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 Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2006 5:17 pm
Yes, yes. I thought I'd share it with you guys, because, well.
Frankly, I'm avoiding schoolwork. That's about the truth of it.
It's original fiction, I don't do fanfics. Not my style.
By the way, this wasn't meant to be chaptered, so I'm not going to break it up. Thank yuh, thank yuh, onward:
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Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2006 5:22 pm
“Divinely Loved”
Hideous, hideous cries broke the silence, which was made of the finest gold, until this decidedly loud moment. Although crying babes are associated with the beauty that is to become evolution, the reality of birth is not to be taken lightly. In a perverse manner, a woman writhed, contorted on the ground, trying to end the exodus of this second soul, this product that she had labored. Choking, gasping on the womb, painfully grasping first breath, he was free.
However, he had always been free. For, in this world of misconstrued definitions, this incomplete aggregation of allegories and once-spoken lore, his word was the Goddess. His actions were Spirit, to which none was kindred. His embodiment was what flowed, unquestioningly, into the very core that was an abridged version of something indescribable.
But is that relevant?
Precursors are not always self-evident.
--
As of current, I am in a room, adorned with indescribably hideous wallpaper. It is a vomit-like green, featuring flowers that are comparable to the beauty of decomposing plaster. Everything about this place smells rotten. Rotten, like the heartbroken bad poetry of yesterday. I could use hundred of supercilious terms to describe my own surroundings, but that is not why I have opened the door fated to be closed. Today, in my unquestionably aged manner, I am to recite to you the only things that I know how to recite. In an innumerable amount of blank books, either I, or a God himself transcribed them – my memory fails to tell me which. Enough personal delay, let us begin…
Upon a bare, palm-like boulder, lied a man that his birth-givers had named Theofilio. His eyes’ colour defied their demeanor, as they were of a fair blue. His eyes were astute, in an aloof manner, but the stare he cast and way he manipulated them caused them to appear in a laze, always with a hints of rigidity. His position and the clues of his persona were tantamount to that of the Vitruvian man. Upon this stone, he sharply wheezed, causing a mild haze in the cool, early morning air. Philius, as he preferred to be called, was nearly completely nude, save for the shabbily crafted makeshift blanket, obscuring his manhood and upper thighs. He thrashed in his ninety-five percent unconscious state, until he jerked, abruptly hitting his head on the unforgiving stone.
“Ah, damn…” he began, before gazing upward. When he did, Philius saw an entrancing wave of colour, hanging in midair. The display of visual ecstasy did nothing more than feed off itself, its marks being etched onto Philius’ very soul. Though visions could not speak, Philius heard, rather audibly:
“Post-societal nectar was not for your consumption, my dear.
Allow me to whisk you away…”
The young man was nearly certain he was hallucinating at this coaxing sound. However, as instantly as it had appeared, the wave of colours entrapped him, beclouding his supple, almost feminine form. When in full view, he was a skinny, rodent-like male, though his features reflected nothing by idyllic beauty. When under the various shades of rainbow, it was apparent that he was as pale as the robe of angels. His torso appeared as if he had been starved, adding to the already petite nature of his body. Shoulder length cherry-tree brown hair swirled about his face – and that was it. For the next time he roused, he was in total darkness.
His gentle pools of blue slowly met the world, and he would have liked to register that he was in unfamiliar surroundings – and he would have been – were there any surroundings at all. He laid a finger upon his bare chest, and realizing the ‘organic’ state he was in, shriveled into a fetal position, the lightest shade of carnation gracing his cheeks. His pupils were largely dilated from the lack of light, when suddenly, a bright essence shone, it was almost blinding. He shut his eyes, covering them desperately, though his shade was to no avail. He was dazzlingly confused, having been coerced into no-man’s land. A recognizable voice, delicate in speech, forceful in tone, began to coo to him.
”Philius, philius, philius is me. Alone and puzzled am I, where could I be? Hiding among some brush, or perhaps in the night sky? Philius, does your loyalty lie with us, or will you decide to die? Morality and mortality separate you and I. Oh, Theofilio, where does your loyalty lie?”
It was maddening to listen to, and despite the indescribable pain he felt to subject his retinas to the torture, his eyes darted aggressively about the sterile whiteness. It unnerved him. In his ragged state, he tried to interpret the being’s words nonetheless. Suddenly, from every corner and cranny that was not there, a scratching sound came to be. It was reminiscent of a wolf scratching tree bark, and as it persisted, the space turned instantly gray. It was no more white than black; the shade resided firmly in the middle. A true test of the senses, louder, ear shattering scratching sounds came out of the neutrality – and within the space appeared several doors. In relation to one another, they were in the shape of a perfect, five-pointed star. Upon each door, was what appeared to be a hastily drawn picture. Philius was desperate to get out of this place, and ran to the first door he saw. Before he could collide head on with the solid passageway, it disappeared, and he with it.
And again, it arose. “Filio, filio, filio, just look at you. Inside number one, without a clue to do. My supremacy knows no bounds – and neither do you. Within a world of no return, a realm of black and white – do you hold your gray area precious, as you did on that fateful night? Answer me not, and answer me again, make it out of here alive, we shall speak then.”
Philius’ eyes welled with small tears. Not too long from this moment, he was no more than a nomadic man without a cause. He thought his sanity had left him for a better keeper, and if it had, he was quite possibly waiting for the sweet release of death. The dementia of this dimension was too much for him, emotionally, and it unmercifully tugged at his senses. However, being a proud man, he refused to fall in the face of adversity, and courageously trudged onward. As the soles of his feet padded the ground, small objects began to take shape. In a wispy, ominous manner, familiarity set in as blobs of gray amassed to new things. A scene afflicted with familiarity took form around him, as he took it in step by step. A textureless, gray replica of his childhood home now surrounded him. He stepped towards a chair that was a part of his memory, and as he did, his current self faded away, morphing him into a young child, though still quite recognizable with skin of white and eyes of the purest blue – a childish Theofilio sat upon this bed.
What would appear to be a faceless, gray man, walked into the make-believe house. Philius watched him with the expression of being choked, sinking within himself. His tongue began to move, though he reached for it as if he may cut it out, had he a knife. Despite his best effort, he said in a prepubescent voice, “Hello, Dad.” His voice was as exuberant as his eyes in this motion of speech, far from his quiet, reserved structure of today.
The featureless human being strode in his direction, and childhood Theofilio could not budge from his seat, though he quite obviously tried and tried. Philius heard, in a deep, raspy tone, “Hey, boy. What’re you doing there, huh?”
“Oh, I’m not doing much, Dad.”
“I asked you, what the hell do you think you’re doing there, boy?”
“Excuse me?”
A terrible, full-grown scream escaped the lips of the child. He only saw his father get a twisted look upon his face, grabbing him by the hair, though this was his mind’s own device. Philius knew what this was; the image came naturally. His breath smelled of nothing more than the possible onset of gingivitis – and that made it twice as unbearable. The faceless feature raised one gray, powerful arm, and he struck his son. He punched him right in the face, as he held him by a tangled mess of cherry-tree hair. The screams of ‘both’ Philiuses were echoing – the conjoined scream of both man and child. This only encouraged the only visible full-grown man more. He kept repeating, “Stoooop yeeeeelling, dear son.” in the voice of a man intoxicated with corruption and an upper hand.
By the time this was finished, Theofilio was terribly bruised, and had lost all shreds of dignity. Philius was cast out of his former self, and the home, the man, and everything else sank away, back into the not-quite-darkness.
“Oh, Philius, you are the fruit born of injustice, now can you see? There is more to this world, there are things beyond I. Now, now, now, my prophet, what shall YOU be? It has already happened, once before; reliving nightmares is no reason to cry.”
Philius sat upon the cool, gray ground, which was packed like earth. His eyes let him note that he was back in the room of the star; one door had disappeared. His forehead found the palm of his hand, there for a sojourn atop it. His hair obscured his face, and though he bore no mark, he felt every bruise and cut that was previously inflicted upon him. He rubbed his eyes, once more fighting the desire to weep out of frustration and repressed memories visited. He noticed he was adorned in the garb of his preteenhood. The more he sat, the more he despised every piece of gray matter around him. He knew he had to escape this place – so he set to do so. Questioningly, he brought himself up, and proceeded to walk towards another door. It engulfed itself and he, just as easily as the last.
He walked, and he walked, and he walked. Finally, some essence formed around him, this time in a pattern he was not familiar with. Again, Philius’ mind projected images that were not visible to one’s own naked eye. Upon a rock sat a beautiful maiden. She had hair that in it’s redness, burned like sunbeams flowing down to her waist. Her skin was a naturally sun-kissed, and her eyes were a hunter green. Forgetting where he was – and the wholly questionable possibilities of why he would be in a place marked with beauty, Philius began to run over to the girl, to introduce himself – to save her! To save himself! However, this was to no avail at all, because Philius stopped, stuck to a spot. A part of him walked out of himself, a ghost-resembling figure of himself, with hair obscuring his eyes. The ghost Philius took a seat on the rock beside the girl, engaging conversation. The real Philius watched with a slight touch of jealousy, but was patient in his waiting. Suddenly, though, he heard a voice – in his own mind.
“Ah-ah-ah, Philius. Though your eyes are of the most beautiful crystal, I know you are not bereft of envy. Shall we see your true desires?”
Philius’ eyes looked about, angrily. He could not find any source of voice. In his standstill search, he heard small yells. He looked back to the maiden and the version of himself, and saw them fighting. Philius stopped, finding his voice-quest fruitless, and set to watch them. He saw the sun-beauty withdraw her hand from the ghost Philius’ leg, and begin to arise. As she did this, the ghostly man slapped the visible half of her face, evoking an enraged surprise from the beauty. The actual Philius shook his head; he would never strike a woman. Though, the pale form of him continued. He slapped her around, before stripping her of her attire. Philius’ eyes widened – and NOT in arousal. He wanted to kill this “part of him”. He would not succumb to such desires, and he certainly would not believe that this puppet held any judgment of the real he. This was not where it ended. Naked. Naked is exactly what she was. Philius tried to jerk his head away, but he was still positively frozen. The next events require no chilling detail – the ghost of him tugged her hair, revealed the embodiment of lust, and simply put, he made a dark woman out of a sunny girl. Philius had tiny, tiny tears in his eyes, though none would fall. More than crying, he felt like vomiting. This was enraging. Positively vile, he would have no part in saying he WAS a part.
“I. AM. BETTER THAN THIS! Stop, stop, stop! Cease!” he cried out in utter disgust. He could not stand the thought of tainting a woman’s flesh.
Some time after, as with the last scene, this too faded away, back into nothing, back into the star-pointed room. Philius gave no pause for thought; no pause for that maddening voice. He ran straight away for the next door, plunging in.
This time, though, rather than Philius being frozen, or becoming a part, or taking a part – Philius was all that was there. His body was being manipulated. He was wearing the cloths of a Cherokee warrior. He had little time to absorb his scenery, as he was being run headfirst, against his will, into a battle scene.
“I promise, Philius my dear, this won’t hurt at all. It won’t hurt you, have you the power to make the mighty fall?”
With spear in hand, he blocked all oncoming attacks, running as if he were to reach the core of the earth by sunset. He hit other men with the blunt end of his weapon, going onward and onward. Finally, he came to a man he did not recognize, but the place compelled him to stop. The main was very decorated, wearing two large bear paws upon his chest. Philius knew very, very scant pieces of the Cherokee language, and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he uttered the word, “Friend.”
The other warrior stared at him in confusion, before laughing madly. After his belly laugh was finished, the two men locked eyes. Philius had no idea, at all, how he understood the tongue of the Cherokee, but he was hearing every word in perfect cognition. The man parted his lips and spoke this words, “If you are my friend, kill me. If you are a warrior, destroy me. If you are a man, question me.”
Philius was giving time to consider these words…but his body was not. He drew the spear up behind his head, and struck, struck furiously at the man, right at his heart. He watched his pupils dilate, his hands lose their contracted, tense position – he watched the man collapse. By this time, Theofilio was inside himself. He did not want to come out.
When he was, once again, within the star-pointed room, he was laying with his face upon his knees. The guilt he felt was indescribable – to hear the piercing of another man’s flesh. He could not explain how raw, how terrible it felt. He still had the red and brown, dried and wet, leaks of the other warrior’s blood upon himself. He curled further into his knees, before collapsing sideways. This time, no voice spoke, no willpower was needed. Philius was in another alternative world.
Likewise, with no introduction, this scene needed no experience. It was decidedly darker than the perfectly gray area of this whole ‘thing’. He heard the voice coming once more.
“Guilty do you feel, you do not feel like the messiah? If that made your poor tummy reel, try this on for size.”
Philius walked onward, his chin drawn to his chest. He would have walked past eternity, had there not been a sound to disturb his thought. The noise was an awkward creaking, much like that of a park swing in the dead of twilight. This sound was not his hallucination, this sound could be heard ‘cross the land, were there anyone else in it. He looked up, and saw something that would disturb any man, woman, or child.
There sat his own body, everything he recognized about himself, swaying. Why was he swaying? He was hung, with a note attached to himself, of which Philius had no desire to read. The image twisted his innards, but he could not help but notice that he looked absolutely peaceful. There was not much difference in appearance between he and his untimely dead counterpart – save for that peaceful look.
As he approached his own, sickening body, he was whisked away once more, to the last door of this now hellish place. In the last space, Philius was standing on a pedestal. He was naked once more. He was earthly, he was natural, he was true. He looked around him, his experiences having made every detail of everything seem different. Finally, as expected, the voice came, once more.
“Philius, though I may seem cruel, I have taught you valuable lessons far beyond comparison of any mortal teacher. Were my goal to drive you mad, I surely would have. But Theofilio, do you now see? When man is pushed to his most inward self-examination, he becomes the unattainable. Having shown you images of you, tainted with remorse and disgust, I have pushed you into being admirable. I have saved you, I have glorified your presence in the most unmistakable, though most testing, demanding, and debatably malicious manner. Theofilio, can you go home?”
Though in any other circumstance, Philius would have unquestioningly accepted, he shrugged. He thought. He shook his head. Philius was now sobbing. His emotions had given way to experience, to lesson. He was mentally exhausted, shattered. He sobbed, and sobbed, he being as icy and blue as his eyes.
“I knew this. Philius, you am become all desire. You am become the natural neutral that flows through the veins of all humanity and everything else. Goodbye, Filio. Goodbye, dearest, Theofilio.”
Hearing what he unmistakably recognized as the echo of a nonchalant climax, he laid flat upon his pedestal. His skin prickled at the anticipated, but nonetheless shocking frigidity, though he would remain smooth and unweathered for centuries to come. In an involuntary mien, his limbs craned into the shape of the letter “x”; just like his DaVinci counterpart, from some day and age.
Be-all end-all, that is just it, my friend. Theofilio is all, to me. Theofilio is all to any one person. Theofilio, present yourself to me…
Over the years, despite my best efforts, he will not come; I am not his creator. I am no God. Who am I to question his intentions? However, I regret to inform you that I, your link to Theofilio’s world must depart. They tell me, “Mrs. Curson, your family is here to see you.”
Nursing homes are quite ugly, you know that?
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Posted: Sat Apr 14, 2007 6:29 pm
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