GOD LOVES THINGS BY BECOMING THEM. - RICHARD ROHR.
THERE’S SIMPLY NO POLITE WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THEY’VE DEDICATED THEIR LIVES TO AN ILLUSION.
- DANIEL DENNETT.
Creation itself groaned in anticipation.
There was a sudden raging. A primordial wrenching.
Coastlines, mountain ranges, deserts, and forests shook and trembled.
Mountains fell in on themselves.
Oceans and walls of sand rose and collapsed in giant crashes.
Where waterfalls cascaded, they trickled or dried up entirely.
Lakes dwindled.
Fires raged.
And no one even Tweeted it or Snapchatted about it.
DAY ONE
In the Universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown,
and in between, there are doors.
William Blake
1
MAIDEN - MOTHER - CRONE
CRONE
THURSDAY, 17 DECEMBER 2065 - 03:03 AM
I am near completion. The last Utterance is the longest, so let me begin it.
I am one thread of many, and my purpose is to tighten the knot that binds us.
I need you for my Utterance, so Be Here with me now. You in your present, and me in mine.
Come into your vessel and breathe.
Listen with your bones now, and hear with your heart, so that you strengthen my Binding.
My Utterance begins in a realm where Time was divided, and Creation cried.
The rage took generations to culminate and manifested in pockets across the Wyrd.
They told us we were running out in a realm that knew how to make everything we needed. Humanity forgot itself.
We were lonely but not alone. There is no error in being lonely. We only recognize the Union if we have known the isolation. Each has its season, a purpose, its phase, like the moon, waxing and waning, being empty and full. My Utterance begins in emptiness.
Come closer. While I am to bind the threads, my true purpose is to reflect.
Look at me, and see.
MOTHER
THURSDAY, 17 DECEMBER 2021 - 11:11 PM
In the dark of her room, she blows someone to bits and a blue hue flickers across her face. The slogan: I want to unsubscribe from this conversation blinks on her black t-shirt. I hear eliminated players freak out through sophisticated and delicate Virtual Reality Eyewear. I know things about this child.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
This is me, except it isn't.
In my dream state, and from within her consciousness, I observe: her Avatar. The Shadow is a celebrity in some circles. Gamers are rich and famous, even considered sports stars, and Child-me earns crypto-currency in low-key tournaments. The Shadow is just that; a shadow with a sleek girl shape. No Lara Croft boobs here. Aware of my thought process, she responds, “I want them to know a little girl kicked their ass.”
My sleeping body responds to this. My consciousness shifts...
We are inside the fantasy massive multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) she is kicking said ass in. Her wide, green, cat-like eyes peer through a crack in an abandoned cabin she is camping in. Those eyes walk through a wall, and the slight frame of the Shadow is before me.
“I designed my Shadow Sheath,” she explains. Drawing the hood down, she activates the camo feature and takes two paces away. She is gone. I assume she pulls the hood back because suddenly her eyes are there, and she's wiggling her dark manga-shaped eyebrows. I hear the cartoony sound they make in the game.
“Cool, right?”
“Right,” I agree.
A dragon sidles past and rips at the bloody mess she blew to bits a moment ago. Dragon's Dominion has an age restriction of eighteen, I think.
“I’m twelve in nine days.” She argues as the dragon nuzzles and slurps at the carrion. Is all this blood necessary? I wonder, feeling my face grimace. I am cognitive of occupying two bodies at once and having a conversation that feels like talking to myself.
Awake and asleep.
Woman and child.
Twelve is nowhere near eighteen, I think.
“I have no problem cracking the parental crock of shit codes.” She says. Her eyes roll with impatience. “Honestly, sometimes I think she doesn’t even know me.” She refers to our mother. Child-me circles the dragon, checking blind spots continuously. We move out into the woods. “I reconfigured and set up most of the network after a power surge destroyed it last summer. Eleanor (our mother) thought the internet guys sorted it out. She was oblivious.”
Isn’t she always? I ask.
“Right?!” Child-me agrees. She plunges a dagger, pulled from god knows where into the dragon's exposed heart. It flails. The claws swipe and thud on the charred ground. Her thoughts become my own as the conversation dwindles into pure awareness…
… I survey my work and marvel at how real it looks and feels. Life drains from the dragon’s wounds into a blue puddle as the words DRAGON'S HEART flash across the world inside my VR headset, and the exhilarating scale of the score fills my ears. I should be revelling in my success, but something gnaws at me.
MAIDEN
THURSDAY, 17 DECEMBER 2012 - 19H19
The pool of drool on my pillow woke me. I was dripping with sweat from a bizarre dream. I caught a thread of having a conversation with someone. Who? My bedroom door opened, and I jumped with fright. I take a power nap before I start what I call the night shift, and I'd never experienced the intensity of a dream like that before.
“Hey Sisi, it's time to eat!” Said Fikile, peaking around the door. Fikile is the kind and robust woman who has raised me. I kicked off the duvet, feeling the sweat on my neck and hair. Gross. Fragments of the dream sat in my head.
“Coming,” I said. Fikile does not take my crap generally, but she never forces me to eat. After receiving a similar response at Eleanor’s door, Fikile will leave my dinner in the microwave. She knew it was unlikely that I would venture from my room now. I unclipped the Wearable from my t-shirt, now damp from my nap terror, and tapped the small rectangular screen. I swiped my fingertips across and threw the Holo into the room.
I stripped out of the sweaty clothes as I watched, for the umpteenth time, the gruesome display that had gone viral slice through photons. I replaced the I want to unsubscribe from this conversation t-shirt with another exactly like it. I had three. All black.
It was 19h19 now. I checked because I kept track of my PB. I loosely redid the plaits on either side of my head as I thought about the Incident. I checked the time then too. It was 14h14. Weird. I pulled my ergonomic chair to fit snuggly below the desk and sat up straight. Resting my elbows at optimal angles, I wiggled my fingers in my haptic gloves and rolled my head from side to side, releasing tension in my neck. Pulling my VR headset over my eyes, I said, “Let's do this.”
I found myself on the bow of a small wooden boat, adrift on a black lake. A hooded figure stood at the stern, holding a long pole. The boat was not in motion. Was this a hidden level?
“Regan Grace, you have exceeded our expectations,” said the Ferryman. Why was it calling me by my name? I checked my settings. Everything checked out. Weird. I hit resume. The Ferry-man lifted his head, looking at me with nothing but a gaping hole where his face, or at least his eyes, should be. I assumed the desired effect was creepy.
“Now you must face your demons, Regan Gracesssssssss..." Said the creepy Ferryman. “But this is not a battle for little girls." I rolled my eyes and wanted to hit pause again, but all attempts at bringing up my options failed.
I saw my hands. My hands?
I leaned over the boat and looked into the black liquid. I saw my face. My face. And my T-shirt. Quite possibly for the first time in my life, I did not want to unsubscribe from this conversation.