Phruizler
10-26-2009, 08:00 PM
I dream of rain. Rain so torrential in its onslaught that even the mighty oceans relent and swell up to meet it in the sky. Their turbulence melds until one is indiscernible from the other, boiling together into a chasm of grey that devours the horizon. The supervening haze oppresses all light, all colour, and all life. The world itself cannot endure and soon lifelessness seeps into the Earth, leaving behind a viscous rot. My eyes are blind in this vast expanse of grey. An endless sea, washing away everything I know. This is all that I am, all I can be. Time holds no meaning here; existence holds no purpose. A wasteland of emptiness. Barren landscapes, desolate valleys, abandoned mountains. The rain is ever-present among it all. It is as if the very fabric of time and space has been sundered in this vacuum. Thoughts, emotions, feelings - these vague yet fantastical notions are obliterated by dreariness; drab, grey scenery stagnates upon fetid ground. It is difficult to say how long it has been this way, but it no longer matters. Days, years, centuries - it is impossible to tell. The rain is eternal. I could not imagine it having a beginning, least of all an end. I try to focus on my fingers in an effort to convince myself I am real, but most times I am unable to distinguish my hand from the inexorable grey. My hair, plastered to my face, hangs in my eyes and darkens my vision. I run my fingers across my scalp and realize that it is not my hair that causes this darkness but merely a forest, or the crest of some wooded hill in the distance. There is no depth to perceive, for all spatial relationships are lost in this unyielding gloom. I fear that the sun, should it still exist, will never again penetrate the opaque fortress of clouds holding this world prisoner. Even if it were to find a way, I will have long since acquiesced to the fact that this land is ravaged beyond recompense. The sun would bring no hope, no life, no promise of a future. It would simply bring dismay at what was lost forever. Taunting me, teasing at the tantalizing prospect of its golden rays harbouring life once more. Yes, it is better that the sun remain hidden.
Always I wander alone, adrift in this languorous dream. At times I feel placid, almost content in my resignation that there will never be anything more than what I can see. Other times I feel a hollow, biting emptiness so deep within me that it seems to engulf every fibre of my body. These times are the most unbearable of all. The disconnect I feel from any sense of reality is disturbing in the extreme. Nothing feels right. There is a wrongness inside of me that is in desperate need of correction. Inner turmoil lies dormant, brooding, but feeds the tumult of my mind. When I can no longer contain it, I witness my fury ignite. I am unleashed and I feel my screams reverberate inside my head. A whirlwind of emotion floods through me, and I seem whole again. My body is a conduit for the anguish, sorrow, and dismay that my mind has so long withheld. I feel euphoric in my rage. I feel alive with passion for escaping a world that has become so morose. My cries are alive with indignation. Their ear-shattering ululations set the air alight; my eyes blaze. I am on my knees, head to the Earth in a desperate race to keep my memories and feelings afloat. As quickly as it all comes, however, it is drowned by the rain. It seems I cannot rid myself of this sickening melancholy. It is like a slick of oil atop otherwise pristine water; a slurry of grease always resurfacing no matter how tempestuous its host becomes. And so this intense connection I could feel with a time long-forgotten is once again lost. The downpour is my only companion. I am detached from my soul, watching dejectedly as I fade to grey along with the rest of the world.
Day becomes indistinguishable from night. The clouds gather so near to the ground that I fear the two have become a single entity. Am I doomed to walk this miasma of unforgiving insipidness forever? Perhaps it is a dream from which I will soon wake. I feel, more than I can see, the signs that there is another life from whence I came, waiting for me to return. Voices stir within me that are not my own. Glimpses of sanity dance in and out of my vision. Is that a friend I hear? A woman I see? Or are they illusions, fantasies that have been spun from the forgotten recesses of my mind? The first tangible sign of life that I have seen since being thrust into this vapid existence is a fish. It is in a pool of water so small that its caudal fins are forced to flop helplessly above the murk in order for its gills to remain submerged. Apathetically, I watch as it struggles to reach an adjacent, more voluminous pool of water. A final flail brings success, and with a splash hardly more notable than those produced by the raindrops, this fish has found a temporary respite from inevitable death. Its slow, languid movements betray that it shares my knowledge of its fate. I move on.
I find myself deep within the macabre remains of some ancient forest. The seemingly implacable medium of grey is livid with grim smears of dark green. I know not how I came to be here. Surprisingly, I am unafraid. But what is there to fear in such a place as this? There is nothing left to be frightened of. Were she only to rear her ugly head, I would embrace demise as my mistress and be done with this forsaken plane. Instead, I trudge forward, irritated by the erratic trickles of water finding their way through the canopy above. The stench of putrefaction permeates the air. It lingers like a discomforting dream in the thick, humid air, intensifying as the woods mutate into a bog. Puddles of runoff from branches become brackish ponds of ooze, infecting everything their tendrils can entangle. The trees become gnarled and twisted, their branches melting at such obscure angles into their trunks that my head begins to ache when I look upon the whorls that are formed. It can only be acid that is falling from the sky to cause such devastation. I close my eyes, for it is the only way I can hope to expunge from my mind this grotesque image that lies before me. It seems an eternity before I open them again. Reluctantly, I refocus on what will surely be the same annihilated scene. But something has changed. I see her. Barely visible in the grey steam that belches from this foul marsh, she is looking straight through me. My throat catches. My heart stops. She is beauty incarnate. Her benevolence radiates from her with such incandescence that the crude backdrop on which she floats is cast aside like an unimportant memory. Her auburn hair cascades freely to her waist. Ice-cold, piercing blue eyes stand out in stark contrast to her warm, honey-almond skin. The mist forms around her like a robe. I can only imagine the shape it conceals. She is beckoning me. The iron command she possesses is subtle, but demands that I comply. Dazed, I make my way towards the power beheld by her eyes. I can think of no greater reward than simply reaching her. I am but a hair's breadth away; her radiance is almost overwhelming. The ground gives out and my trance is shattered as I plunge into the tepid swamp beneath.
After emerging from the pond, saturated in its filth, I am shocked to find myself cold and alone. Her luminescence is branded in my eyes and I see her still, serene in her morbid surroundings. Slowly, I regain my senses. She is not there. I am alone. The somber, oppressive silence of the forest threatens to crush me if I do not escape. I search for the means to do so. Flecks of hazy light in the distance wreath their way through the darkness between the trees, dimly illuminating an exit. I make my way towards them. Before long, I discover my pace has quickened and I am shivering. This is as close as I have ever come to feeling anything in my semblance of existence. Albeit exhilarating, I am altogether discomforted by it. With every step the gnarled branches close in around me. I feel their malevolence pulsing from them. They intend to rip me apart; I must leave this place at once. At last, I see my escape from this abominable grove, and I run. Emerging from its nightmarish morass, I am welcomed by the cold, steel rain I know so well. A familiar front of grey looms in every direction. The thought of slogging through this endless quagmire anew brings implications of such staggering hopelessness that I am brought to my knees. So briefly did she allow me to descry her beauty. It lingers at the forefront of my mind, lucid, almost tangible, and yet utterly abstruse. I feel I am missing a portentous piece of some greater, incomprehensible puzzle. To return to the intransigence of my desultory pilgrimage seems both direly consequential and unfathomably abhorrent. I simply cannot. But as I rise from my knees and look around, I see no other choice. This is all that I am. This is all I can be. My purgatory.
I have convinced myself that she was not real. My feet grind all notions that she was anything but a delusion into the sodden muck with them. It would be unjust for such divine beauty to exist in this evil realm. My mirth at being so easily spellbound is bitter. A part of me, however, is still trying to draw some recondite conclusion that the rest of me is unable or unwilling to grasp. I pay no more heed to this than I do to the interminable rain. It is as inconsequential here, now, in this cursed mire, as the runnels of ooze that quickly find their way to fill my endless array of footprints scarring the land. I try to lift my foot and discover that I am sinking. Looking around, I see that I have entered an enormous bowl in the Earth. It slopes gradually until its centre, which drops into a massive sinkhole. It would appear the rain has begun to corrode through the crust of this planet. Briefly, I wonder what will become of me when land can no longer sustain itself. The thought is fleeting, and I turn to make my way gradually around this immense crater. Each footstep emits a sickening squelch as it displaces the gruel beneath my feet.
I am at the base of a daunting array of ancient-looking crags, rotten with gouges where rain has worked its way through the flaws. At one time they may have formed a single, immeasurably large mountain of stone. Such tremendous weight can no longer be supported by its sodden foundation. It crumbles to the Earth like the decaying carcass of some monstrous giant, leaving behind a towering series of spindly pillars that pierce the heavens. Unexpectedly, I am overcome with sorrow for this lonely stand of rock. This is the spine of my world, and it will soon be eradicated along with everything else. Its efforts to remain standing even in the face of such futility display nobility that I once thought could not exist here. I must reach the summit before it is gone. The base fills my vision as I move closer. I begin climbing where the looming fortress has been buttressed by a massive slide of rock hewn from its side. It is difficult at first; the handholds are jagged and sharp, lacerating my palms as I ascend. My hands are gloved with crimson blood, blooming violently with every heartbeat before being bleached grey by the rain. I am filled with wonder that such a colour can still flow from me so vibrantly. I had thought my veins were long ago run dry.
I reach a flatbed of rock and gather my bearings. The crags on which my back is now pressed are lost in the clouds above. From the ground they appeared desperately oppressed by the weight of the dense grey sky resting upon them. From here they no longer look so meek. I can feel what power the Earth has left in the pulse of this massive agglomeration. Like mighty colossi they challenge me, the rock beneath my feet their treacherous arena. They lift me higher and the rain turns to sleet. The unyielding mountainside becomes slick and my grip is faltering; my footholds are precarious at best. I consider the ramifications of falling, or throwing myself from these mountains. It would certainly allow my demise more brevity than waiting to rot along with the rest of this diseased planet. It is a decision I must leave until reaching the peak. So I climb, ever-upwards, stopping wherever possible for no other reason than a loss of will. It is easy to become lethargic when the very essence of my being holds no purpose. Each time I stop, though, the mountain encourages me to continue. Every time I slip, it extends its rocky slope to provide me with a foothold I did not know was there. My stops are becoming less and less frequent. I am dedicated to the climb. This goal has given my existence a new, if temporary, meaning, and I will not give it up so easily. To be defeated once again by the seeping, dreadful weariness of this land would destroy me. It is not just the mountain, now, that calls my name. I can hear the voices becoming more familiar with every inch I rise. Friends, clearly and distinctly. Such goodness in their words; my mother, perhaps. I am certain now that they await me atop these rocks.
The mountain rips the sky asunder and cleaves a massive scar through the clouds. This close to the rift created thus, I am allowed the first respite from the rain that I have ever experienced. Ceaseless torrents of water, falling from sluices in the sky; being rid of this crippling encumbrance brings me such indescribable joy that tears begin welling in my eyes. My skin tingles as the moisture that has saturated my flesh begins to evaporate. A new sensation washes over me, of which I am at first uncertain. The frigid, gnawing cold that I once thought my body accustomed to begins lifting. The numbness recedes and leaves in its place a glorious burning that brings my body to life. This incredible warmth is indicative of how truly devastating my existence has been on my body. First my legs, and slowly my entire body, have become more limber. My hands, suddenly so adroit, allow me to scale the mountainside with an unfamiliar fluidity. I am reaching tremendous heights at speeds that I was unaware I was capable of. Before long, I have reached the top. I succumb to overwhelming emotion as my hands reach their final holds before breaking through the thin haze of remaining mist and into the great expanse of the sky.
In my most fantastic dreams I could never conjure such breathtaking splendour. The sun radiates its magnificence upon me from a glaring throne of light in the sky. The sky, in all its pristine brilliance; blue from horizon to horizon, it stands in astute glory above the hideous grey that hides beneath it. I am but a stone's throw from the very clouds that held me prisoner; here they seem less menacing. They are fluffy and white, like an angel's down holding its celestial plane aloft. They flood the sky in every direction, each one of them softly convoluted until I can no longer ascertain their detail. Endless beauty sweeps across a vast, gorgeous panorama that I suddenly realize has always been here, just above me. All that time, and here it was. I can hardly remember the sickening land I once traversed. Yet there is still a lingering dread. Where can I go from here? This heavenly plateau cannot be the end. I must go further. But how? I am presented with a challenge, for the only way to go is up. For hours I gaze into the sky, and slowly I form the thought that it has all become worth it now. I feel a sense of purpose lighting within me. Had I ever given up, I would have never arrived here, and this mountain surely would have fallen, dooming the summit's beauty, its purity, to isolation forever. Experiencing this other world has shown me why my path has taken me where it has. Now, I follow the sun with my eyes as it soars to the opposite end of the sky, burying itself in the clouds. I sink to my knees in abject awe. The amber glow of the dusk soothes my eyes closed.
I am on my feet. Images are forming in the stratosphere. Violent at first, these ethereal shadows rattle the sky as they fight for emergence. I close my eyes tightly. When I open them, the images remain. They do not appear peripherally, only to be lost. They are real. I stare in sheer astonishment. Voices, too, begin to materialize, their volume intensifying as they cry at me from above. I lose my grip on reality and memories begin to flood through me. My world spirals into madness. The clouds form a violent maelstrom that threatens to decimate the universe. The sky is opening, and now someone calls my name. A child. That piece of the puzzle is beginning to fit. This is what I have searched for, what I have longed for. These disembodied voices are kind, they speak to me with care, and I know I will be safe with them. I realize that I have to jump. Somehow I know I will reach them and I plant my feet, ready to take off without a second thought. I hear something that causes me to falter. A new voice, of unmistakeable beauty. I know immediately that it is her. Could she too be waiting for me in the sky? No, the voice is resonating from another place. I hesitate. Slowly, I peer over the edge of my perch atop the world. She is calling from below. She has realized my success, and wishes to join me. She does not want to be trapped eternally in the world of decay from whence I have now departed. Could she accompany me among my friends in the sky? My time is short and I must make a choice. Gazing up, there has appeared a vortex in space through which I can see shades of movement. They are the movements of people for whom I am slowly being overcome with recognition. Such a sad, helpless cry. It is entrancingly beautiful, and I lament that I must leave her behind. I am so close to my home. A glimmer of light catches my eye, and I look down. It is her, almost visible; a golden glow in the mist. There must be time. She will come with me. We will go together. I leap.
I realize my mistake too late, and accept my fate with dismay. Plummeting through the whirlwind of clouds, I careen back to Earth. The sky is closing, I have missed my chance. Through the smokescreen she looked so lovely, but now I know the truth. I have seen true beauty; if for one brief moment, I have experienced freedom. I will never forget the sky nor its golden crown. The mystery of my ontology will go unsolved; I will never experience the true majesty of life. Now I fall, and I see her again. She is different. Her voice, once so melodious, has become a shrill siren song. Her skin is charred and black, peeling like bark from a burning tree. Flames pour from her head and lick at her sides. She stands ablaze; her eyes, glimmering with malice, sear through my head and into my soul. I am falling into her terrifying, mangled arms. I have made the wrong decision. She is at the precipice, the meeting point of light and darkness where my worlds collide. We meet; I am enveloped by her fiery embrace and at last I know her name.
Death.
Always I wander alone, adrift in this languorous dream. At times I feel placid, almost content in my resignation that there will never be anything more than what I can see. Other times I feel a hollow, biting emptiness so deep within me that it seems to engulf every fibre of my body. These times are the most unbearable of all. The disconnect I feel from any sense of reality is disturbing in the extreme. Nothing feels right. There is a wrongness inside of me that is in desperate need of correction. Inner turmoil lies dormant, brooding, but feeds the tumult of my mind. When I can no longer contain it, I witness my fury ignite. I am unleashed and I feel my screams reverberate inside my head. A whirlwind of emotion floods through me, and I seem whole again. My body is a conduit for the anguish, sorrow, and dismay that my mind has so long withheld. I feel euphoric in my rage. I feel alive with passion for escaping a world that has become so morose. My cries are alive with indignation. Their ear-shattering ululations set the air alight; my eyes blaze. I am on my knees, head to the Earth in a desperate race to keep my memories and feelings afloat. As quickly as it all comes, however, it is drowned by the rain. It seems I cannot rid myself of this sickening melancholy. It is like a slick of oil atop otherwise pristine water; a slurry of grease always resurfacing no matter how tempestuous its host becomes. And so this intense connection I could feel with a time long-forgotten is once again lost. The downpour is my only companion. I am detached from my soul, watching dejectedly as I fade to grey along with the rest of the world.
Day becomes indistinguishable from night. The clouds gather so near to the ground that I fear the two have become a single entity. Am I doomed to walk this miasma of unforgiving insipidness forever? Perhaps it is a dream from which I will soon wake. I feel, more than I can see, the signs that there is another life from whence I came, waiting for me to return. Voices stir within me that are not my own. Glimpses of sanity dance in and out of my vision. Is that a friend I hear? A woman I see? Or are they illusions, fantasies that have been spun from the forgotten recesses of my mind? The first tangible sign of life that I have seen since being thrust into this vapid existence is a fish. It is in a pool of water so small that its caudal fins are forced to flop helplessly above the murk in order for its gills to remain submerged. Apathetically, I watch as it struggles to reach an adjacent, more voluminous pool of water. A final flail brings success, and with a splash hardly more notable than those produced by the raindrops, this fish has found a temporary respite from inevitable death. Its slow, languid movements betray that it shares my knowledge of its fate. I move on.
I find myself deep within the macabre remains of some ancient forest. The seemingly implacable medium of grey is livid with grim smears of dark green. I know not how I came to be here. Surprisingly, I am unafraid. But what is there to fear in such a place as this? There is nothing left to be frightened of. Were she only to rear her ugly head, I would embrace demise as my mistress and be done with this forsaken plane. Instead, I trudge forward, irritated by the erratic trickles of water finding their way through the canopy above. The stench of putrefaction permeates the air. It lingers like a discomforting dream in the thick, humid air, intensifying as the woods mutate into a bog. Puddles of runoff from branches become brackish ponds of ooze, infecting everything their tendrils can entangle. The trees become gnarled and twisted, their branches melting at such obscure angles into their trunks that my head begins to ache when I look upon the whorls that are formed. It can only be acid that is falling from the sky to cause such devastation. I close my eyes, for it is the only way I can hope to expunge from my mind this grotesque image that lies before me. It seems an eternity before I open them again. Reluctantly, I refocus on what will surely be the same annihilated scene. But something has changed. I see her. Barely visible in the grey steam that belches from this foul marsh, she is looking straight through me. My throat catches. My heart stops. She is beauty incarnate. Her benevolence radiates from her with such incandescence that the crude backdrop on which she floats is cast aside like an unimportant memory. Her auburn hair cascades freely to her waist. Ice-cold, piercing blue eyes stand out in stark contrast to her warm, honey-almond skin. The mist forms around her like a robe. I can only imagine the shape it conceals. She is beckoning me. The iron command she possesses is subtle, but demands that I comply. Dazed, I make my way towards the power beheld by her eyes. I can think of no greater reward than simply reaching her. I am but a hair's breadth away; her radiance is almost overwhelming. The ground gives out and my trance is shattered as I plunge into the tepid swamp beneath.
After emerging from the pond, saturated in its filth, I am shocked to find myself cold and alone. Her luminescence is branded in my eyes and I see her still, serene in her morbid surroundings. Slowly, I regain my senses. She is not there. I am alone. The somber, oppressive silence of the forest threatens to crush me if I do not escape. I search for the means to do so. Flecks of hazy light in the distance wreath their way through the darkness between the trees, dimly illuminating an exit. I make my way towards them. Before long, I discover my pace has quickened and I am shivering. This is as close as I have ever come to feeling anything in my semblance of existence. Albeit exhilarating, I am altogether discomforted by it. With every step the gnarled branches close in around me. I feel their malevolence pulsing from them. They intend to rip me apart; I must leave this place at once. At last, I see my escape from this abominable grove, and I run. Emerging from its nightmarish morass, I am welcomed by the cold, steel rain I know so well. A familiar front of grey looms in every direction. The thought of slogging through this endless quagmire anew brings implications of such staggering hopelessness that I am brought to my knees. So briefly did she allow me to descry her beauty. It lingers at the forefront of my mind, lucid, almost tangible, and yet utterly abstruse. I feel I am missing a portentous piece of some greater, incomprehensible puzzle. To return to the intransigence of my desultory pilgrimage seems both direly consequential and unfathomably abhorrent. I simply cannot. But as I rise from my knees and look around, I see no other choice. This is all that I am. This is all I can be. My purgatory.
I have convinced myself that she was not real. My feet grind all notions that she was anything but a delusion into the sodden muck with them. It would be unjust for such divine beauty to exist in this evil realm. My mirth at being so easily spellbound is bitter. A part of me, however, is still trying to draw some recondite conclusion that the rest of me is unable or unwilling to grasp. I pay no more heed to this than I do to the interminable rain. It is as inconsequential here, now, in this cursed mire, as the runnels of ooze that quickly find their way to fill my endless array of footprints scarring the land. I try to lift my foot and discover that I am sinking. Looking around, I see that I have entered an enormous bowl in the Earth. It slopes gradually until its centre, which drops into a massive sinkhole. It would appear the rain has begun to corrode through the crust of this planet. Briefly, I wonder what will become of me when land can no longer sustain itself. The thought is fleeting, and I turn to make my way gradually around this immense crater. Each footstep emits a sickening squelch as it displaces the gruel beneath my feet.
I am at the base of a daunting array of ancient-looking crags, rotten with gouges where rain has worked its way through the flaws. At one time they may have formed a single, immeasurably large mountain of stone. Such tremendous weight can no longer be supported by its sodden foundation. It crumbles to the Earth like the decaying carcass of some monstrous giant, leaving behind a towering series of spindly pillars that pierce the heavens. Unexpectedly, I am overcome with sorrow for this lonely stand of rock. This is the spine of my world, and it will soon be eradicated along with everything else. Its efforts to remain standing even in the face of such futility display nobility that I once thought could not exist here. I must reach the summit before it is gone. The base fills my vision as I move closer. I begin climbing where the looming fortress has been buttressed by a massive slide of rock hewn from its side. It is difficult at first; the handholds are jagged and sharp, lacerating my palms as I ascend. My hands are gloved with crimson blood, blooming violently with every heartbeat before being bleached grey by the rain. I am filled with wonder that such a colour can still flow from me so vibrantly. I had thought my veins were long ago run dry.
I reach a flatbed of rock and gather my bearings. The crags on which my back is now pressed are lost in the clouds above. From the ground they appeared desperately oppressed by the weight of the dense grey sky resting upon them. From here they no longer look so meek. I can feel what power the Earth has left in the pulse of this massive agglomeration. Like mighty colossi they challenge me, the rock beneath my feet their treacherous arena. They lift me higher and the rain turns to sleet. The unyielding mountainside becomes slick and my grip is faltering; my footholds are precarious at best. I consider the ramifications of falling, or throwing myself from these mountains. It would certainly allow my demise more brevity than waiting to rot along with the rest of this diseased planet. It is a decision I must leave until reaching the peak. So I climb, ever-upwards, stopping wherever possible for no other reason than a loss of will. It is easy to become lethargic when the very essence of my being holds no purpose. Each time I stop, though, the mountain encourages me to continue. Every time I slip, it extends its rocky slope to provide me with a foothold I did not know was there. My stops are becoming less and less frequent. I am dedicated to the climb. This goal has given my existence a new, if temporary, meaning, and I will not give it up so easily. To be defeated once again by the seeping, dreadful weariness of this land would destroy me. It is not just the mountain, now, that calls my name. I can hear the voices becoming more familiar with every inch I rise. Friends, clearly and distinctly. Such goodness in their words; my mother, perhaps. I am certain now that they await me atop these rocks.
The mountain rips the sky asunder and cleaves a massive scar through the clouds. This close to the rift created thus, I am allowed the first respite from the rain that I have ever experienced. Ceaseless torrents of water, falling from sluices in the sky; being rid of this crippling encumbrance brings me such indescribable joy that tears begin welling in my eyes. My skin tingles as the moisture that has saturated my flesh begins to evaporate. A new sensation washes over me, of which I am at first uncertain. The frigid, gnawing cold that I once thought my body accustomed to begins lifting. The numbness recedes and leaves in its place a glorious burning that brings my body to life. This incredible warmth is indicative of how truly devastating my existence has been on my body. First my legs, and slowly my entire body, have become more limber. My hands, suddenly so adroit, allow me to scale the mountainside with an unfamiliar fluidity. I am reaching tremendous heights at speeds that I was unaware I was capable of. Before long, I have reached the top. I succumb to overwhelming emotion as my hands reach their final holds before breaking through the thin haze of remaining mist and into the great expanse of the sky.
In my most fantastic dreams I could never conjure such breathtaking splendour. The sun radiates its magnificence upon me from a glaring throne of light in the sky. The sky, in all its pristine brilliance; blue from horizon to horizon, it stands in astute glory above the hideous grey that hides beneath it. I am but a stone's throw from the very clouds that held me prisoner; here they seem less menacing. They are fluffy and white, like an angel's down holding its celestial plane aloft. They flood the sky in every direction, each one of them softly convoluted until I can no longer ascertain their detail. Endless beauty sweeps across a vast, gorgeous panorama that I suddenly realize has always been here, just above me. All that time, and here it was. I can hardly remember the sickening land I once traversed. Yet there is still a lingering dread. Where can I go from here? This heavenly plateau cannot be the end. I must go further. But how? I am presented with a challenge, for the only way to go is up. For hours I gaze into the sky, and slowly I form the thought that it has all become worth it now. I feel a sense of purpose lighting within me. Had I ever given up, I would have never arrived here, and this mountain surely would have fallen, dooming the summit's beauty, its purity, to isolation forever. Experiencing this other world has shown me why my path has taken me where it has. Now, I follow the sun with my eyes as it soars to the opposite end of the sky, burying itself in the clouds. I sink to my knees in abject awe. The amber glow of the dusk soothes my eyes closed.
I am on my feet. Images are forming in the stratosphere. Violent at first, these ethereal shadows rattle the sky as they fight for emergence. I close my eyes tightly. When I open them, the images remain. They do not appear peripherally, only to be lost. They are real. I stare in sheer astonishment. Voices, too, begin to materialize, their volume intensifying as they cry at me from above. I lose my grip on reality and memories begin to flood through me. My world spirals into madness. The clouds form a violent maelstrom that threatens to decimate the universe. The sky is opening, and now someone calls my name. A child. That piece of the puzzle is beginning to fit. This is what I have searched for, what I have longed for. These disembodied voices are kind, they speak to me with care, and I know I will be safe with them. I realize that I have to jump. Somehow I know I will reach them and I plant my feet, ready to take off without a second thought. I hear something that causes me to falter. A new voice, of unmistakeable beauty. I know immediately that it is her. Could she too be waiting for me in the sky? No, the voice is resonating from another place. I hesitate. Slowly, I peer over the edge of my perch atop the world. She is calling from below. She has realized my success, and wishes to join me. She does not want to be trapped eternally in the world of decay from whence I have now departed. Could she accompany me among my friends in the sky? My time is short and I must make a choice. Gazing up, there has appeared a vortex in space through which I can see shades of movement. They are the movements of people for whom I am slowly being overcome with recognition. Such a sad, helpless cry. It is entrancingly beautiful, and I lament that I must leave her behind. I am so close to my home. A glimmer of light catches my eye, and I look down. It is her, almost visible; a golden glow in the mist. There must be time. She will come with me. We will go together. I leap.
I realize my mistake too late, and accept my fate with dismay. Plummeting through the whirlwind of clouds, I careen back to Earth. The sky is closing, I have missed my chance. Through the smokescreen she looked so lovely, but now I know the truth. I have seen true beauty; if for one brief moment, I have experienced freedom. I will never forget the sky nor its golden crown. The mystery of my ontology will go unsolved; I will never experience the true majesty of life. Now I fall, and I see her again. She is different. Her voice, once so melodious, has become a shrill siren song. Her skin is charred and black, peeling like bark from a burning tree. Flames pour from her head and lick at her sides. She stands ablaze; her eyes, glimmering with malice, sear through my head and into my soul. I am falling into her terrifying, mangled arms. I have made the wrong decision. She is at the precipice, the meeting point of light and darkness where my worlds collide. We meet; I am enveloped by her fiery embrace and at last I know her name.
Death.