Wednesday, November 2, 2011


Sometimes I allow myself to forget what it is like.

It is beautiful, in a sense.  The nothingness, deeper than anything we can know.  Wider than anything we can comprehend.  Blacker than black.  A void so deep it lacks even emptiness.  The truest silence, an overbearing, overwhelming, cacophonous Quiet.

First go the stars,  the planets.  Then goes the moon, right as the world watches, uncomprehending.

Then, the world is slowly eaten away, and one can see the frayed edges of reality tear and unravel into the ravening maw of nothingness.  People flee in terror, or freeze in horror, or throw themselves in with despair.

Ravening maw does not do it justice.  It simply stops being.  To look into is what I see when I close my eyes.  What I see when I dream.  

Sometimes, I prepare myself.  I say to myself, "This time, I will just allow myself to be consumed."   But even if I charge the hole in reality, it will not let me go.

Because the Young Master is not yet finished with me.

So I find the iteration shifted, and once again, I am alone.

The only person left out of countless universes, once more, I find myself the leftover piece in a puzzle I do not belong to, the superfluous component to a machine that runs without me.  An unwilling herald, sent not to prepare the world for it's coming, but to mourn the countless worlds already lost, spurred forward by an uncaring child for whom my despair is the sweetest confection.

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