The Vision Beyond the Darkness
What do you see when you fall backwards out of the back of your head?
John enters a world where no one seems to recognize him.
A dark haze seems to block his view. Bright flashes break through the darkness, but only to blind him. Debris blows everywhere, getting in his eyes, and he searches desperately for his handkerchief. Old friends fly by, waving as they pass.
Then, the darkness.
A great deep void presses in around him as he struggles to maintain his identity.
Friends become shades and phantoms, grasping at the edges of his soul, pulling loose threads until the fabric starts to fray.
Shaking violently to keep the specters from tearing him apart, he runs in random directions as fast as he can. The shadows cling to his legs and arms like smoke, and wisps of dust trail away from his extremities through the dead vacuum of the place.
Eventually he spies a shining thread off in the distance. He runs faster.
When he reaches it, he is amazed to find that it really was just a thread, and that it had seemed no larger from hundreds of meters in the distance than it did now. It was finer than a hair, and it glowed so brightly that John had to take his eyes from it after a couple of seconds. Keeping it in his peripheral vision, he reached his finger slowly towards the glowing strand.
He touched it ever so gently.
It pulled in response to his touch. "Come with me, follow me, come here, I need you," it seemed to say. It called to him, begged him, and he finally relented. He grabbed it quickly and firmly, and he pulled.
As the thread came loose from whatever had been holding it there in space, it began to form a small tear. As John pulled more and more of it out, it started weaving itself into the frayed patches of his body where the shadow had threatened to devour him. It made him whole.
And yet, as soon as he was done, he was gone.
John enters a world where no one seems to recognize him.
A dark haze seems to block his view. Bright flashes break through the darkness, but only to blind him. Debris blows everywhere, getting in his eyes, and he searches desperately for his handkerchief. Old friends fly by, waving as they pass.
Then, the darkness.
A great deep void presses in around him as he struggles to maintain his identity.
Friends become shades and phantoms, grasping at the edges of his soul, pulling loose threads until the fabric starts to fray.
Shaking violently to keep the specters from tearing him apart, he runs in random directions as fast as he can. The shadows cling to his legs and arms like smoke, and wisps of dust trail away from his extremities through the dead vacuum of the place.
Eventually he spies a shining thread off in the distance. He runs faster.
When he reaches it, he is amazed to find that it really was just a thread, and that it had seemed no larger from hundreds of meters in the distance than it did now. It was finer than a hair, and it glowed so brightly that John had to take his eyes from it after a couple of seconds. Keeping it in his peripheral vision, he reached his finger slowly towards the glowing strand.
He touched it ever so gently.
It pulled in response to his touch. "Come with me, follow me, come here, I need you," it seemed to say. It called to him, begged him, and he finally relented. He grabbed it quickly and firmly, and he pulled.
As the thread came loose from whatever had been holding it there in space, it began to form a small tear. As John pulled more and more of it out, it started weaving itself into the frayed patches of his body where the shadow had threatened to devour him. It made him whole.
And yet, as soon as he was done, he was gone.
posted by Max Rebuschatis at 7:07 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home