So it goes that Abe then began to consume 'The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus,' and what Mother may have unconsciously known on protective instinct, we can begin to unravel. In Mother’s defense, she knew not what it was or where the source of the threat could strike out from, an elusive specter of danger. She only knew that there was this shadow on her husband’s familial line, a persistent burden on the brow, a blight upon what could be joyful, but instead was an inheritance of burden and dread, hand to hand, a transactional bond through blood, but not love, passed through generations. A curse that brought out fabulous romantic compulsions and creativity, but also a weighted anchor of doom.
What Abe had accessed was benign. It was just a book... yet Mother’s shepherding was far, (step away from the window….), far away now, isn't it? Mother, her own weight of responsibility relieved for just a bit of respite and a long drought of a passionless love life, she was understandably beguiled to have a relief from care, concern, and constant monitoring of Abe's frailty and general lack of well-being. She needed to be with her husband, and she felt that was deserved for her penance, her role so shackled to her unrequested.
If she were to see the babe now, reading just a book, there’s not a danger in sight. No more than a binding of paper and glue, but in Abe's mind, a phantasmal barrage of imagery sprang forth, transporting him into another world:
In the dimly lit library, as Abe sat with 'The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus' in his hands, the pages of the ancient tome began to shift and shimmer, as if infused with some ethereal energy. It was a sight both mesmerizing and unsettling, reminiscent of a cosmic event that set the stage for the emergence of life.
The room seemed to breathe with a strange vitality, and Abe could almost hear the distant echoes of a celestial chorus. The very air around him crackled with a sense of ancient knowledge waiting to be uncovered. It was as though the book itself held the power to unlock the secrets of creation, just as some enigmatic force in the universe had ignited the spark of existence.
With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, he turned the page, knowing that this journey into the unknown was just beginning.
"Exordium"
The body lurches as if hurled from some wondrous dream. Squinted, stinted eyes closed and crusted lids from lack of use. An Einstein halo opens on another time and place.
The luminosity from too many suns pulsating and strobing nearby pummels at the senses, blinding the scene that was not meant to be discerned by alien, ignorant eyes.
One lays there for an age, who knows for how long, staring at a speck of sand that could be a star in a galaxy upon this waste. Slowly, one dares to glance as the bizarre visage begins to take on focus, the observer and the tender jelly organs sense and circumscribe the scene for sanity's sake. The brain matter searches desperately for pattern, for familiarity amongst the desolation.
There's a comforting sense that this is all somehow familiar, and that is somewhat true, but ultimately a folly. The mortal mind can only take in so much information at once, designed to filter out the overwhelming oddity. A clever protective shell, yes? A governance against the capital 'T' Truth. "No mortal soul caught in its cycle, the coil of life's teachings, can continue along the path. Another poor dear clutching to slippery sanity under such conditions of colossal Truth, the absolute." Even ants trampled under such impossibilities are supposed, some would believe, to dream and imagine another reality. What do the oblivious ants trample upon, then? Do the ants ever look up to wonder?
What the observer must begin to wrestle with is a sense, from here out, of filling the void space in what follows with the frail brushstrokes of an ignorant mind's eye. Decalcify the slumbering pineal gland and praise the suns as the makers did for us all, atop the Cradle. The grotesquely stunted gray matter is being mapped, producing a fill-in, in order to protect the observer's delicate psyche, in a negative space.
The gods freed us from the coil, alas temporarily, to move us freely from one dimensional plane to another. Pushing through the membrane of perceivable reality while we slumbered, enabling (albeit temporarily) greater degrees of liberty, a quick step through the adhering dark matter. Awaken, dreamer awake.
One has only just arrived. Pay attention.
Upon the desolate plane of an entirely different 'place' in an entirely different 'when,' one must struggle to accept that this is how it should be in order to witness how your world could end, and begin again.
The landscape was barren and scarred, except for one that walked alone yet upright and strong against its brutalism. The strange and masterful being had been walking in odd, unseen paths and lanes within the craggy wasteland of the necrotic globe for days, barefooted yet entirely untaxed and unscathed.
Its dermis was impenetrable. Even the most tender of fleshy films and optic lenses had been adapted to resist such abrasive alkaloid star-shards that rode on the thin vapor wisps and zephyrs, tearing and eroding at the remnants of a lost civilization, now exhausted and wasted. A vertical pole that once held a proud banner or signal, the stranger paused momentarily to consider what the odd relic’s frayed form and markings would have been useful for. Slight intentional movement, the strange wanderer cocked its head and imagined what the color must have originally been like and what purpose it could have served.
The attributes of the terrain were irrelevant to a being that had advanced beyond the primitive need to take anything into itself in order to sustain life and function. The atmosphere was scorched and not fit for repertorial gas exchange, and the granular contents would dry-out and shred most thin tissues. Nor was it in the uptake of said fuels in such an inefficient manner that expectoration of wastes was a biological necessity. The primitive digestive, respiratory, and reproductive systems had been adapted through accelerated mutation, ultimately phasing-out such weighty energy consumers. The advancement of its performance, its physiological precision paired with unparalleled mental prowess, made it an absolute pinnacle for its purpose. The stranger was alone here, bearing witness to a final act: it was here to witness what remained of the planet's last moments.
This stranger had a buttocks but no anus, nor did it have sex organs at all, no umbilicus, no hair on its dull blue-grey flesh - all these were unnecessary organic machinations considering its precisely corpuscular refinement. A mouth that rarely moved, more of an artifact upon a well-defined, genderless face. This harbinger was unbelievably beautiful as it stared off at the wrecking ball looming in an auspiciously fixed planetary position. It didn’t think on the inevitability, this astral juggernaut coiled and ready to be called down to decimate what remained. Striated musculature ran in fanlike patterns that would fascinate a practitioner of the medical arts, it was precise and symmetrical as one would expect from a refinement of science versus the erratic probability of nature. The midlines and bodily sections were too precise and too perfectly calculated. The genetic chains were grown in chambers of such gravities that even they could withstand immense amounts of rigor and stress without failure, they would just change. Mammalian features that were familiar to an observer were not unpleasant, but lacked feeding channels or orifices, they were unnecessary. The being had been grown into a perfectly harmonious and androgynous being, produced and refined. This alien stranger was also, as far as it knew while expertly maneuvering caverns and rises, the sole soul amongst the remnants, the last passenger on this rock that entropy had given a death sentence to.
In the vast and uncaring cosmos, the entity traversed with an emotional detachment akin to the void itself, its mission clear yet devoid of the need for socio-physical bonds. In every deliberate step and interaction, the harmony of its singular purpose resonated. The minds of its kin, spanning aeons and epochs, were interwoven into a collective consciousness—a perfected psychic cohesion. Their mental network, bridging time and space, ensured the precision of future events, plotted and predicted through the hive-like amalgamation of their shared experiences. The vast, abyssal depths of their eyes held this meticulously indexed chronicle.
These beings, architects of their own destiny, journeyed across galaxies, their past marked by encounters with the most sophisticated life forms conceivable. Their astral pioneers, ceaselessly venturing from their celestial cradle, became vagabonds of time, their discoveries echoing back to the collective psyche. When one of them caressed the alien soils of distant worlds, their collective consciousness rejoiced in the newfound knowledge. They basked in the uncharted waters of remote planets, their senses merging in a symphony of shared experiences. Their odysseys stretched to the very fringes of existence, where the fabric of reality thinned and the chaotic dance of creation and entropy played out in a cosmic spectacle. The faint glow at the edge of the universe, ancient and dim, marked the primal ignition of light, a boundary beyond which they chose not to tread.
Having charted the unknown, they retracted their reach, content with the knowledge amassed and accolades earned. Some delved into the oceanic abyss, others ascended to icy summits. Outward exploration ceased, turning inward to meditative trances, weaving new dimensions in their collective slumber.
One, however, remained vigilant, wandering alone upon a barren world, drained of life and essence. It tapped into the psychic archive, reliving past voyages. As it traversed desolate landscapes, memories of primeval explorations surfaced, a silent homage to epochs long gone.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Reaching a desolate peak, it gazed upon the fragmented moon, its remnants scattered like grains across a starless void, with the looming presence of Carcosa—a vibrant, preternatural harbinger of the inevitable. In this desolate tableau, a flicker of pride briefly animated its otherwise stoic demeanor.
Continuing its solitary pilgrimage, it approached a sacred site, an ancient cradle of creation and communion, where higher truths were sought and the grandeur of their works beheld.
At this hallowed ground, it encountered a smooth, anomalous stone—a stark contrast to the rugged path it had traversed. This relic, alien to the barren landscape, served as a harbinger of doom. With a telepathic grace, a skill borrowed from organic life, it navigated the unseen mechanisms.
From its simple sling bag, the entity retrieved an ornate yet durable case, containing sacred instruments for the impending ritual. Reverently, it pressed the case to its lips before placing it upon a black disk resting atop an obsidian altar. Upon contact, the altar revealed its true nature—not solid, but a facade skillfully crafted to conceal its inner workings.
The vibration permeated everything—a subsonic hum that resonated beyond hearing, a sensation that seemed to emanate from the very core of this forsaken place. Was it the echo of a long-dormant furnace buried deep below, or the whispers of those long departed? It was an undeniable presence, an undercurrent that coursed through the circular temple and beyond, into the dead heart of the planet itself. The pages of existence, those unread chapters of an unseen narrator's tale, thrummed with this frequency. Reality itself, in its intricate tapestry, was realigning, shifting at an imperceptible yet relentless pace. This hum was the harbinger of decay, a subtle yet omnipresent herald of dissolution.
In the midst of this transformation, the enigmatic figure, an amalgamation of all that lingered in this realm, lay supine, its eyes closing for the first time in an age. This was no ordinary rest; it was a communion, a resonant link to the unraveling fabric of reality. The world around it was fading, its edges blurring into obscurity. The very essence of matter, of perception, was merging into a chaotic symphony of dissolution. The familiar constellations of space seemed to expand and contract, an ominous dance that defied natural order. The stars themselves, in their cosmic ballet, moved with an eerie grace, a sight both mesmerizing and terrifying.
Had the harbinger possessed relatable conscious, the vertigo of this celestial upheaval would have overwhelmed its senses, its advanced consciousness dissolving alongside its physical form. But in this trance, a state beyond form, it was spared. From the darkness, a shadowy appendage, a tendril of void, reached forth, touching the being gently behind its ear. Even in this subdued state, a sense of finality, of purpose fulfilled, coursed through its being.
A fissure appeared on its form, a split that was both physical and metaphysical, birthing two imperfect halves. In this division, there was a strange ecstasy, a reaching out of one part to the other, a symbolic gesture to the origins of life itself. This being, once known in whispered tales as Lilith, began to dissolve, merging with the tendril, reuniting with its ancient counterpart, Gelem. Above, the heavens themselves seemed to recoil, emitting a shrill, unearthly whistle, like the cursed wail of spectral flutes. The planet shuddered, its atmosphere thinning as Carcosa, in its weakened orbit, inexorably drew nearer, beckoned by an unseen force.
*****
In the shadowy confines of the basement, with the distant, steady hum of the furnace as his only companion, young Abe sat huddled in a corner, cradling the book "The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus." The flickering light from a lone bulb cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an eerie tapestry that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the words he read.
Surrounded by the musty scent of old concrete and the gentle, rhythmic throb of the house's heart, Abe was transported far beyond the confines of his dimly lit sanctuary. The book, a beacon in the gloom, whispered secrets and tales from realms that danced on the edge of comprehension.
Each sentence Abe devoured fed the burgeoning storm of thoughts within him. The characters leaped from the pages, their voices resonating in the cavernous space of the basement, merging with the low growl of the furnace. They spoke of worlds where reality was but a plaything, where time twisted upon itself like the serpentine paths of an unsolvable labyrinth.
The furnace's drone became a soundtrack to his journey, its steady hum a grounding force as his mind ventured into the chaos of the narrative. The basement, with its half-seen corners and echoing stillness, transformed into a gateway, a threshold between the mundane and the mystical.
Abe's heart raced as he encountered the protagonist of the story—a figure shrouded in mystery, whose existence blurred the lines between the possible and the impossible. The words it spoke seemed to echo directly in Abe’s mind, each syllable a key turning in the locks of his understanding.
As he turned each page, the reality of the basement melded with the world of the book. The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting with a rhythm that matched the undulating prose. The shadows grew deeper, hiding secrets that Abe felt he could almost grasp.
In this subterranean world, the furnace's hum became a chant, a background hymn to the unfolding tale. It was as if the very house was alive, bearing witness to Abe's transformation as he delved deeper into the unknown.
The book, "The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus," was not merely a collection of words; it was a living entity, its narrative a weaving of cosmic truths that both bewildered and beckoned. Abe, young and uninitiated, found himself at the threshold of understanding, grappling with ideas that twisted his perception of reality.
The weight of these revelations hung heavy in the cool, damp air of the basement. Each revelation was a step further into a realm where the very fabric of existence was questioned, where each truth uncovered led only to deeper mysteries.
And yet, Abe continued, driven by a thirst for knowledge that outweighed his trepidation. In the solitude of the basement, with the furnace's chant as his anchor, he journeyed through the pages, each word a footprint on the path to enlightenment, each chapter a revelation of the vast and unknowable cosmos.
In that moment, in the dim light of the basement, Abe stood at the confluence of fear and fascination, his mind reeling from the enormity of the universe, his heart racing with the thrill of the unknown. This was not just a book he held in his hands; it was a portal, and he was its lone traveler, stepping bravely into the vastness of the uncharted.
“….dreaming of that face again," he tranced recited to the space, the words echoing in the confinement. The face from the book, bright and blue and shimmering, grinned back at him with three wild and warm eyes. It was a comforting presence, yet it heralded a journey into realms unknown, realms that beckoned to Abe with the promise of forbidden knowledge.
He could feel himself tumbling, spiraling down an unseen hole, the world he knew receding into a speck of distant light. "Down that hole and back again," his voice barely rose above a murmur. With each page turned, each word absorbed, he felt as though he was rising up from the depths, wiping away the webs of ignorance and the dew of innocence from his eyes.
"In... Out... In... Out... In... Out..." The rhythm of his breathing matched the cadence of the words, a mantra that anchored him in the midst of this metaphysical tempest. The lines between reality and the visions from the book blurred, melding into a singular, pulsating existence.
A child's rhyme echoed in his mind, a vestige of a simpler time, "It said that life is but a dream." The innocence of the verse clashed with the profound revelations unfurling before him. Had his life been nothing more than a dream? A mere prelude to the awakening that this book was ushering in?
"So good to see you," he imagined the voice from the book speaking to him. "I've missed you so much." The words resonated with a longing that mirrored his own – a yearning for understanding, for connection to the cosmic truths that had eluded him until now.
"Came out to watch you play. Why are you running?" The question struck a chord deep within Abe. All this time, had he been running from the truth? From the realization that his understanding of reality was but a narrow sliver of a vast, incomprehensible universe?
The basement, the furnace walls, the ash itself, still warm, once a simple refuge, now felt like a sanctum of revelation. The shadows around him seemed alive, whispering secrets and truths that only he could understand. The furnace's hum transformed into a chorus of unseen voices, guiding him deeper into the labyrinth of his own mind.
In this secluded chamber, Abe found himself standing at the precipice of sanity and madness, knowledge and ignorance. The book was no longer just a collection of stories; it was a beacon, illuminating the dark corners of his mind, revealing paths he never knew existed.
The journey was both exhilarating and terrifying, a descent into madness that paradoxically opened his eyes to a new reality. In the depths of his unraveling psyche, Abe discovered insights that transcended the mundane, insights that promised to reshape his understanding of everything he thought he knew.
There, in the flickering light of the basement, Abe teetered on the edge of an abyss, peering into the unknown with a mind frayed and reformed by the revelations of "The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus."
In the depths of the night, in the solitude of the basement where the world above seemed a distant memory, Abe sat motionless, the pages of the book lying open in his lap. The dim light flickered, casting long, quivering shadows that danced across the walls like silent specters. His eyes, once filled with a hunger for the unknown, now gazed into the void with a weariness that seeped deep into his bones.
He….felt as though this…..this had been given some sort of premonition, a warning stirred into a calamity of tedious familiarity..he could hear his own murmuring, but it was oh so remote, the words barely escaping his lips. The feeling gnawed at him, an ominous whisper in the back of his mind that something profound yet disturbingly familiar was unraveling before him.
Around him, the basement transformed. The walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, the shadows growing taller, more menacing. The hum of the furnace, once a comforting constant, now sounded like a chorus of distant, mocking laughter, a soundtrack to his fraying grasp on reality.
The book, his guide through this labyrinth of madness and revelation, lay open, its words swimming before his eyes. They twisted and turned, forming patterns that both enticed and repelled him. Each sentence was a thread in the tapestry of his unraveling sanity, weaving a picture too vast and incomprehensible for his mind to hold.
The premonition that haunted him spoke of truths too heavy for one soul to bear. Each revelation he had uncovered in those pages felt like a key turning in a lock, opening doors to places within his mind he could no longer control. The familiarity of it all was the most terrifying aspect – it was as if he had walked this path before, spiraling deeper into an abyss that was both alien and intimately known.
Visions plagued him, a kaleidoscope of images and sounds that blurred the line between the real and the surreal. Faces from the book, creatures of otherworldly horror and beauty, seemed to emerge from the shadows, whispering secrets in a language he felt he should understand.
Abe clung to the remnants of his rational mind, but the tide of madness was unrelenting. His journey into the unknown had become a descent into a personal hell, where the very fabric of his being was torn and re-stitched by forces beyond his comprehension. The familiar became strange, and the strange, terrifyingly familiar.
In this place of darkness and revelation, Abe realized the terrible truth – that in seeking to understand the mysteries of the universe, he had become a mystery unto himself, a wanderer lost in a maze of his own making. The premonition that had once seemed like a warning now felt like a prophecy, a destiny he was powerless to avoid.
As the first light of dawn began to seep through the small basement windows, casting a pale, ghostly glow, Abe sat alone, a figure both enlightened and broken. The journey he had embarked upon had brought him to this moment of irrevocable change, where the boundary between reality and illusion was forever blurred. In his quest for knowledge, he had found madness, and in his madness, a truth too vast to ever fully comprehend.