La Fuite De La Lune
Aug 30, 2020 13:10:48 GMT -5
mystifyingoracle, Mitch 'The Broken' Heart, and 1 more like this
Post by Lab Rat King on Aug 30, 2020 13:10:48 GMT -5
To outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
An suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
II. La Fuite De La Lune, Oscar Wilde
The cosmic dance is the only one performed in a silent ballroom; there was something romantic about the silence. The infinite black soaked up all sound and the dancers themselves became spotlights, spinning and twirling through an infinity that only reached further with every passing moment. Cast against nothingness, each celestial body seemed that much more beautiful, colour and brilliance given that much more contrast.
To be adrift in a spacecraft, thought the Commander, was to be a wallflower in the cosmic dance.
Maybe it was the solitude that had him waxing poetic in his thoughts. He stood now at the observation window of the Argo, his palm pressed softly to the thick glass, watching the infinite sea of stars pass by. His expedition had brought him far beyond the scope of where any human being had traveled, and in the end he knew that he would pass away from old age before he ever made it home. That was a condition he had accepted when he took the mission. He’d made peace with it long ago.
Despite that… he couldn’t help but feel the tug of something, calling him. There was something ahead, something in the deep cold and dark that offered a kind of solace he could never explain to another person. Here he was, still following that call. That oasis. Chasing a feeling.
Was he losing his mind? Had he drifted too far?
“Argo,” he spoke at length, his voice breaking the silence on the empty deck. “Any sign of the anomaly today?”
The ship’s computer blinked to life, a mist-like blue glow humming along her edges.
“No, Commander,” she replied, her voice level and cool as polished steel. Familiar to him in every way. “Your scans have been coming back inconclusive for the past 28 hours. Are you certain you still do not want to transmit your existing findings on the anomaly back to the Control Station?”
The Commander paused, taking a breath. In the end, he sighed and shook his head. “No. not yet. I need… I need more information.”
What could he tell them? They wouldn’t understand.
“Then I suggest you return to your sleeping quarters,” Argo replied. “You have been awake now longer than the recommended duration for optimal performance--”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sighing again, suddenly a great deal more weary, the Commander let his hand fall away from the glass and began shuffling down the corridor toward the living quarters. “I hear you, Argo. Go to sleep.”
…
..
.
Space Traveler.
The Commander’s eyes opened in the dark, his breath hitching.
Space Traveler…
He was almost afraid to breathe; the silvery voice felt resonant in his head, like the sound of it came from inside his own skull. The edges of his vision crackled and vibrated, almost as though he were behind distorting glass or ice.
Are you listening? I can feel you out there on your little boat... Did the sea of stars wash you all the way out to me, Space Traveler?
The Commander sat up, slowly, cautiously, the covers falling from his torso. He realized he was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, the sheets trying to stick to his bare skin.
“Don’t go.”
He was surprised at how quickly the words spilled from his lips, apparently unbidden. Yet… he realized the urgency with which he spoke was real. Not again. He wouldn’t let her slip away again. She had been on the edges of his mind for years; he could still remember the first sensations, the tugging, the whispers. Nights lying awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, as something from the deepest recesses of the cosmos called to him with a voice sweeter than any fruit.
The voice laughed now, soft and saccharine.
I won’t. Not this time. You’ve never been so close before. I could almost… touch you.
The Commander’s breathing stops as he feels a chill pass over his skin, like a frosty gust of wind brushing his collarbones and face.
“Please… where are you…?”
Come back to your window, where you can see the stars.
The Commander nearly slipped as he stumbled out of bed to his feet with haste; he didn't even bother with a shirt, stepping barefoot out into the corridor. The Argo felt… colder, somehow. The floor beneath him chilled his blood, and when he exhaled he could see a faint wisp of his breath.
“Argo?” he called, tentative, “is there something wrong with the environmental control?”
The ship didn’t answer. It was deathly quiet, mirroring the void outside. He felt a shiver roll across his skin, raising goosebumps. Suddenly feeling profoundly alone, The Commander willed himself to move down the hallway, one hand brushing the wall as though seeking some sort of reassurance from the computer that had become his only steadfast companion. It didn’t come.
The command deck was just as quiet when he reached it. The soft violet light of the Autopilot indicator pulsed in the dim, but the air was still as a deep winter’s night; even the hum of the ship’s systems seemed distant and dull. The gently curved window at the front of the ship looking outside displayed the same infinity of stars. Except…
… in the distance, without explanation or deferral to the laws of astronomical physics, a full silver moon glowed like a beacon in the very middle of the window’s view. Once again, the commander felt his breath still in his throat. The perfect sterling sphere mirrored itself in his eyes, filling the black of his pupils with light.
His whole body going still, he allowed his line of sight to pan down, following the luminous glare of the moon cast across the deck floor. Standing in front of the cockpit chair was…
… who…?
The Commander blinked rapidly; it was as though his eyes were disobeying him. He tried to focus on the silhouette in front of him, but no matter how he looked, rubbed his eyes, tried to shake away the haze… he couldn’t focus on it.
Can you see me, Space Traveler? I’m still waiting for you.
“No, I…” He shook his head in frustration, blinking rapidly in an effort to dispel the effect to no avail. As he stared, the apparition in front of him began rapidly flickering, as though the pages of a book were being flipped faster than he could possibly read.
“Please,” he begged, beginning to sound frantic. He took a step toward the silhouette, reaching out a hand as the flickering grew faster. He could hear the pages turning; the frantic flurry of paper brushing paper in a hurricane wind. “Please, who are you--?!”
The book slammed shut.
...
..
He awoke with a pulsing headache on the floor of Silvio Leon’s apartment, eyes wet with unshed tears as he stared at the ceiling. The white paint offered no comfort. There were no stars… and the pages were already fading from his waking thoughts.
… Why?
No answer. Where he had slid off the couch in the fit of his dreams, King rolled himself onto his side, pulling the blanket off the cushions and down over his head. Only a low growl rolled from his throat, followed by frustrated sniffing.
I just… I’m so tired… it hurts... please. I...
As Zane sank back into the oblivion of his own head, he couldn’t help but wonder if remembering everything--knowing the whole truth of what had happened to him--would be less painful than this.
The gaps in his memory that wouldn’t close were beginning to bleed, and the monster guarding the gate was the one holding them open.
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
An suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
The cosmic dance is the only one performed in a silent ballroom; there was something romantic about the silence. The infinite black soaked up all sound and the dancers themselves became spotlights, spinning and twirling through an infinity that only reached further with every passing moment. Cast against nothingness, each celestial body seemed that much more beautiful, colour and brilliance given that much more contrast.
To be adrift in a spacecraft, thought the Commander, was to be a wallflower in the cosmic dance.
Maybe it was the solitude that had him waxing poetic in his thoughts. He stood now at the observation window of the Argo, his palm pressed softly to the thick glass, watching the infinite sea of stars pass by. His expedition had brought him far beyond the scope of where any human being had traveled, and in the end he knew that he would pass away from old age before he ever made it home. That was a condition he had accepted when he took the mission. He’d made peace with it long ago.
Despite that… he couldn’t help but feel the tug of something, calling him. There was something ahead, something in the deep cold and dark that offered a kind of solace he could never explain to another person. Here he was, still following that call. That oasis. Chasing a feeling.
Was he losing his mind? Had he drifted too far?
“Argo,” he spoke at length, his voice breaking the silence on the empty deck. “Any sign of the anomaly today?”
The ship’s computer blinked to life, a mist-like blue glow humming along her edges.
“No, Commander,” she replied, her voice level and cool as polished steel. Familiar to him in every way. “Your scans have been coming back inconclusive for the past 28 hours. Are you certain you still do not want to transmit your existing findings on the anomaly back to the Control Station?”
The Commander paused, taking a breath. In the end, he sighed and shook his head. “No. not yet. I need… I need more information.”
What could he tell them? They wouldn’t understand.
“Then I suggest you return to your sleeping quarters,” Argo replied. “You have been awake now longer than the recommended duration for optimal performance--”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sighing again, suddenly a great deal more weary, the Commander let his hand fall away from the glass and began shuffling down the corridor toward the living quarters. “I hear you, Argo. Go to sleep.”
…
..
.
Space Traveler.
The Commander’s eyes opened in the dark, his breath hitching.
Space Traveler…
He was almost afraid to breathe; the silvery voice felt resonant in his head, like the sound of it came from inside his own skull. The edges of his vision crackled and vibrated, almost as though he were behind distorting glass or ice.
Are you listening? I can feel you out there on your little boat... Did the sea of stars wash you all the way out to me, Space Traveler?
The Commander sat up, slowly, cautiously, the covers falling from his torso. He realized he was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, the sheets trying to stick to his bare skin.
“Don’t go.”
He was surprised at how quickly the words spilled from his lips, apparently unbidden. Yet… he realized the urgency with which he spoke was real. Not again. He wouldn’t let her slip away again. She had been on the edges of his mind for years; he could still remember the first sensations, the tugging, the whispers. Nights lying awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, as something from the deepest recesses of the cosmos called to him with a voice sweeter than any fruit.
The voice laughed now, soft and saccharine.
I won’t. Not this time. You’ve never been so close before. I could almost… touch you.
The Commander’s breathing stops as he feels a chill pass over his skin, like a frosty gust of wind brushing his collarbones and face.
“Please… where are you…?”
Come back to your window, where you can see the stars.
The Commander nearly slipped as he stumbled out of bed to his feet with haste; he didn't even bother with a shirt, stepping barefoot out into the corridor. The Argo felt… colder, somehow. The floor beneath him chilled his blood, and when he exhaled he could see a faint wisp of his breath.
“Argo?” he called, tentative, “is there something wrong with the environmental control?”
The ship didn’t answer. It was deathly quiet, mirroring the void outside. He felt a shiver roll across his skin, raising goosebumps. Suddenly feeling profoundly alone, The Commander willed himself to move down the hallway, one hand brushing the wall as though seeking some sort of reassurance from the computer that had become his only steadfast companion. It didn’t come.
The command deck was just as quiet when he reached it. The soft violet light of the Autopilot indicator pulsed in the dim, but the air was still as a deep winter’s night; even the hum of the ship’s systems seemed distant and dull. The gently curved window at the front of the ship looking outside displayed the same infinity of stars. Except…
… in the distance, without explanation or deferral to the laws of astronomical physics, a full silver moon glowed like a beacon in the very middle of the window’s view. Once again, the commander felt his breath still in his throat. The perfect sterling sphere mirrored itself in his eyes, filling the black of his pupils with light.
His whole body going still, he allowed his line of sight to pan down, following the luminous glare of the moon cast across the deck floor. Standing in front of the cockpit chair was…
… who…?
The Commander blinked rapidly; it was as though his eyes were disobeying him. He tried to focus on the silhouette in front of him, but no matter how he looked, rubbed his eyes, tried to shake away the haze… he couldn’t focus on it.
Can you see me, Space Traveler? I’m still waiting for you.
“No, I…” He shook his head in frustration, blinking rapidly in an effort to dispel the effect to no avail. As he stared, the apparition in front of him began rapidly flickering, as though the pages of a book were being flipped faster than he could possibly read.
“Please,” he begged, beginning to sound frantic. He took a step toward the silhouette, reaching out a hand as the flickering grew faster. He could hear the pages turning; the frantic flurry of paper brushing paper in a hurricane wind. “Please, who are you--?!”
The book slammed shut.
...
He awoke with a pulsing headache on the floor of Silvio Leon’s apartment, eyes wet with unshed tears as he stared at the ceiling. The white paint offered no comfort. There were no stars… and the pages were already fading from his waking thoughts.
… Why?
No answer. Where he had slid off the couch in the fit of his dreams, King rolled himself onto his side, pulling the blanket off the cushions and down over his head. Only a low growl rolled from his throat, followed by frustrated sniffing.
I just… I’m so tired… it hurts... please. I...
As Zane sank back into the oblivion of his own head, he couldn’t help but wonder if remembering everything--knowing the whole truth of what had happened to him--would be less painful than this.
The gaps in his memory that wouldn’t close were beginning to bleed, and the monster guarding the gate was the one holding them open.