Tag: snippet

  1. Rebirth Snippet

    "Oh no", he said softly to himself, "I am the lord"

    The blows inflicted by the group of boys rained down on him steadily. They started out sharp and quickly faded to a dull ache just in time for the next strike. One of the boys decides to throw a rock and the gash created by it on his forehead begins to pour a warm stream.

    A feeling of deja-vu runs over him with the blood down his face. He is a man, much older than he is now, long long ago. The rocks being thrown by the crowd sting his face, many of them hitting existing wounds. There isn't much surface besides them. He couldn't protect himself if he wanted to; his hands are tied to boards, and the boards are heavy on his back. He is tiring of this. Another whip tears across his back. He stands and looks towards the hilltop where a number of similar figures already stand.

    "Not long now", he says to himself, "not far now".

    He walks towards the end.

    The old church smells of stale air and pine, but does little to mask the smell of the sixty or seventy bodies crammed in here on this hot Sunday. A song has just finished, which she felt was a pity. The songs were the only part of these gatherings she enjoys.

    The expert approaches the stand and begins to read from the book. She has come to hate the book. The stories are based on truth, but exaggerated. The conclusions all wrong, the inferences misguided. She knows better than to voice these opinions, having been chastised in the past for it. She knows the stories were authored by Man, and Men can err. Men can be fooled, manipulated, misled.

    "They weren't there", she thinks to herself, but pauses. "but neither was I"

  2. Leviathan

    I found myself perched on the edge of a endless body of water.

    Out at sea the water was thrashing and churning in the midst of a great storm, with waves of incredible scale. Despite the water coming just below the level I was standing on, it didn't crest the grey shale edge. The water, as it approached me, calmed until it was still as glass at my feet.

    While I could see no sun or moon, the stormy sky seemed to diffuse a grey light through it, casting grey tones onto all below it.

    As I was set to turn, and see what lay on the land to my back, a movement in the water caught my eye. The nature of the waves almost on the edge of my vision, seemed to change and crash in a wholly new way.

    It was then that I saw it.

    I still can't fathom the size of it. Despite being at incredible distance, it rose out of the water and filled my entire field of view. The girth of it was expansive.

    What I saw of it appeared snakelike, but with a flat face. I don't dare to guess at what remained under the waves.

    It rose for what seemed like forever, then turned its gaze on me.

    It opened its vast mouth.

  3. Untitled: Time Control

    He dodges through the crowd of statues, making sure not to bump any. It wouldn't, in the end, affect anything. He could set it right before anyone would notice. He just doesn't want to have to put in the effort.

    After the years of this he's gotten fairly good at it. A lot of mistakes tend to shape one's abilities.

    It certainly wasn't always this easy. The first time had lasted years. Much of it was spent deaf, blind, confused, and alone. Fear and depression had their moments too. In the end the pain led to control. Thankfully.

    The first time started when he was only twelve. He was in a train station, much like he was now. The train was running a little late, and he was so excited to get onboard. He leaned out into the tunnel and saw the headlights coming down the tube. His heart fell, along with the rest of his body, onto the tracks. Perhaps he'd leaned a little too far, perhaps he'd slipped. He may even have been bumped. Adrenaline has tarnished the clear memory of those moments. It was moments before his mind realized it was falling, and moments later the falling had stopped.

    As he lay in the space between the tracks he forgot himself. He focused on the pain, and next the humiliation, long before he could hear the screams. His palms hurt. His knees hurt. He had hit his face on the ground. Like a fool.

    The world rushed back into his focus so quickly, like waking up from a dream. In many ways that's exactly what it was.

    He looked into the face of the oncoming train.

    He looked into blackness. Into Oblivion. Everything was gone.

    There was no light, no sounds, no sensation of any kind. He couldn't feel his face. Nor his body. Nothing.

    His mind worked on this for a while. Realization, and slowly panic, set in. His thoughts, wildly thrashing about, settled around "Paralyzed". Or Worse. Death. And others in a long line of thought. It went on for eons, and no time at all.

    All this negativity wasn't really getting him anywhere. Was anywhere even a viable concept? He gave up the concern. It seemed for the moment, whatever that meant, that nothing was immediately important. He stopped to think. Not on anything in particular, just thought. When one is alone in the void, thought is fairly easy to come by.

    Like a flock of birds, his thoughts continued to fly free, but surrounded a central topic. Focus. He had nothing to lose.

    He focused on his face. What was it like to have a face? This was something he'd never really needed to ask himself before. These were fresh ideas and the memories were stiff. Try as he might he couldn't recall "Face". He could sense a distinct lack of "Face", but didn't quite know what he needed to fill the hole. It's the same feeling as walking into a room and suddenly sensing that something's missing. You can point to the empty spot by the wall, but have no idea what you expect to see there.

    After endless time the mechanations budged. Face. It seemed so easy, all of a sudden. How could he not imagine "Face" before, when it was so obvious now? In a rush he felt Face again.

    He could move his mouth, tongue, and blink. He could feel the hair settle on his head. He could feel that he was choking.

    The red-hot, ice-cold panic shot through him. Why wasn't he breathing? He couldn't feel anything stuck in his throat. He couldn't feel his throat. He couldn't feel his lungs. Did he ever feel his lungs? Does one, in general, sense one's lungs? He must have, because he certainly didn't now.

    He slowly realized that while he was pondering these thoughts he'd lost his face. Again. With it had gone the choking, and the panic.

    In a lazy way he decided to try again. This time, though, he'd need lungs to go with his face. This thought seemed rational to one half of him and surreal to the other.