Diary of Apocalypse

New Beginning

A few days in Greenvillage have been well. The ones in the city will not find me. I will resume my search. It's a new beginning; I learn the world as it learns me in turn. Soon all their secrets will be revealed.

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Village

The village's name is illegible. There is a flicker of green as I walk into the village, and the villagers are nowhere to be seen. Then I decide - this is Greenvillage.

What day is it?

I ask myself hollowly, and expect an answer from someone, something. I must keep track, if not for my own sanity, at least for this journal.

Where is this place? Another hollow question. How can I tell? Why could I tell- no. I will not confuse myself any further. Where I am is no longer a valid question. Who am I might just be easier.

Greenvillage is - surprisingly - inhabited. There are perhaps no more than sixty inhabitants; many of which are...different. Memory of the shabby ones possesses me. They are plant-like, although why I know this is up to them. The green ones don't seem to mind my intrusion into the village, and they smile at me, waving sickly green vines in greeting.

There are not all plants here in this place. The others are so like me that I want to cry in relief. They seem curiously weary and soft-spoken. Their presence is almost spectral, and their company makes me drowsy. The children are queer too, for they play not with toys or games, but they sleep much, and do nothing else.

But at least, I am safe - I think. The ravagers will not get me now. I will perhaps sleep here for the night.

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I Have Lost Count

The preceding days were nightmare. I can't, the horror still makes me vomit. The shabby ones, they almost killed me in the night. I have heard what they do to their kills. I hear them still. They call for me, for my flesh, my blood.

I have not updated, I know. There is little time for me now, I must depart, or perish. The city I stopped by was lost to the ravagers. They are...different. Some are possessed of three eyes. One I saw had a long partition down the length of his face. His mouth made the two sides of his nose wrinkle. They were not shabby, though. And they were still lucid. Unlike the shabby ones.

The city lies on the edge of a vast bowl in the land. The bitter sun strokes the sheer sides and the valley is filled with golden syrup, so sweet I could almost drink it. I hide from them. The ravagers, the shabby ones. They fight every day. I saw a shabby one on the ground, his belly open and the insides glistening. The others took him for their

I can't. Can't say. They always...they say it is not right. Not...not natural. It brings damnation and death and...I must leave. For once I cannot search the city. They must rest in the depths of my mind for the time being, they must not be disturbed. I must escape soon, or I will succumb.

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As it Rains

They came in the night, the cruel tendrils of memory.

It was a time when it still rained. It rained bounty and mana and there was still a chance of salvation.

And she came and my heart leapt, as it always did. And we kissed in the rain and under the ensuing light, golden rays breaking from the protective clouds, the soft caress of heaven. And the skies were a painted lathe, and the clouds swirled in pastel shades in a ballet that accompanied our love. And the sun showed his face and the clouds retreated, as courtiers before a king.

And the world was cast in light, and light cast shade where it could not touch. And as if through a dream we could hear the distant mountains sing, a song that could not be denied the power of succour and redemption. And the sun stroked the sheer banks of these aloof titans and all we could see was only snow and sky, grass and snow, wind and dew on the grass, leaf on grass, wind rustling the trees against sun and sky...

And I woke, and darkness bore down on me, and I cried.

For what is lost.

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Day 13

It isn't a very good day today on account of the number. I feel depressed, angry even. Because they say 13 is an unlucky number and I don't know why; they say the most inscrutable things sometimes. It's not because its a prime number, or because it's the 6th positive prime, or anything. Even if it were, why would the placing matter except from the stars that are hidden?

What are stars but nucleosynthesizing giants of hydrogen and heavier elements? How do I know about them? The sky has always been red, even though I remember...

Why are stars so special? And why is 13 unlucky on their account?

I stayed in the place where I met the man who talked with his navel. I had not eaten for a few days, although the food was, as always, plentiful to the intransigent forager. So I ate. I saw a woman. She was lying on the floor and her stomach was tumescent. Her skin was white and icy cold.

Food no longer decays, even though they said it does.

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Day 12

I say I spent 10 days on this, but I was wrong. I spent 9. It was 9 days, and on the 10th day I rested before I began.

I always wonder why we have 10 fingers. Or why there are 10 digits in all the universe, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0. They said it was by divine intervention. But intervention so arbitrary strikes me as mysterious. They say a lot of strange things I seem to understand but can't, and I become frustrated when I cast my mind and cannot fathom why they say that or who they were. If I have 9 fingers it wouldn't make a difference. It would be the same, since the progression of numbers is infinite.

Today I reached another place. It is a place of heat and wind, of tall things that stretch to the low red mist hanging above. I met a man. He was almost like a man except that when he talked, his mouth did not move, because it had been welded together. Instead he talked with his navel.

"Howdy," his navel said. I didn't reply as I was afraid. Afraid of him. Him and his navel that talked and moved and I could almost imagine small little teeth lurking within his folds of skin. Then he grinned. It was a most dreadful sight because he did it with his mouth.

I stammered something. And he said, "They said they were still here," and looked at me with tearing eyes. Because of the heat or something else, I knew not. But something struck me. He knew of them. I wasn't the only one, and in my excitement I yelled, "You knew them? Who are they?" and he backed away. And he said, "nuts" and ran off, leaving me there.

He thinks I'm mad. He thinks those who voice invocations of them are mad. I disagree. I will not submit to this meaninglessness. I will find them. And they will answer my questions whether they want to or not. I'm not mad. I'm on a quest, a quest to find anything, anything at all that will tell me what I am.

I will find out who they are.

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Day 11

Today I came here for the first time. I was doing what they call "questing", but I have forgotten who they were.

It is day 1, but it is more like day 11, or day 46000000000x365. I have chosen 11 because I have spent the first 10 days preparing this thing. I found it in the city that was still burning. It was all metal and girders and the sky was red, dark, burning crimson. But I didn't like the red because I could remember the sky had been green. Or yellow. But never red.

The last 10 days I spent in the desert. I also remember that it wasn't a desert, and the sand wasn't scorched and blackening. I spent those days preparing this log. I will keep this log to be sure I don't fade. And maybe, maybe, with it I can remember who they are.

A chapter flows forth @ 7:31 PM 0 criticism(s)  

Genesis

A new venture into the blogosphere has begun.

A chapter flows forth @ 2:30 AM 2 criticism(s)