Re: The Spectacular Exhibition (S3G2) [Round 1: Parallels/Perpendicularities]
03-05-2011, 06:55 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-15-2013, 01:45 AM by Akumu.)
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
He sank into the darkness, pulling his limbs futilely through the water. He was not made for swimming, and the machine they had put on him was dragging him downward. A pressure grew in his chest as the air within his lungs grew stale. Moment by moment the spot of dim light above him grew more distant and his motions more sluggish. He had never been this cold. It felt like the darkness itself was seeping in, sapping his strength and will. He had to drive it away.
A soft glow poured forth, illuminating the side of the metal pillar leading up to the igloo above and down into the depths. The glow pushed back the darkness and through it he could see spires ringing the pillar, jagged and reaching like the teeth of some massive maw. Instinctively he tried to flee. The only effect was a minute twitching of his legs, grown numb and distant. He sank further and the spires surrounded him, massive towers of stone and metal, arranged for some purpose he could not comprehend. They faded away as his light and senses dimmed, and his whole world shrank to the burning in his chest. The darkness closed in again and as the air escaped him it moved inside and filled him and the last sensation he felt was that his whole body was tingling and then he was moving
out
and he was free. Free from weight and pain and fear, moving away from the crushing darkness and into the freedom of emptiness. He was whole again. The void whispered across his fur as he paddled through it, panting with happiness and excitement. Tucking in, he flipped about and regarded the latest prison that he had escaped. The whole of the cold place floated before him, stretched out forever and yet somehow contained, curved in on itself in some direction that he could not name. It was joined on all sides to another place, the same in the way that opposites always are.
“An interesting construction, isn’t it?”
From just behind him, a voice shattered the stillness of the void. He somersaulted again to face the source of this intrusion. There, seated on nothing with legs crossed, was one of them. He shrank back on himself, hackles rising, and considered this new threat.
“Not so much for the topology, which is amateur at best,” the Counsellor continued, gazing without concern past the agitated aardvark, “but for its ability to project the dream-selves of those within to a higher dimensional space. Which brings us to you.”
Her eyes flicked down to him and he went to flee, but she made a small gesture and he locked up, frozen in place. The gesture continued into a flourish and a pencil sprang from nothing in her hand. Her other hand now held a small notepad, and flicking back the cover with her thumb, she began to write as she spoke.
“You’re early for your next session, so it’s not surprising you haven’t made much progress on your phobias. What’s really worrying me right now is this denial. Look at how you’re projected in this space. A fuzzy-wuzzy critter without a care in the world. But that’s not you. You’re still down there, you know.”
She lifted her pencil and circled it vaguely at the world behind him.
“Right, you can’t look. But you’re sitting at the bottom of the sea, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrest, brain shutting slower than usual because of the cold. No bones about it, you are on death’s doorstep. The only reason I haven’t called it yet is because you’re more than what you’ve brought here. You’re leaving out a whole part of yourself.”
At her side, then, was the machine. Glass and metal and plastic formed together into a series of squat boxes, wires and tubes running between them. The assembly sat on islands of faceted, translucent crystals, encasing the bottom of the machine. From these extended trunks and tendrils, like roots, branching until they were so fine that they seemed almost a mist, filling out a ghostly apparition of himself. The Counsellor laid a manicured hand atop the machine and continued.
“It’s because of this that you can be here at all, having a conception of yourself. Have you noticed your thoughts are becoming more precise, that you’re thinking metaphorically and categorically? You’re becoming something better. Of course there’s some pain, but there always is during a birth. I don’t even know how much of this is getting through to you, but I can guarantee that it’s more than would have an hour ago, or even five minutes ago. So why don’t the two of you kiss and make up?”
She patted the back of the machine and the thing with his form began floating towards him. It thrummed in resonance as it approached and he heard it speak from inside his own mind,
“S'alright. I'm not going to hurt you, little buddy.”
He screamed and flopped backwards, released from the Counsellor’s grip. He corkscrewed wildly for a few moments before righting himself and shooting back towards the world he had left behind. The Counsellor stood, hair writhing wildly above her head, and he heard her calling out in the distance,
“You can’t run from yourself, Blazaard! The sooner you accept that, the better!”
He sank into the darkness, pulling his limbs futilely through the water. He was not made for swimming, and the machine they had put on him was dragging him downward. A pressure grew in his chest as the air within his lungs grew stale. Moment by moment the spot of dim light above him grew more distant and his motions more sluggish. He had never been this cold. It felt like the darkness itself was seeping in, sapping his strength and will. He had to drive it away.
A soft glow poured forth, illuminating the side of the metal pillar leading up to the igloo above and down into the depths. The glow pushed back the darkness and through it he could see spires ringing the pillar, jagged and reaching like the teeth of some massive maw. Instinctively he tried to flee. The only effect was a minute twitching of his legs, grown numb and distant. He sank further and the spires surrounded him, massive towers of stone and metal, arranged for some purpose he could not comprehend. They faded away as his light and senses dimmed, and his whole world shrank to the burning in his chest. The darkness closed in again and as the air escaped him it moved inside and filled him and the last sensation he felt was that his whole body was tingling and then he was moving
out
and he was free. Free from weight and pain and fear, moving away from the crushing darkness and into the freedom of emptiness. He was whole again. The void whispered across his fur as he paddled through it, panting with happiness and excitement. Tucking in, he flipped about and regarded the latest prison that he had escaped. The whole of the cold place floated before him, stretched out forever and yet somehow contained, curved in on itself in some direction that he could not name. It was joined on all sides to another place, the same in the way that opposites always are.
“An interesting construction, isn’t it?”
From just behind him, a voice shattered the stillness of the void. He somersaulted again to face the source of this intrusion. There, seated on nothing with legs crossed, was one of them. He shrank back on himself, hackles rising, and considered this new threat.
“Not so much for the topology, which is amateur at best,” the Counsellor continued, gazing without concern past the agitated aardvark, “but for its ability to project the dream-selves of those within to a higher dimensional space. Which brings us to you.”
Her eyes flicked down to him and he went to flee, but she made a small gesture and he locked up, frozen in place. The gesture continued into a flourish and a pencil sprang from nothing in her hand. Her other hand now held a small notepad, and flicking back the cover with her thumb, she began to write as she spoke.
“You’re early for your next session, so it’s not surprising you haven’t made much progress on your phobias. What’s really worrying me right now is this denial. Look at how you’re projected in this space. A fuzzy-wuzzy critter without a care in the world. But that’s not you. You’re still down there, you know.”
She lifted her pencil and circled it vaguely at the world behind him.
“Right, you can’t look. But you’re sitting at the bottom of the sea, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrest, brain shutting slower than usual because of the cold. No bones about it, you are on death’s doorstep. The only reason I haven’t called it yet is because you’re more than what you’ve brought here. You’re leaving out a whole part of yourself.”
At her side, then, was the machine. Glass and metal and plastic formed together into a series of squat boxes, wires and tubes running between them. The assembly sat on islands of faceted, translucent crystals, encasing the bottom of the machine. From these extended trunks and tendrils, like roots, branching until they were so fine that they seemed almost a mist, filling out a ghostly apparition of himself. The Counsellor laid a manicured hand atop the machine and continued.
“It’s because of this that you can be here at all, having a conception of yourself. Have you noticed your thoughts are becoming more precise, that you’re thinking metaphorically and categorically? You’re becoming something better. Of course there’s some pain, but there always is during a birth. I don’t even know how much of this is getting through to you, but I can guarantee that it’s more than would have an hour ago, or even five minutes ago. So why don’t the two of you kiss and make up?”
She patted the back of the machine and the thing with his form began floating towards him. It thrummed in resonance as it approached and he heard it speak from inside his own mind,
“S'alright. I'm not going to hurt you, little buddy.”
He screamed and flopped backwards, released from the Counsellor’s grip. He corkscrewed wildly for a few moments before righting himself and shooting back towards the world he had left behind. The Counsellor stood, hair writhing wildly above her head, and he heard her calling out in the distance,
“You can’t run from yourself, Blazaard! The sooner you accept that, the better!”