared down at his pure white robe with its gold trimmings, made by his slaves for him. He looked at the gold rings adorning his fingers and the gold chains dangling from his neck. Yes, power was a great and wonderful thing. His slaves were standing there, waiting obediently. He laughed again.
“Whom do you serve?” He asked.
“We serve our master.” They droned obediently.
“Good.” He answered.
The fools had been easy enough to win over. He chose them by their personality, by careful observation. He chose lonely and depressed. He chose desperate. Hell, he would take anyone willing to serve him. And in return, he gave them hope, gave them something they had never had, never tasted before. He gave them a family.
“Is everything close to being ready?” He asked
“Yes master, everything is nearing readiness.”
“Good.”
He had already sealed their fates. He was getting old. He needed insurance in the afterlife. Wherever he was going. He would take his slaves with him.
“Is everyone ready? Remember, take your cups everyone, give it to the children and elderly first, then drink yourselves.” The slaves did not know what their futures held. All they knew was their master, and their master was god. One did not disobey god. They fed the drink to their children first, as ordered. Then finished the drink themselves.
He watched as the slaves drank their drinks, unknowingly drinking their own deaths. Ha. What power. He owned them. He looked at his own cup. He saw his reflection in the red liquid. The slaves around him had begun to fall to the ground, writhing as the cyanide flowed through their veins. They screamed in agony, screamed for their master, screamed for him to make the pain stop. There was no accusation. There was only pain. He laughed again. Such power. He looked again at his cup, and drank its red contents. He stood for a few more seconds, till he too, fell to the ground, writhing in agony. The pain was immense. He relished it, welcomed it. Loved the pain. Loved the fire, burning in his body, consuming him, drowning him. He suddenly was aware that the screams around him had stopped. All of his slaves had succumbed to the poison. He was suddenly frightened. He was alone. He was going to die alone. Tears began to fall, partly from the fear, partly from the pain.
“No, no, no, no, no NO!!” he screamed. He was not supposed to die alone. It wasn’t fair, his slaves dying before him. He would punish them in the afterlife. The pain was unbearable. He knew the end was near. As the blackness began to overtake him, he suddenly wondered,
“Is there an afterlife?” His mind raced, his fear absolute. As the blackness finally overtook him, the last thing he heard was his own blood-choked screaming.
Progression
He walked down the path. The path was paved with gold brick, trimmed with silver lining. The world around him was green, and beautiful, and alive. He smiled. Life was good. He was content to walk this path. He continued his slow, leisurely pace. He breathed slowly, in and out. The air was sweet and invigorating. As he progressed, he began to see subtle differences in his surroundings. The air became less sweet, the flora less green, the world, less alive. He sped his pace up, unwillingly. He was just compelled to go faster. The faster and further he went, the more his surroundings changed. All that was green began to whither and die. The trees became mere hulks of wood and death. The animals fled or hid. Silence filled his ears. He began to walk faster. A sudden sound met his ears. An inhuman, mechanical scream. He covered his ears in an attempt to escape this sound, and found his attempts to be futile. The scream consumed him, filled him. He was forced to listen and watch, as the world around him fell to the machine. The earth around moaned as the machine took hold. Cursed mechanical monstrosities erupted from the earth, screaming the inhuman scream, damning all to listen as it is born. Pipes spewed from the machine, pouring black smoke into the sky, and toxic sludge into the waters. The slaves of the machine lashed out, and smote all that they once cared for. All that lived became all that was dead. The slaves bowed before the machine, as it gave them power and treasure they had never known before. Damn the innocent who fell before it. For damned were they, and damned was their master. The golden road on which he stood cracked, the gold glow giving way to black death. He turned and fled, but the black followed him. The machine followed him. Progression followed him. He screamed. Screamed for all that once was. Screamed as the black overtook him, as progress overtook him. Consumed his soul. His soulless body walked toward the machine, a smile on its lips. He became a willing slave to the machine. Forever serve, his master.
Whole
Here I stand
At the threshold of all.
It’s radiance bathing me
Bathing me in all.
I stand.
Here I kneel
At the threshold of all.
The light is a burden.
Weighing on body, mind, and soul.
I kneel.
Here I sit
At the threshold of all.
The light begins to flicker and dance,
As a thousand candles in the wind.
Light now casting,
Pure dark shadow.
I sit.
Here I lay,
At the threshold of all.
Lay before the darkness.
Truth reveal its gruesome face.
Nothing.
Nothing.
All is nothing.
Here I lay before the darkness,
And die.
Guilt
They tell me to love my God.
He showers me with love.
Never did I claim this God,
In his dwelling high above.
They tell me to give this God,
My sweat, my blood, my tears.
This supreme being has his earthly needs.
The bestows upon me these fears.
You’ll burn forever,
in eternal flame.
A soul damned and broken.
And I give God the blame.
They whisper to my ear.
Forked tongue red as blood.
Hypocrisy infectious.
Words are caked with mud.
And so they tell me.
You’ll burn forever,
in eternal flame.
A soul damned and broken,
I give God the blame.
Can’t give my life to a God.
That “created” a world so cold.
Ever the true Machiavellian
Only he would be so bold.
And so they say,
You’ll burn forever,
in eternal flame.
A soul damned and broken.
And I give God the blame.
Does he feel the Shame?
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