PROTOBLOOD BROTHERS Chapter One

From: Cheryl Baumgartner(C Baumgartner, Posted Date: Nov 12th, 2010

CHAPTER ONE

 

Flying...no, falling...no…not that either. 

Moving.  Yes, moving.  Definitely moving.  Without a doubt…moving.  Moving on air…so it would seem.  So it would seem…

…kind of hard to assess a situation when one has lost the ability to feel anything…but what the hell…moving nonetheless…so it would—

Ok, here goes…

            Arms…useless. 

            Legs… ditto. 

            Neck… non-responsive. 

            (…ckyourself)

            Non-responsive…that’s a tidy little euphemism.  They’re not responding ‘cause they’re GONE!  They aren’t there.  Oh, they’re still attached (no doubt about that, they’re attached), but they’re GONE!  ALL GONE!

            Eyes…this one’s fixing to be a toughie.

Darkness

Ok…closed?…open?…do you HAVE eyes?  (who’s you?  who’s talking?)

Darkness.

            No…no.  “Darkness” isn’t entirely accurate…

            (mothers with their babies…I have killed…)

            “Darkness” is just a word.  A word we all associate, be it consciously or unconsciously, with color.

            (Shadow)

            This is beyond color…outside color.  Beyond darkness.

            Nothing…nothingness.

            And yet…no…

            But wait!

            Something lingers.  Some vague trace of…being?  Something.

            But beyond that…nothingness…seems we’ve come full circle here, haven’t we?

            (what the hell are you babbling about?)

            Is this what it’s like to be dead?  Is the essence, the soul, the creamy filling, or whatever the hell it is those high holy hucksters drone on about sent packing to some sort of colorless, tasteless, ultra-boring limbo?  Gods beneath, if so, then they overshot the mark by a parsec (a lifetime pissed away on senseless worry), as their so-called “blissful empyrean” (their own words) is nowhere to be found.

            Dead…?  Impossible!

            The Black wouldn’t lie!  Couldn’t lie!  Missed out on that essential developmental component so it did.

No…not dead.  The Black made a promise.  The Black kept promises.  The Black’s word was law. 

The Black will keep its word because it is The Black.

The Black.

            Only The Black.

            Names...faces...memories...mere wisps of fog in the corner of the mind’s eye (put ‘er there brother)…all consumed by The Black.

The Black…

            The Black...everything and nothing…beginning and end.  Terrifying…enthralling.  He (who’s he?  is he me?  is you me?) wished nothing more than to purge it from his being...and yet it called for him...beckoned to him...cried out for his embrace like an overanxious lover.

A jolt.  The Black.  Fading…

#

The Root! he thought to himself as consciousness hit him like a wet boot to the face.  That damn gongsplangar root!  I overdid it again.  I must be burned out of my frappin’ gourd!  Morg and Pluklyl are probably using me as a footstool right now!  Yeah, that’s just like them…just the sort of prank they would…

They...they...they?

            They were on the tip of his tongue (if he still had one), but were little more than notions.

            Ha! he thought, his interior monologue seemingly intact.  It’s no wonder the Elders are looking to outlaw this stuff (in other words, to hoard it for their own personal use, just like the bi-monthly convoys of love slaves that they conveniently “rerouted” for extradition)...anything that puts you this far over the edge has to be bad for you...even if biting into a sliver of purified root is equivalent to a dozen simultaneous orgasms.

Oh how they would laugh at...

...

Another jolt…and all was nothingness again.

#

 Thirsty...so very thirsty.

            Never before had he felt (is this what it is to feel?) such an overpowering desire for hydration.  He had routinely toiled for days on end in the fields, buckin the need for water except when it was absolutely critical, but never had he felt such deprivation.

            (ihavekilledfuckyouiamnotheretokillyouiworshiphis)

            He attempted to well up a scream and failed.

Panic overtook him.  A panic that transcended his preexisting understanding of terror.

            Mercifully, The Black washed over him.

#

Not alone.

You never see them, and you only think you hear them.  But you feel them.  Feel their eyes looking you over…looking you through...violating you.

            Who or what are they? 

Like it even matters...at this point you can only vaguely remember what YOU are.  Why you matter.

The voices…yeah, they’re voices, seep through in traces.  Voices from deep down inside…from the dank corner of the psyche that normally lays dormant, that normally houses the most twisted, surreal, erotic, nightmarish…no!  They are real!  All of them!  They are from outside.  They are faint, and leave only a fleeting impression, but they are definitely from out there. 

“…glorious trophy”...

You can sense them...many of them...hovering over whatever it is of YOU that remains.

            “Hmm...”

A lone voice (this one is definitely real) shines through…slices through all the others

(screeching hiss)

…seems to address you personally.

             “...clad as the Ostral-A...I thought their kind had all been expunged…how peculiar...”

#

Moving again.  On the move.  Move ‘em out now.  Get a move on.  Move it or lose it.     

            Cold, confined, naked as the first day…the first light…the first breath.

Dark.  Darkness beyond color…beyond Black.  But light!  Warm, infusing, invigorating, stimulating, arousing LIGHT!

Immobile.  Not bound, not gagged, not drugged, not dead, not asleep…just immobile. 

            Such is the world as I know it.  Such is life, and it is good.  Damn good.  Could it be better?

            Perhaps.

            Perhaps not.

            Such is the world.  Nothing has there been before, and nothing will there be hereafter.  Whoever or whatever I am, this is my reality, this is my sphere of existence, and these few moments of awkward semi-consciousness are the lifetime I have been allotted.  Such is life.

           

            And it is good.  It is as it was meant to be.  It could be no other way.

           

            The end is coming.  Slipping…fading away…

            And it is good.

            It is good...

#

How long has it been?  I have no way of knowing.  There is no time…no now, no then.  There is only...only...

            Only.

What was that?  It is something…new.  Something different.  Something from Otherwhere.

            I don’t know that I like it…but I dimly perceive that I don’t ever want it to stop.

            It is cold…The Feeling I know well.

            It is cold and it is unfaltering.  And it is not alone…

            It has awakened some…YES!  MORE!

            Some notion...some trace (memory?) of warmth.  Of belonging.  Of a sensation that cannot be named, or even fully perceived.

            But it is good.  Very good.  And I want more.  Need more.  Would do anything for MORE!

            All the world…fixed on one notion, one escalating sensation...MORE…MORE…

            And in a flash, all is laid to waste as metal and flesh meet…penetrate…separate…

            All the world is pain.

#

Blank.  Nothing at all...

            Save a lone, lingering notion...

            This is wrong.

Time and space…lost…

And yet something was there.  Something new.  Something from Otherwhere.  Something that did not belong…and yet, felt so natural…

            I Worshi…

            Something that felt wrong.

#

            No...

            No...

            ...

            ...

            No more

            No more!

            Make it stop!  MAKE IT STOP!

            NO!  MAKE IT GO AWAY!

            NO!

            NO!!!!

            no...

            Silence.  All is calm...all is quiet...all is cold—and yet warm.

Warm...safe...love...belonging...

            “Be at peace...”

Soothing. 

            “Peace...yield.  Submit to the Power of Order.  The Power of Order embraces you...my child.”

“My child.”