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#Post#: 405714--------------------------------------------------
Rebirth
By: Default User Date: February 19, 2016, 3:31 pm
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Amidst a maelstrom of chaos and darkness; drifting through the
depths on a breeze that held no warmth, aloft like a windswept
feather, a massive pillar of earth and molten metal wanders
through the reaches of the immaterial. Atop the fang-shaped
colossal island; standing like a beacon of withering light in
the damnable darkness, a single crystal cathedral holds resolute
against the infinite night. There, in that temple of pristine
order and clarity; nestled deep within the womb of infinite
shadow, rests but one simple monument to its construction. A
single laid stone with the engraving of a name long since worn
away.
The stone rests at the base of a low altar; dust and ichor cast
aside by the darkness now all that call the place home, and atop
the altar itself sits a bound book of inexorable power. The tome
of creation; the history and future of all realities. There in
those pages; bound by powers beyond comprehension or definition,
stands the testament of all beings, all places, all
possibilities, and within the infinitely expanding words
unreadable by mortals, there lies power beyond compare. Every
spell, every scientific achievement, every fantastical idea...
Everything
Since the beginning of time the book has been there. Before the
gods, demons, angels; before men, beasts, and the infinite life
forms above, between and beyond them, it has sat and collected.
Before creation; until destruction, and until creation again,
the book will eternally wait and decypher all the universes have
to hold. Every blade of grass, shift in wind, drop in
temperature will be accounted for. There in those pages nothing
is sacred, nothing is secret... Nothing is safe...
In this great temple; in a sea beyond time and space, alone and
disconnected from all that could or would learn of it, the book
exists to be forever unread. Upon the pages of the eternal tome
one would find their birth, their death, their fears and hopes.
Every last detail of life and death. The penultimate source of
power.
And finally... it's been found.
Gabriel; once bound to the tome and bearer of its word, sits
outside of the temple doors looking in through brightly lit
stained glass. Memories of mortal churches twisting the image of
the simple building into a massive towered cathedral before him.
Shifting the ground underfoot to soft grass and even turning the
breeze to a lovely summer one. Complete with the whispered songs
of birds in the distance. The complicated creature; so old and
still so young, an infinite number of identities spanning every
era, generation, and time period to have been recounted or
learned of, opens the large crystal doors with a heavy sigh, and
steps into the awaiting hall.
His eyes fall upon the glorious book that looms in the distance;
moving to it as if he had always been beside it, and as he
finally stares down upon its cover once more, the exhileration
of whats to come fills him heart and soul. His eyes tear up at
the idea of losing so much; his life, friends, family, and yet
his heart yearns for the return of his solidarity. To be free of
guilt, regret, confusion and sadness. He lifts the book with a
soft sigh, and with perfect grace of mind and body, the seal is
loosened, and a single page is tugged from within the books
recesses. No sound or movement identifies the tearing of the
page, but as Gabriel pulls the torn sheet from inside the book,
his exhileration turns into cold resolve.
He drops the heavy tome back onto the altar; casting it aside as
he was soon to cast every last thing he knew aside, and with
page in hand, he marches to the back of the cathedral and draws
out a blood red feather quill. He dips the quill in ink that
seemingly appears out of thin air, and when the black liquid
touches the edge of the paper, everything hesitates. Stuttering
like time were a record caught skipping, all of reality begins
hopping back and forth by a mere nanosecond, as the lightly
touched sheet awaits further correction to its contents. The
contents of page one... The beginning.
In a blink; with but one word written, everything... began.
There had never been a book, a cathedral, an ocean of darkness
beyond reality. Gabriel had never been, his family had never
been, his friends had never been. Nothing was all encompassing
until that moment. There were no words; no thoughts, no
concepts. There was only the beginning... and in the beginning,
there was but one spark of light in darkness; one blooming spot
of life in the endless nothingness. From that heart pumped all
of creation; like blood flowing into the veins of the universe,
of reality. From that star; that nexus of beginnings, came
everything. Chaos followed order, life followed death, time was
given definition, and possibilities were once again endless.
Though it would take an eternity; from the first star to the
first plant, to the first sentient being and source of
creativity: From the first atom to the first cell, light would
spread outward into the darkness and once more take its place to
create balance.
............
Beneath the veil of a large oak tree; wrapped in cloaks of brown
and grey, and reading a historical piece of parchment to
himself, a young man of a mere twenty four years, seeks the
wisdom of his elders. His eyes scan page after page as he loses
grip with reality and dives headlong into the stories of the
ancients. Of mythical creatures and fantastic journeys. His mind
races onward and upward through the clouds as he reads and hides
from the day's blinding sun, but somewhere beyond the excitement
of the moment, he knows he had better things to be doing. His
place as a monk was never a choice; having been given to them as
a sign of faith and humility by his former family, he had been
forced into the service of the heavens, and the only reason he
hadn't left were the scrolls.
The young man; Adam as he was known by the other brothers of
heaven, had a gift for memorizing whatever interested him. The
monks wanted for him and never rushed him; though the master of
the temple nearby had wished to try on more than one occasion,
but Adam never seemed open to exploring their actual way of
life. Of their ritualistic service to some being they could not
see. Their constant prayers and silent meditation. Adam refused
to believe what he could not touch or witness himself, and only
in his imagination did he dare to wonder if what they spoke of
was real. He hid when training was being done; shyed away from
the ceremonial prayers and rites, and only dove into faith when
it suited his exploration of some ancient scroll.
His body; from head to toe, was etched with the runic carvings
and writing of his brotherhood. The rites of passage as a boy,
for a man, and as a monk were all written into his flesh with
ink and torn flesh. He was one of the servants of heavenly order
in body, but there under that tree, he was just Adam, a young
man lost to the idea of adventure and fantasy...
There under that oak tree... It all began
#Post#: 405799--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Ευ&amp
;amp;amp;amp;#945; Date: February 21, 2016, 4:21 pm
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There exists a part of a building, enclosed by white walls,
white floors and a white ceiling and in this white room, there
is a paragon. She is the epitome of perfection but she is also a
figment of the imagination, a work of art splattered on the
wall, always in an advanced state of disarray - a melting girl,
with picturesque cerulean eyes and a plump, turned lip. It’s
atmosphere is a little damp and the air is stale but that could
be quickly changed; maybe with a scented candle but what candle
could do the obscure artwork any justice without seeming out of
place, in such a room? If you look for too long, your field of
vision would appear paralytic and you’ll begin to lose
perception of reality, of time and space, the artwork and the
disturbed girl would not be the only problem you have. She is a
plague that will forever haunt your mind, a distant memory
poking and probing when you need silence to swallow you whole,
but she is also subtle. A paradox in her own right.
She is called Daya Anfal.
The mind, and the artist behind the piece lays in a pale roseate
tub in a summery acre in the heart of a -paradise- garden, laced
with fruit trees and fragrant plants. The sauna, endowed with a
light mist was a place of pleasure, the place where,
nonetheless, Eva had learnt that pleasure could stab and sting,
could puncture and burn. Paving the walk to the sauna, are
ceramic tiles, and above, a wide pavillion, providing shade.
When the woman’s body rises, like a phoenix coming alive from
ashes, she places her hands on two stone statues, sitting at
either side of her naked body, spouting from their angelic
mouths, water.
As she walks along the pathway, she reaches for her light azure
robe, hanging from a flimsy branch, to veil her body with,
though the sheer material didn’t provide any cloaking of her
slender waist, her long, satin thighs, or her plump breasts,
cushioned atop of a ribcage, all too visible under the light
layer of skin protecting it. Eva was a frail woman, with eyes
too large for a hollow face, and hair too thick and too dark to
frame her ivory skin. She felt her flesh was no longer fit to be
touched, having barely survived the grip of death. In all her
adult life, not a single breath was drawn without pain and her
lungs throttled her out of existence many a times, but she
always demanded to live, so she could prevail in creating the
very things she worshiped. Her profound love and intimacy with
paper was demented to say the least but she refused to be
stripped of it.
Taking a seat on a wooden bench just after the entryway, she
reaches for a cigarette, lighting it up and placing it between
her pale lips to inhale sharply, the familiar blend of benzene,
formaldehyde, and hydrogen cyanide intoxicating her, taking her
on a journey in her own mind - where she sees mythical beings,
where she sees creatures, made of wood that could talk, she sees
plantlife as bright as the sun above her head and she craves to
touch these things, these things that only appeared in her mind
and when it comes to an end, along with her cigarette, she feels
a wave of nostalgia lingering on her tongue, leaving a
bittersweet taste to bloom against her tastebuds. She once read
somewhere that a cigarette is a unit of time; how far is the
next town? Four cigarettes away. How long until you’re done? One
cigarette.
It was always like this, the waiting, the metamorphosis, and the
brief lapse of whimsical endeavors passing by each other like
proverbial ships in the night -all in her little mind- then the
repugnant resolve she would feel afterwards when faced with
cold, harsh reality; sometimes for hours; other times, for
weeks, mixed with a permanent state of depression. She makes her
way out of her safe haven, and begins along a path, letting her
mind navigate her. After an hours long walk, she becomes
obsessed with the ground beneath her, not looking up from it,
even for a second. There was nothing interesting about the way
her bare feet dug into the dirt beneath her, but the young,
burdened soul seemed to find some thought-provoking aspect about
it; maybe it was to pass time, maybe it was because she was
parched, maybe she was just crazy.
“I’m. . a ghost when I walk in, holy spirit when I walk out. .”
She begins to sing, her burnt skin catching her peripheral
vision, and suddenly she is tormented by the thought that she
is, inexplicably, not as pretty as she has seemed to be. Eva is
so engrossed in her skin, she doesn’t notice the oak tree beside
her, nor the man sitting beneath it - she simply continues
looking at her raised arm, examining it and trying to remember
what it looked like before the transformation.
“There is a face beneath this mask, but it isn't me. I'm no more
that face than I am the muscles beneath it, or the bones beneath
that.”
She talks to herself, quoting an author she didn't quite
remember the name of in that moment, but not caring much for it
either.
She wasn’t herself.
Eva wasn't herself.
#Post#: 406014--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Default User Date: February 29, 2016, 3:48 am
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Adam lifts his head for but a moment; breaking away from a
particularly interesting tale about a noble warrior uniting an
entire land under a single banner, and as he does, he is
absolutely shocked at what he sees. The nearby altars,
monuments, shrines, and temples are always open and home to many
who come seeking heaven, but never had Adam witnessed what now
stood before him. So enthralled by the vision near his place of
seclusion, he almost forgets about the book across his lap and
loses his page in an absent-minded attempt to move. His hands
grasp the thick binding of the book with a silent glare, as he
breaks off his stare and quickly hides the book back in the
hollow of the tree. If he were caught reading outside the temple
he would surely be banished. It was forbidden to read the words
of fiction and lore of old if not pertaining to the heavens and
his worship. Such was his biggest failure as a monk.
When the book is tucked away; safe and invisible to the prying
eyes of passer-bys, Adam stands up and bows low at the waist.
Before him the woman; startlingly radiant in the midday
moonlight and sunlight, is so distracted by herself that the
young monk is seemingly ignored. He watches her feet as she
moves slowly away from him; cautious not to catch her eye or be
seen as a simple pervert, but when he can no longer bear the
idea of missing another glance at her before the apparition
would no doubt vanish, he lifts his head ever so slightly.
To his delight her eyes are elsewhere when he again watches her;
moving like a lost child through the forest, aimlessly, casually
walking in far less than what the monk had ever seen before, and
without failing to notice her curves and the seductive form she
holds, he lingers at the edge of her chin and neck. Waiting and
hoping for but a single glimpse into her eyes before looking
away. No women he had ever seen were so vibrant; so bold, and in
his mind he saw her as a great princess from the legends he
loved. Some lost mythical daughter of the gods... If only he
could see her eyes...
#Post#: 406067--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Ευα Date: February 29
, 2016, 4:00 pm
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One can depict six basic facial expressions and each could be
portrayed in steadily increasing potency. Eva’s landscape, in
that moment, if examined accurately, portrayed none. Her face
was void of emotion, and the further into unknown territory she
traversed, the more her physical articulation blurred,
expressing nothing. When a few minutes later, a pair of eyes
hover over her like that of a night owl, she tilts her slender
neck to the side, making her gentle and delicate presence even
more particular to the lands surrounding her, and the man
scrutinising her. At last, her cerulean gaze meanders over the
soft colours of the woodland’s landscape, the subtle light from
above that peeked through ripped leaves casting beautiful
shadows over the incandescent plants, her burnt skin a faint
memory, forgotten for the time being.
“Asenath, my mother, once asked me what I wanted to be when I
grew up,” notwithstanding, she possessed in full, her -deceased-
mother’s seriousness, “I was three. I told her I wanted age and
experience.” And then, her first expression, the sides of her
lips tug down, as the lines in her forehead crease; an
inconceivable sadness that showed her bare soul, capable of
arousing the same emotion in the man, considering, of course, he
had a heart. Eva didn’t particularly address him. Anyone in her
vicinity would be able to hear, but it seemed the two were
alone.
“My first sister, Bethel, had a horsey face, and a long neck. I
always knew that neck would hang from a rope one day but, I
didn’t think it’d be so soon.”
There is a lack of connection in her thoughts, her memories, and
her feelings. The thought of her sister's suicide being too
difficult to deal with and tread back to, Eva disassociates
herself with it, her main identity assuming control over her
behaviour once more. She was the last of five sisters, and often
times, she felt the weight of her lineage on her shoulders
driving her into the dirt beneath her, to her own grave. For a
time at least, before suffering the loss of self-respect, before
the humiliating experience had broken the spring of her youth
and replaced the pleasure she begot from the life and play of
her art, by a sad sense of fealty and an inexorable
consciousness of moral and ‘religious’ obligation, Eva drew for
her own amusement. Art simply made her happy.
The power of masking emotion out by painting could turn
loneliness into content. The ordeal she had passed through had
seemingly shattered her in health and when her blue eyes finally
settle on the man, they are tired, her small pleasant features
accentuated. She seemed like an angel, her skinny frame and wild
hair adding to her allure.
“Do you believe in God?”
She tilts her head and bites her bottom lip unintentionally.
The question didn't seem to fit the circumstance, but neither
did the woman asking it.
It didn't matter though, Eva was becoming herself.
#Post#: 406104--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Default User Date: February 29, 2016, 9:37 pm
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Staring in near disbelief at the woman's words; random and
incoherant to one outside of the memories associated to them,
the monk lifted himself back to a pressureless standing position
and accepted in full his curiousness. Withholding questions that
bubbled on his tongue and ate at his mind, the young man
witnessed an array of emotions he had never before known. Such
sorrow and sadness as to make the earth herself weep, and the
sky shed its beautiful blue for a far darker tone. He thought
over her demeanor and expressions; recounting tales of those
lost to their own mind: The delusional and deranged as he was
taught to know them, and when she finally turned to look upon
Adam with a weary expression, he hesitated.
He had never known another outside of the shrine maidens; the
monks and ritual masters, and never before had any of the
outsiders spoken to him. As if in agreement with his
trepidation, her words fell like an unnerving wave over him. She
knew who he was; where they were, what that meant... Right?
Surely she would know him to be a man of the cloth; of the
covenate under heaven, of god. The shrines all around; the runic
tattoos and even his apparel indicated his place among the
believers.
Although... If for but a moment he considered the honest truth;
never letting the thought escape his features or free from his
lips, he knew the answer was far more concerning. He suffered
through uncertainty; his faith like the last few rays of
sunlight before night fall, always on the edge of the darkness
and damnation of non-believers. Such was his fear: Of falling
into the pit from whence there was no return. Of a death without
an eternal existence beyond...
The monk drew away from the woman; a few casual steps as his
attention moved elsewhere in an attempt to break her
other-worldly gaze, and when he had made but a few adjustments
to his garment while moving, he turned back with a resolute
expression, and a solemn sounding voice. "M'am I am a man of
god... of the celestial rivers and mountains. I most assuredly
believe in god..."
His attention flickered all about her face as he kept his calm
and steeled his nerve "You are here at a great place of worship;
speaking to one of belief in god, when perhaps you have been led
here to learn of your own belief... of the faith entrusted to
you by our creator" The monk dribbled on with a reserved and
casual fluidity; picking each word with caution, as he made his
way back to the spot where he had been reading. There he turned
back to the woman, slowly sat cross legged at the trunk where
his trophy book hid, and patted the soil before him.
"Come... sit... speak with me of your beliefs, and I will do as
we of the cloth are destined"
#Post#: 406113--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Ευα Date: March 1, 20
16, 7:50 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Between the time it took for the woman to ask the question and
the answer to register, Eva had closed the little distance
between them, following his steps, her fixed resolve tearing
through his back. Artists always had a sensitive eye - in order
for their work to touch the heart of others, they had to capture
everything they drew faithfully, they had to be true to the
paper, they had to worship the many realities they journeyed
through because even the slightest of doubt would be apparent.
Maybe in the lack of detail to a wrinkle of an eye; or a wrong
shade of emerald; maybe in a disturbed brush stroke, or maybe in
the whole demonstration, in which case it would be time to
abandon everything, and start anew. Eva’s greatest fear was
losing her touch to distinguish the greatest studied landscape
of all time - the human face.
Happiness, sadness, laughter are all easily recognisable, they
should need no label. Expressions of disapproval, reverie, or
even doubt however, are vague and have no particular identity on
the face, so when the man showed signs of neither, it only told
Eva what she had already come to know about herself - that when
you want to hide something, you dig into the box of masks in
your psyche, and put one on. So when he spoke, a look of
disapproval painted her own features, gracefully taking the seat
he had offered and unknowingly, in the process of doing so,
forcing her robe to open up some, baring her cleavage, and her
cold skin.
Bullshit.
“You know. . the oak has many roots,” she pauses for a moment,
pressing her palm to the bark of the tree they were sat under, “
they extend so far down it’d be hard to knock it.” Finally, she
looks up at him once more, her soft hand pressing against his
chest, “how deep did you have to dig to find the answer to the
question?”
For a moment, there is a faint fleeting recognition, in her
eyes, of their shared character, of their placid,
information-drenched, spiritually confused judgement and when it
passes, a smile makes it’s home to her plump, rosy lips. She
leans forward, so those same lips are just about hovering over
his before speaking again, “I used to speak to the sky until one
day I realised it was empty,” with every utterance, her lips
brushed against his, but Eva seemed ignorant to their unvoiced
-sexual- encounter for in her mind, there was nothing she could
see but innocence budding between them, “tell me, does God speak
to you the way I do?” The hand on his chest presses harder, but
her touch stays tender, “does he touch you the way I do?” Their
mouths once more, touch in a way they generally shouldn’t be
touching.
But Eva doesn’t care.
#Post#: 406117--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Default User Date: March 1, 2016, 8:45 am
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As quicly as the monk had invited the woman to sit and talk; her
fragrant and chaotic demeanor shifting inch by inch as she drew
closer, he resigned himself to the folly of perpetuating yet
another lie. "Roots often run deep, but tis but a simple task to
sever the trunk and let the tree fall..." His voice deepened;
the tone one of authority and resolve, as she placed a hand upon
his bare skin, and the coiled scripture over his form began to
glow."God is all and with his word I am touched by the blessings
of the eternal..."
Such was the pressure of his gifted physical form; adorned with
the etchings of the creator's praise, and such was the curse all
the monks suffered through. Or so Adam wished to believe... But
none of the others had even once faltered and allowed their
script wrapped body to bear the glow of judgement.
Sin: Blasphemous dereliction to the order and the faith. Frailty
or uncertainty. Waning conviction... All would ignite the
accused in the glow of heaven, and upon that bell's toll the
bearer is beset by the most horrendous of pains. Mind numbing
and blood boiling pain stretches from every word; every warped
line of text, and when it has spread across the entire body and
mind, the judged is only released upon their confession of
gult...
Though in truth... It just stings a little...
As Adam pulses with the first sign of his unhinging conviction,
he stands quickly to face the woman now no more than a foot
away. His eyes narrow; a dark and cold expression turning the
contours of his face into straight edges of cutting
determination, as his voice slips through on an icy wind and
adorns him in its absolute purity. "Upon this earth you are but
a shadow of a fragment of what you could be in the hands of his
eternal creator. You walk this land for the word of god has
allowed it so. You speak and move of your own will because the
omega declared it your right. You live and you die for the honor
of serving in a court of perfection at the table of his lord."
Adam's temper begins to flare; his anger at the putrid taste of
his own words and not the woman, and as the pulsing of his runic
scripture brightens to a near blinding point, he is lost to the
torrent of his own growing lie. His icy bravado melts in a river
of anger fueled flames; boiling his cold glare down to an
ominous shallow steel of a warrior's blade as he looks over the
woman and lets escape a devilish grin.
"For the chance at truth in this chaos we are given a chance to
see into the eternal and know of its warmth. We are the children
sent out of our home to build upon our faith and one day return
to the everlasting paradise. You are not yet lost, and with my
head held high and my heart so full of heavenly knowledge that
angels would weep for it, I will hear your confession and be rid
of your sin upon this spot."
His breathing had become very ragged and broken; the absolute
sarcastic rage burnt into the back of his throat as he broke
himself down into a hysterical and frantic race for coherant
thoughts. The light that sought to envelop him in its entirety
forced his eyes closed as he fought the overwhelming power of
the judging aura. The second bell had tolled and Adam was slowly
being drawn into himself for his feelings of guilt. His own
remorse and confusion at not being utterly faithful and devout.
His own fear of retalliation from god, from the monks, from
everyone. It drew from his very soul his truest of feelings, and
under the most inept of disguises. Each word had become a mirror
to the truth as he rattled onward and forward through his
deteriorating state.
Soon the final bell would toll and Adam would be forever bound
by the judgement laid upon him by the scripture. By god. He
would either live or die by the glory of heaven, and in those
moments before the passing of judgement upon him, he would be so
lost to the damnation he subconsciously believed he deserved,
that he would scarcely realize just how brightly he did shine...
Like a star...
#Post#: 406128--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Ε&a
mp;#965;α Date: March 1, 2016,
11:50 am
---------------------------------------------------------
When at first he speaks, Eva processes the words like any other
person would, in chronological order, but as he continues on,
and with it, a perpetual glow accents his marred and yet
surprisingly heavenly skin, she retreats further until her back
is pressed against the oak tree, and his words become a running
current; unpredictable and too divine for the likes of her; and
she is trapped in a prison she had made for herself, the
barriers around her not real, but not typical of an institution
either. In her -lunatic- mind, the glow radiating from the man
was a setting sun in the distance; by blocking out and avoiding
reality, Eva guards herself against a mental breakdown and the
possible threat of a switch in character; she likes her dominant
self, and often times, didn’t get to be that version of Eva.
In that moment, the sea in front of the setting sun was
indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly
creased like a cloth or a face with wrinkles in it, fragmented
by the ripples that had formed on the surface. The horizon was
an artist’s muse, details of crimson, and bright orange painting
it like flames engulfing blue birds. When the man becomes
brighter, the air seemed to become fibrous, the walls around the
prison becoming clearer and more vivid, and to tear away from
the red surface, that seemed like a fire, Eva had to prepare for
what was to come, though she didn’t know how.
Gradually, the fibres surrounding the man were fused into one
haze, a luminosity that drew her eyes away and shattered her
handmade prison, turning it into millions of atoms of soft cyan.
The surface of the sea slowly becomes transparent, along with
it, the horizon behind it, until there was nothing but the
weight of her situation burying her into the ground. The woman
fidgets, slender fingers wrapping around the soft fabric of her
robe to tighten it around her midsection as she rocks back and
forth, unable to look at him any longer, her eyes wide and
absurdly out of place. When her disbelief transpires and she is
forced to face the ‘perpetrator’, she rises from the black
hollow beneath, looking up at the sky irascibly.
The final bell was yet to come.
“Show yourself you coward!” There was a list of things running
through her mind, and as she shook, she couldn’t decide which
atrocity to let out first, which of the misfortunes to bring to
light but it dawned on her she didn’t have to verbally
articulate them, but she needed to get them off her chest. “Were
we your mistake, or, or. . . were you ours?” She stammers, but
continues on, not breaking her gaze from the sky, “Why did you
let your catholic priest sodomise Esther? Why?! Why did Anne
have to burn in this life? Why did you let her bring hell to
earth? Why did you push Leah off that roof?” And that’s when
Eva finally acknowledges the man, walking to him, but still
aiming her gaze at the sky, afraid to be blinded otherwise,
taking his hand aggressively in her own, not aware of how
harshly her bony fingers squeezed his.
“Is he my punishment?!?”
Soon, the woman would lose control, she needed to stop
everything before that happened, and it seemed confronting the
big elephant was the only way to do so. She challenged 'him'.
Her heart screamed, her mind became overbearing, and she wasn’t
sure she would make it through the whole ordeal, but she needed
answers to her questions, more than she wanted to be ‘cleansed’
of her sins like the man had initially offered.
#Post#: 406222--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Default User Date: March 2, 2016, 4:38 pm
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The tarmac was hot; almost unbearable to walk across in fact,
and the sun wasnt setting anytime soon. The heat rose off the
runway in sheets; distorting the horizon into a grey wave, and
before the cold night air would wash through the desert airport,
there would be many more complaints inside about broken central
air. So many travellers had already threatened to sue; several
others had threatened staff, and all in all it was hell on
earth. The crowds had only grown as more and more flights were
postponed, delayed, or cancelled entirely, and all the weary
travellers were beginning to fuse into a riotous blob.
Many airports had closed in the instant bombs were dropped over
the US and Russian soil. Many others still had quickly altered
routes and shifted flight plans to try and ferry people as far
away as needed. It was only a matter of time; there in that sea
of burdened passengers, travellers, and employees, and when the
rest of the countries began to fight, surely it would be the
end.
Political rivals, military supremacy, capitalistic genocide, it
was all there day after day. Week after week. Year after year.
Growing from wars in unknown lands, to wars on our streets, and
wars in our homes. Idiotic; puppet leaders, with strings a mile
long and easily seen, led the world to ruin, and gained little
more than a fool's pot of gold in return. The tanks, the jets,
the defensive capabilities or military might, it didn't matter.
When the first air-burst contagion burst from its canister and
began the epidemic, there was no point in running. There was
only certain death in the near future. Certain... painful...
death.
Adam; at the verge of reality; stood on the tarmac with wide
eyes as an entire lifetime flashed before him. As he grew, aged,
and inevitably died. He learned, grew, fell ill, and memorized
everything that he witnessed. It seared into his soul while he
basked in the glory of god's final bell. He entered another
life; his life in another world, and in that fleeting instant
before his certain death in both realities, he smiled.
Hysterical laughter broke away from his lips as he witnessed a
far worse, far more tragic, and eye opening world unfold before
his eyes. He watched humanity end over nothing, and silently
thanked god for the chance at life in a far simpler world. He
genuinely apologized for not having the proof his fickle mind
needed. He cried out in protest of his own ignorance and his
haste at losing his way.
In the moment before condemnation; on the precipice of slipping
into an eternity of nothingness, Adam admitted his sin to
himself, and sought forgiveness from the holy father. He sought
out the clarity of truth and declared it his truest goal. To
revel in the history of the lord; of god's work beyond the
simplicity in his own world. He would come to learn of the
fallen reality. Of the horrid hellish landscape of those who
came before. He would dive headfirst into loving each second of
his life in god's grace.
Well.... He would have...
When again Adam opened his eyes; believing himself forgiven,
alive, ready to explore what the world had to offer, there was a
far more gruesome fate awaiting him. When he tore his gaze away
from the nearby earth and the tree shaded grass, there stood
before him a wasteland. The world he had known; in an instant,
without a sound or sign, had been devastated. There were columns
of ruptured stone bursting from different chunks of the ground;
molten lava bubbled from cracks and fissures as far as the eye
could see, and the ruins of a great city sat smoldering in the
distance. He could taste ash as it fell upon him, and he could
hear the scream of the wind as it tore at him with vicious heat.
He couldnt believe his eyes; astonished, absolutely in shock of
what he bore witness to, and when faced with certain damnation
as he was, he completely forgot about the woman.
He stared off into the hatred of humanity; rubble, devastation,
corruption, and death in all directions. He felt his stomach
twist; nausea and a dangerous headache threatening his already
staggered stance, and when he came to kneel in prayer and
apology a moment later, all he could think was that he was
alone... But as tear filled eyes; watching the nightmare before
him, turned back to the tree, there she stood: As bold and
beautiful as before.
At first joy overwhelmed him: He wasn't alone in the end...
Quickly that joy fell away though, as he realized the truth. If
he were in that abyss, that hell, then so was she. Had he caused
it? Had he pulled her there? Was she being judged as well? His
mind raced; eyes darting to and fro as he knelt and tried to
process it all, and as his head tipped and mumbled words began
to fall from his lips, he fell deeper than ever, and began to
fade away into absolute madness.
There he would cry and beg forgiveness: There, near that tree,
in the beautiful mountain air, near the temple of his brothers,
in a world where tragidy had never struck, he writhed in the
torrent of destruction that god had given him as a curse, and he
witnessed his own sanity slip away in the terror of his maddened
isolation...
#Post#: 406229--------------------------------------------------
Re: Rebirth
By: Ευ&amp
;#945; Date: March 3, 2016, 11:35 am
---------------------------------------------------------
All too suddenly, the vast terrain becomes very remote and still
and with it, Eva’s face mellowed, the air around her thickening
with a blue mist, or was it all in her head? Was she the one
drawing a curtain over her own mind to keep the man in harmony?
With opaque, contemplative eyes almost staring through Adam, and
the tips of her fingers pressed together, she depicts first, the
horrors on the streets before her, and though she wasn’t
physically there, it was like a motion picture, just movement
and even despite the lack of sound it was the most deafening
thing the woman had faced yet, witnessing events that had
occurred long before her birth.
Death - a permanent coma; disincarnated spirits, swallowing dirt
and dust but not having the will nor strength to stop.
The first was a slow, painful, and presumably inevitable death -
a young girl, kidnapped by a group of men and kept in isolation
in a desolate house, owned by her parents. They fed her insects
and eventually, she drowned in her own urine and faeces, body
limp and lifeless in a pool of her own blood. Before the girl’s
demise, they challenged her to a game of Mahjong Solitaire, and
promised her freedom if she were to win, a devil’s bargain but
she accepted nonetheless and when she had won, they beat her
with iron barbells, they poured lighter fluid on her arms and
legs and set her alight, all watching her burn. The next day,
she had gone into shock and died, after forty-four days of
torture. They found her body stuffed into a concrete-filled
barrel on a tract of reclaimed land, in Toyko and Eva watched
the events unfold, trying with all her might to reject them. But
before she could, her vision blurred, and there she was, at her
next destination.
Taphephobia - the fear of being buried alive. There was one
single man, and that’s all it took, really; a man with an
insatiable curiosity and a prodigious capacity for art. He had
spent the better years of his life defining himself as a writer
and creating many worlds for his beloved, Edith, to travel
through, after all, she was the only one who had the pleasure of
reading his work. Benedict of Laodicea was an artist whose only
definition was his lack of outline, his lack of rules when it
came to perfecting his craft. There was something possessed,
mesmeric about the way he told stories, his gift to capture
people with the written word enthralled his wife but the more
she read, the more elusive he became and when she could
distinguish between him and his characters no longer, she took
her own life.
Upon finding out, Benedict had ordered his servants to lock him
up in the family tomb and leave him there to rot, and die.
Trapped in a dark chamber, he was surrounded every night, with
the grinning faces of his ancestors, slowly starving to death. A
tragedy that Satan himself wouldn’t inflict on anyone, and yet
Benedict, did it voluntarily.
Eva came to understand the contradiction in the two visions, but
her protector had subconsciously surfaced, so when it came time
for this panorama to shatter, so would her memory of it.
The woman had come to learn, in the short years she had lived,
that the present incorporates the past, and in the past, all
history was made by man, not God. When she comes back to Adam
-considering she had even left this angelic mortal soul- she
finds him curled up on the ground, mumbling incoherently to
himself, like the insane. Clearly, he hadn’t found solace in his
visions but Eva had the fortune to forget hers. The man of God
had suffered and she, a woman who questioned God's existence
every night, had come back untouched but then again, wasn’t
there some holy and seraphic law against touching women?
What was once a land of evergreen and flowers were now bare
fields, covered in rubble and dirt. Eva realised instantly, the
alchemy of spring was never to be expected; she wouldn’t see
this dull brown earth ever change to emerald again, and that’s
when it dawned on her, he was her punishment, and this was their
own personalised hell; Eva’s and Adam’s judgement day, and it
had come before time. Instead of resenting the man, instead of
being hostile and filling her heart with contempt, she kneels
before him, cupping his face in her soft, delicate hands,
suddenly disproportionately fond of him.
“Hush now. .”
Wide-set, almond-shaped eyes burn through him as she wipes a few
tears from his cheek, cradling him in her arms, whilst
whispering words of comfort into his ears, trying to persuade
him, in a calm, reasonable, Estuarine voice; the same voice that
could persuade patrons if it had to. In the midst of it all, as
her fingers brush through his hair, she looks up at a sky and in
her gaze, there was only one message; I gag on you.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”
And like a mantra, Eva repeated those words over, and over, and
after a few minutes, she lost sight of who she was trying to
comfort; the man or herself.
*****************************************************