Afterthought (Silas, Tiffany, & Ionone)
Quote from Mae on December 11, 2019, 12:39 amI lay on the cold wet stone, feeling my chest rise and fall. My heart sent a throbbing pulse through my numb extremities while I waited.
When I was a little girl, I would count the beats of my heart. They told me the best swimmers had slower hearts, and if I swam enough, my heart would be strong enough one day to need less beats per minute. … but they didn't know what I really am.
… It's so dark and quiet down here...
Whether my eyes are open or closed, it makes no difference. The emptiness above my head and around my body feels infinite. I can't hear my breath echoing... I have my arms stretched out to either side and I still don't feel any walls. I wonder if I'm in an airy cavern, or a very wide tunnel.
At last, I push myself into a sitting position and begin to inspect every inch from my head to my feet. There's no light in here, so I can't see anything. I'm wet and cold all over, but I don't smell any blood. That's a good sign... wait. What's this? There is a throb in my hand, and yes, I can smell my blood. I guess I must have hit my hand on the way down. It's not a bad injury, as long as I remember not to walk on it. Anything else?
I stretch my arms and legs, one by one. My fingers aren't sensitive enough to survey surface damage, and its too risky to revert to my first skin just yet. So, just use what you have. "Use what you have" … something else Momma Tycoon used to say. A gentle touch and firm press with my nose is good enough to ascertain any damage. Nothing. I'm wind-whipped and tense from the fall, but I was lucky. I didn't hit any walls, and went through the surface of the water on the balls of my feet. I'd say those odds equate pretty good numbers for my luck today...My tail still feels dead. But I'm otherwise alive, and just need to decide what to do... If this were an ordinary human situation, I'd ideally sit here near where I fell and wait any number of days for my companions to bring a rescue team. These circumstances, however, are anything but ordinary. One of my "companions", if he can be called that, is chasing a killer through a mine. My other companion... Ionone... is a trained assassin, given the inexplicable task to keep a man alive. Mr. Skeleton man. Heh. This whole goosechase, and I bet he's what we're looking for. He could tell us a lot of what we want to know if we get out of here alive.
What do I know of all this?
****
They say our kind evolved into the ultimate master of natural mimicry, able to blend in so inconspicuously with not one, but two unrelated species, while remaining distinct and unique to both. Whether it was mutually beneficial to us and the model species, or for our protection, or else so we could prey on them, science never gave us an answer. What we could say, however, was that there certainly was a hunter among us, and that hunter learned to see our distinctions.
We utilized modern means to disguise ourselves. Many of us adapted to cover our natural distinctions with contacts and hair and odor products. But there were some of us, a few, who were more naturally adapted than others. We were born on earth fit to play the game better than those that came before. We were the next generation of modern mimics.
I was one of those whose features fit the ticket. Several weeks ago, I was sitting at a bar, playing a card game and putting my life down as a gambling bid. Miss Dirty-blond Curls and dark-eyed angel; I was playing their hearts and winning. Sitting across from me was Mister Darkheart himself; the hunter and slayer; the enemy for which our ancestors hated and feared mankind.
….
I lay on the cold wet stone, feeling my chest rise and fall. My heart sent a throbbing pulse through my numb extremities while I waited.
When I was a little girl, I would count the beats of my heart. They told me the best swimmers had slower hearts, and if I swam enough, my heart would be strong enough one day to need less beats per minute. … but they didn't know what I really am.
… It's so dark and quiet down here...
Whether my eyes are open or closed, it makes no difference. The emptiness above my head and around my body feels infinite. I can't hear my breath echoing... I have my arms stretched out to either side and I still don't feel any walls. I wonder if I'm in an airy cavern, or a very wide tunnel.
At last, I push myself into a sitting position and begin to inspect every inch from my head to my feet. There's no light in here, so I can't see anything. I'm wet and cold all over, but I don't smell any blood. That's a good sign... wait. What's this? There is a throb in my hand, and yes, I can smell my blood. I guess I must have hit my hand on the way down. It's not a bad injury, as long as I remember not to walk on it. Anything else?
I stretch my arms and legs, one by one. My fingers aren't sensitive enough to survey surface damage, and its too risky to revert to my first skin just yet. So, just use what you have. "Use what you have" … something else Momma Tycoon used to say. A gentle touch and firm press with my nose is good enough to ascertain any damage. Nothing. I'm wind-whipped and tense from the fall, but I was lucky. I didn't hit any walls, and went through the surface of the water on the balls of my feet. I'd say those odds equate pretty good numbers for my luck today...
My tail still feels dead. But I'm otherwise alive, and just need to decide what to do... If this were an ordinary human situation, I'd ideally sit here near where I fell and wait any number of days for my companions to bring a rescue team. These circumstances, however, are anything but ordinary. One of my "companions", if he can be called that, is chasing a killer through a mine. My other companion... Ionone... is a trained assassin, given the inexplicable task to keep a man alive. Mr. Skeleton man. Heh. This whole goosechase, and I bet he's what we're looking for. He could tell us a lot of what we want to know if we get out of here alive.
What do I know of all this?
****
They say our kind evolved into the ultimate master of natural mimicry, able to blend in so inconspicuously with not one, but two unrelated species, while remaining distinct and unique to both. Whether it was mutually beneficial to us and the model species, or for our protection, or else so we could prey on them, science never gave us an answer. What we could say, however, was that there certainly was a hunter among us, and that hunter learned to see our distinctions.
We utilized modern means to disguise ourselves. Many of us adapted to cover our natural distinctions with contacts and hair and odor products. But there were some of us, a few, who were more naturally adapted than others. We were born on earth fit to play the game better than those that came before. We were the next generation of modern mimics.
I was one of those whose features fit the ticket. Several weeks ago, I was sitting at a bar, playing a card game and putting my life down as a gambling bid. Miss Dirty-blond Curls and dark-eyed angel; I was playing their hearts and winning. Sitting across from me was Mister Darkheart himself; the hunter and slayer; the enemy for which our ancestors hated and feared mankind.
….
Quote from Indy on December 12, 2019, 11:17 pmHaggard air filtered from the tunnels beyond the small room Silas was in. It smelled of ancient, untouched earth, cold, molded water.... and just the faintest trace of blood.
--
I'd grown frustrated allowing myself to be guided by touch. The cable along the wall provided context, as well as the lingering smells of where we'd passed earlier. But where water ran over the stone, the scents were already faded. I had to go by the walls still, where Tiffany and I had touched them. My ears trained ahead in the darkness, but I could hear nothing in the stillness.
I suppose I always had another option but-- no, our enemies slept in the darkness here. Better that we should hold the advantage of our senses then play into our enemy's benefit. He would already have better lay of the land than us, even with the light as our guide. We needed to play by our advantage.
The tunnels stubbornly would not lead to the lower levels. At first I found myself following Silas' trail, but this quickly came to an impasse. Then I found another trail. It wasn't much of one. Whoever it was had gone past had done so in a hurry, leaving little of themselves behind for others to find. But I didn't need much. It was a scent every werewolf could find, coded into the very blueprint of our kind. Like sharks, if even a drop of it fell, we would always find it.
It was the smell of blood.
Haggard air filtered from the tunnels beyond the small room Silas was in. It smelled of ancient, untouched earth, cold, molded water.... and just the faintest trace of blood.
--
I'd grown frustrated allowing myself to be guided by touch. The cable along the wall provided context, as well as the lingering smells of where we'd passed earlier. But where water ran over the stone, the scents were already faded. I had to go by the walls still, where Tiffany and I had touched them. My ears trained ahead in the darkness, but I could hear nothing in the stillness.
I suppose I always had another option but-- no, our enemies slept in the darkness here. Better that we should hold the advantage of our senses then play into our enemy's benefit. He would already have better lay of the land than us, even with the light as our guide. We needed to play by our advantage.
The tunnels stubbornly would not lead to the lower levels. At first I found myself following Silas' trail, but this quickly came to an impasse. Then I found another trail. It wasn't much of one. Whoever it was had gone past had done so in a hurry, leaving little of themselves behind for others to find. But I didn't need much. It was a scent every werewolf could find, coded into the very blueprint of our kind. Like sharks, if even a drop of it fell, we would always find it.
It was the smell of blood.
Quote from Mae on December 20, 2019, 1:34 am"You won us over with your wiles and deception. I'm confident, you can do the same to them."
Gabriel Aberdeck deserved a punch in the gut for that. I should've put it to him and saved myself a trip into this black hole months ago.
*****
I shiver in the cold, in the dark. The emptiness around my body is terrifying. Somehow I have to survive, but no one is coming for me. Any direction I go will lead to the word "disappeared" in the local newspaper. They will never find me. I don't know how my mouth can feel so dry while the rest of me is so wet. There's nothing over my head, is there? There's a damp draft coming from somewhere. Maybe its stale air, I don't know. I feel tired for some reason. Maybe there isn't actually any air down here at all...
Suddenly, I see him! My heart blocks the gasp in my throat from rising. For a moment, so vividly, walking out of the darkness toward me, I saw him.
Close your eyes, Tiffany. I close my eyes and it makes no difference. I can see him through my eyelids. He's not real. None of them are. All around me. They're phantoms. All of them. They don't exist. Nothing exists except the rocks under me. I can hear Tommy laughing far away... he's come to play an awful trick on me. I can almost feel daddy Tycoon breathing over my shoulder... he's got his belt buckle in hand. Tyler is bleeding again... he's laying on the floor looking dead. Drayke... Gideon... Simon..."Wake up, Tiffany." My voice is real. Its near and loud. All the others are distant memories. "You got this, sugar, you just be brave now..."
"You won us over with your wiles and deception. I'm confident, you can do the same to them."
Gabriel Aberdeck deserved a punch in the gut for that. I should've put it to him and saved myself a trip into this black hole months ago.
*****
I shiver in the cold, in the dark. The emptiness around my body is terrifying. Somehow I have to survive, but no one is coming for me. Any direction I go will lead to the word "disappeared" in the local newspaper. They will never find me. I don't know how my mouth can feel so dry while the rest of me is so wet. There's nothing over my head, is there? There's a damp draft coming from somewhere. Maybe its stale air, I don't know. I feel tired for some reason. Maybe there isn't actually any air down here at all...
Suddenly, I see him! My heart blocks the gasp in my throat from rising. For a moment, so vividly, walking out of the darkness toward me, I saw him.
Close your eyes, Tiffany. I close my eyes and it makes no difference. I can see him through my eyelids. He's not real. None of them are. All around me. They're phantoms. All of them. They don't exist. Nothing exists except the rocks under me. I can hear Tommy laughing far away... he's come to play an awful trick on me. I can almost feel daddy Tycoon breathing over my shoulder... he's got his belt buckle in hand. Tyler is bleeding again... he's laying on the floor looking dead. Drayke... Gideon... Simon...
"Wake up, Tiffany." My voice is real. Its near and loud. All the others are distant memories. "You got this, sugar, you just be brave now..."
Quote from Indy on December 23, 2019, 8:22 pmI allowed myself to be guided by the red-path in the dark. You could imagine the strange ghosts that come with that path, but in my other life I'd learned these darkened corridors. There's a sound in perfect silence, a faint ringing, because the absence of information is so perfect that your mind grows agitated and desperately tries to associate meaning where none is to be had. We are not creatures used to the nothing, used to the isolation -- you have to train to withstand it, to survive the tinnitus. If you cannot see or hear, then you allow your other senses to guide you. Touch becomes your eyes, smell becomes your ears. I let my fingertips trail along the earthen wall even when the cable had ceased, imagining islands and rivers, mountains and continents that had brought each particle to my hand. And if you could understand the history of the very earth, would not its history of a few months seem far less mysterious?
The red path grew thicker... and for my rapt attention to the woes of the earth imprisoned here, I heard her story in the ringing silence. The earth was solid and dense, the very core of the mountain humbled beneath the explosive force of man. It would not be easily swayed by no less, and you could feel her scars. But not all the scars are the same. The explosions were deep, chaotic, and imprecise to the earth; I felt those as a rich texture. But once or twice my fingertips would trail beneath tiny divets, the earth gently cupping my touch. After I felt them the second time, I wondered if there was a pattern. My curiosity was rewarded -- roughly every few feet I would come across the divots, at the same height as the previous.
I stopped short, drawing my fingers away from the wall. I was blind once more, and I had to settle myself before my mind convinced us we'd fallen into a great nothing. I drew my fingertips to the tip of my muzzle and inhaled.
The red path had not been laid, but dug. If a tool had been involved, it had been secondary to the fingers that had clawed at them. I returned my touch to the wall, feeling the divots... on and on they went, one could imagine infinitely in the pitch darkness. The extent would suggest it was a feat accomplished in years -- but the smell of blood had not faded entirely to the metallic scents of the ore. It was recent. I could imagine only one creature suspended in the nothing long enough, driven mad enough, to carve their path in the very bones of the mountain...
I allowed myself to be guided by the red-path in the dark. You could imagine the strange ghosts that come with that path, but in my other life I'd learned these darkened corridors. There's a sound in perfect silence, a faint ringing, because the absence of information is so perfect that your mind grows agitated and desperately tries to associate meaning where none is to be had. We are not creatures used to the nothing, used to the isolation -- you have to train to withstand it, to survive the tinnitus. If you cannot see or hear, then you allow your other senses to guide you. Touch becomes your eyes, smell becomes your ears. I let my fingertips trail along the earthen wall even when the cable had ceased, imagining islands and rivers, mountains and continents that had brought each particle to my hand. And if you could understand the history of the very earth, would not its history of a few months seem far less mysterious?
The red path grew thicker... and for my rapt attention to the woes of the earth imprisoned here, I heard her story in the ringing silence. The earth was solid and dense, the very core of the mountain humbled beneath the explosive force of man. It would not be easily swayed by no less, and you could feel her scars. But not all the scars are the same. The explosions were deep, chaotic, and imprecise to the earth; I felt those as a rich texture. But once or twice my fingertips would trail beneath tiny divets, the earth gently cupping my touch. After I felt them the second time, I wondered if there was a pattern. My curiosity was rewarded -- roughly every few feet I would come across the divots, at the same height as the previous.
I stopped short, drawing my fingers away from the wall. I was blind once more, and I had to settle myself before my mind convinced us we'd fallen into a great nothing. I drew my fingertips to the tip of my muzzle and inhaled.
The red path had not been laid, but dug. If a tool had been involved, it had been secondary to the fingers that had clawed at them. I returned my touch to the wall, feeling the divots... on and on they went, one could imagine infinitely in the pitch darkness. The extent would suggest it was a feat accomplished in years -- but the smell of blood had not faded entirely to the metallic scents of the ore. It was recent. I could imagine only one creature suspended in the nothing long enough, driven mad enough, to carve their path in the very bones of the mountain...
Quote from Adriana on December 26, 2019, 8:23 pmI didn't think I could go back. Not without some work. The path was blocked off, and I could go back down and follow Army Boots - not a good idea - or continue this way and hope it leads somewhere. Meanwhile, I'd lost the women, and I was starting to worry about them. Somewhere inside my eternal five year old was stomping his feet, saying he's tired and hungry and wants to go home. Him being me, I was inclined to agree.
You like danger, I conceded to myself. When are you not in danger? Therefore, you like it. Therefore, you should embrace it. Yes, but what about that gun? I haven't died before but I get the feeling I won't like it. Do you question when the bell tolls? Good point. You like to gamble, right? Sure, sure.
Alright, you win, brain. Full speed ahead. I got down on all fours and inhaled the ground and air in turn to see if there was anything useful, then went full speed ahead, nails clacking on the stone, until the path opened up into a wide maw with a similar layout - or what I assumed by the acoustics was a similar layout - to the earlier parts of the cavern. I also felt like I had gone uphill, as the pressure had shifted in my ears. This part of the cave felt somehow more abandoned. But something had changed- there seemed to be something of a breeze almost. Faint albeit detectable after wetting my nose. Perhaps this was another docking point for the old mine. I attempted to follow the ghost of the wind..
I didn't think I could go back. Not without some work. The path was blocked off, and I could go back down and follow Army Boots - not a good idea - or continue this way and hope it leads somewhere. Meanwhile, I'd lost the women, and I was starting to worry about them. Somewhere inside my eternal five year old was stomping his feet, saying he's tired and hungry and wants to go home. Him being me, I was inclined to agree.
You like danger, I conceded to myself. When are you not in danger? Therefore, you like it. Therefore, you should embrace it. Yes, but what about that gun? I haven't died before but I get the feeling I won't like it. Do you question when the bell tolls? Good point. You like to gamble, right? Sure, sure.
Alright, you win, brain. Full speed ahead. I got down on all fours and inhaled the ground and air in turn to see if there was anything useful, then went full speed ahead, nails clacking on the stone, until the path opened up into a wide maw with a similar layout - or what I assumed by the acoustics was a similar layout - to the earlier parts of the cavern. I also felt like I had gone uphill, as the pressure had shifted in my ears. This part of the cave felt somehow more abandoned. But something had changed- there seemed to be something of a breeze almost. Faint albeit detectable after wetting my nose. Perhaps this was another docking point for the old mine. I attempted to follow the ghost of the wind..
Quote from Indy on December 28, 2019, 12:01 amHe was waiting where he always waited. For food. For water. For words. Even if there was a price to be paid for them. In the paths he'd carved, he could always find his way back to to that room before he returned. And the hunter would always return before he would starve. He was a dog on a leash, where long ago the dog had found the predictability of the leash a comfort rather than a prison.
And where was there to go, anyways? He'd seen the yawning cliff sides, where his only witnesses were the pines; what hope would there be for him? They must be in the true wilds of the mountains. He couldn't get far enough away before the hunter could track him down again and punish him for disobeying.
Oh, but the mountains had been whispering to him in their long silences together. He used to fear her voice or disregard it as unintelligible garbles. He used to think he was going mad. Now he knew he'd been rude-- you listened to a lady when she spoke. The mountain made good sense, ancient creature that she was. She'd told him to carve his paths in the first month, and she'd been right. Even when he was perfectly disorientated, vertigo and nausea condemning him only to a meager crawl, he could always find his way. Then she'd told him they would have company soon. And she'd been right... if only they'd listened to him, to the mountains, maybe they'd have been spared.
The mountain was powerful. You would be fool to ignore her. So he was waiting like she'd told him to wait. Right where he'd expect him to be. But that was not the end of the mountain's advice. His little heart thrummed like a hummingbird in his chest, listening to the dark cracks of rock and the mountain's haggard breath. His hands flexed in the dark.
Patience, she said. He's close... he is distracted
Then she cried -- Now strike!
He was waiting where he always waited. For food. For water. For words. Even if there was a price to be paid for them. In the paths he'd carved, he could always find his way back to to that room before he returned. And the hunter would always return before he would starve. He was a dog on a leash, where long ago the dog had found the predictability of the leash a comfort rather than a prison.
And where was there to go, anyways? He'd seen the yawning cliff sides, where his only witnesses were the pines; what hope would there be for him? They must be in the true wilds of the mountains. He couldn't get far enough away before the hunter could track him down again and punish him for disobeying.
Oh, but the mountains had been whispering to him in their long silences together. He used to fear her voice or disregard it as unintelligible garbles. He used to think he was going mad. Now he knew he'd been rude-- you listened to a lady when she spoke. The mountain made good sense, ancient creature that she was. She'd told him to carve his paths in the first month, and she'd been right. Even when he was perfectly disorientated, vertigo and nausea condemning him only to a meager crawl, he could always find his way. Then she'd told him they would have company soon. And she'd been right... if only they'd listened to him, to the mountains, maybe they'd have been spared.
The mountain was powerful. You would be fool to ignore her. So he was waiting like she'd told him to wait. Right where he'd expect him to be. But that was not the end of the mountain's advice. His little heart thrummed like a hummingbird in his chest, listening to the dark cracks of rock and the mountain's haggard breath. His hands flexed in the dark.
Patience, she said. He's close... he is distracted
Then she cried -- Now strike!
Quote from Mae on December 28, 2019, 1:02 am"It's time to get up, Tiffany. You got this, sugar?"
It's cold and wet in here, and you might be a thousand feet below the portal now, but that means you're closer to the valley floor. Get lost if you dare, sugar, there's only a thousand places to go and you'll still be under Mount Turbulence; that means under Svalnaglas territory.
I was made for these kinds of odds. I always wondered what the purpose of it all was - to be born an unnatural and by all means unreal creature no one else believed in. - What in nature were we for? What on earth could change shape in an instant like we could, and still go back to its previous form in a blink? It's not natural. Its not real. Yet, I never had the chance not to believe it. I've not only seen it with my own eyes, I've experienced it - I am the truth of it. I am the unreal.
There's always going to be that part of me that's afraid of the dark, afraid of getting lost, afraid of all the ways to die. But sugar, you're a monster, and monsters and darkness go together like bread and butter. So go ahead and get lost, if you can. The tunnels don't feel so limitless when you've got nothing else to lose. Just like that part of me that'll never be okay with the dark, there's always going to be that other part; that part that doesn't need a light, that doesn't need a home. So, lets see where it goes.
"It's time to get up, Tiffany. You got this, sugar?"
It's cold and wet in here, and you might be a thousand feet below the portal now, but that means you're closer to the valley floor. Get lost if you dare, sugar, there's only a thousand places to go and you'll still be under Mount Turbulence; that means under Svalnaglas territory.
I was made for these kinds of odds. I always wondered what the purpose of it all was - to be born an unnatural and by all means unreal creature no one else believed in. - What in nature were we for? What on earth could change shape in an instant like we could, and still go back to its previous form in a blink? It's not natural. Its not real. Yet, I never had the chance not to believe it. I've not only seen it with my own eyes, I've experienced it - I am the truth of it. I am the unreal.
There's always going to be that part of me that's afraid of the dark, afraid of getting lost, afraid of all the ways to die. But sugar, you're a monster, and monsters and darkness go together like bread and butter. So go ahead and get lost, if you can. The tunnels don't feel so limitless when you've got nothing else to lose. Just like that part of me that'll never be okay with the dark, there's always going to be that other part; that part that doesn't need a light, that doesn't need a home. So, lets see where it goes.
Quote from Mae on January 2, 2020, 11:07 pm"Did you hear what I said?"
"... I can't do it, Gabe."
"Yes, you can."
"I'm already a cat against a red iron. If I push it, it won't matter what I am."
"Listen. Something has come down off the line. We need to know now. Do it... Don't worry. We'll help you get out."
******
"His name is Jack Moren. Yes. I'm going to meet him on the south side of town in the morning. … No, he's the driver. … No. Yeah, something went down, but they're not talking about it. … Those hills out north. … I don't know. … … … Not unless they know what they're looking for. … It's a red tractor with silver detailing. The container isn't marked, but I've seen what's inside. … … … Trains. … Yes, I'm sure. … I can't say over the phone. I'll let you know when I see you. … … The truck stop. … Yeah. … He didn't say, I'm just suppose to meet him there. … Will you be sending anyone else? … No- … that- … No, listen. - … … … … ------- …. Fine. … No. … -------------- …. … … If I'm not a tanned hide by then you'll be drinking by yourself."
Blues claimed he never intercepted my call, but that was the only time I breathed a word about it. If he hadn't overheard my call, he must've been tailing me long beforehand. What did the blue collars want with this dirty game?
I kept the faith, kept walking. My mind was lively with the past, and my heart beat wildly in the dark. But somehow, I never felt quite lost. There's a bit of instinct, I guess, when it comes to being at the end of your rope. You know when there's nothing else you can do, and no one around to save you, that there's no right or wrong choices. You just do what feels right. And here in the dark, - can't see anything, can't trust the sounds, - feeling is all I've got. It's wild, and it's exciting. I've got a lot of energy, being what I am. I'll live a good few days down here before I'm too weak to go on. And if these are my last days on earth, I'm not going to sit down and cry. I'm going keep walking. Jank! I'm going to run! And if I fall down another hole, well - at least that takes care of the last few days.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"... I can't do it, Gabe."
"Yes, you can."
"I'm already a cat against a red iron. If I push it, it won't matter what I am."
"Listen. Something has come down off the line. We need to know now. Do it... Don't worry. We'll help you get out."
******
"His name is Jack Moren. Yes. I'm going to meet him on the south side of town in the morning. … No, he's the driver. … No. Yeah, something went down, but they're not talking about it. … Those hills out north. … I don't know. … … … Not unless they know what they're looking for. … It's a red tractor with silver detailing. The container isn't marked, but I've seen what's inside. … … … Trains. … Yes, I'm sure. … I can't say over the phone. I'll let you know when I see you. … … The truck stop. … Yeah. … He didn't say, I'm just suppose to meet him there. … Will you be sending anyone else? … No- … that- … No, listen. - … … … … ------- …. Fine. … No. … -------------- …. … … If I'm not a tanned hide by then you'll be drinking by yourself."
Blues claimed he never intercepted my call, but that was the only time I breathed a word about it. If he hadn't overheard my call, he must've been tailing me long beforehand. What did the blue collars want with this dirty game?
I kept the faith, kept walking. My mind was lively with the past, and my heart beat wildly in the dark. But somehow, I never felt quite lost. There's a bit of instinct, I guess, when it comes to being at the end of your rope. You know when there's nothing else you can do, and no one around to save you, that there's no right or wrong choices. You just do what feels right. And here in the dark, - can't see anything, can't trust the sounds, - feeling is all I've got. It's wild, and it's exciting. I've got a lot of energy, being what I am. I'll live a good few days down here before I'm too weak to go on. And if these are my last days on earth, I'm not going to sit down and cry. I'm going keep walking. Jank! I'm going to run! And if I fall down another hole, well - at least that takes care of the last few days.
Quote from Mae on January 25, 2020, 7:36 pmStrange, when you've got nothing else to go by, how a feeling just leads you on. I had a feeling in my heart that knew the way. I could tell there was a turn in the tunnel before I even got to it. It was almost as if I could sense the whole labyrinth and know which corner of it I wanted to be in. It wasn't long before I found myself going up. It was a vertical shaft I just happened upon, and what do you know, there was a rickety old ladder there too. Sure, a rickety old ladder isn't much to trust, but its better than no ladder at all.
I guess I was luckier than I thought I was. I didn't have much to lose, and no one was coming for me. So I took a chance on what seemed the right thing. I got to the top of the ladder and tried to regain my bearings. I got an awful sense that now that were tunnels beneath me, there just might be more false floors. What a pleasant thought.
*****
Meanwhile, in some other part of the mine...
A small candle flickered over a number of small vials and sample tubes, some contained different colored liquids, others did not. Each one was carefully and deliberately secured. Then the little light went out.
Strange, when you've got nothing else to go by, how a feeling just leads you on. I had a feeling in my heart that knew the way. I could tell there was a turn in the tunnel before I even got to it. It was almost as if I could sense the whole labyrinth and know which corner of it I wanted to be in. It wasn't long before I found myself going up. It was a vertical shaft I just happened upon, and what do you know, there was a rickety old ladder there too. Sure, a rickety old ladder isn't much to trust, but its better than no ladder at all.
I guess I was luckier than I thought I was. I didn't have much to lose, and no one was coming for me. So I took a chance on what seemed the right thing. I got to the top of the ladder and tried to regain my bearings. I got an awful sense that now that were tunnels beneath me, there just might be more false floors. What a pleasant thought.
*****
Meanwhile, in some other part of the mine...
A small candle flickered over a number of small vials and sample tubes, some contained different colored liquids, others did not. Each one was carefully and deliberately secured. Then the little light went out.
Quote from Mae on February 27, 2020, 12:36 amTiffany reached the top of the ladder. Met by darkness, silence, and the bitter cold, she reached across a gravelly void to pull herself out of the shaft. She was as lost as she could be in the cold lifeless mine, yet her heart still beat with warm living blood. It was the quest of a survivor to go until the sinew wasted and the lifeblood ceased. If she could but imagine the despair of the many wayward creatures which perished in the same tunnels, or conceive of the desperation of the captive human mind in the same solitude, she might've feared the days to come. Yet, as if untouched by the fears of both man and beast, disconnected from her own mortality, she pursued darkness into an abyss.
Time went on. Silence followed every echoing step, and here and there a soundless voice seemed to cry out of a distant tunnel.
Doubt is the Reaper in far fiercer form. If one can hold onto the hope that somewhere there is light, or even if there is darkness forever that somehow it will be okay, one will have courage to keep on walking come what may. But doubt is the dread that freezes the sinews in the legs and stiffens the joints with fear. Doubt is what stops a good decision before it is made. Doubt is the decaying of human hope, and the end of a battle before it begins.
After a long time of yielding no progress - each turn bringing further darkness, and each step leading no farther - Tiffany's heart began to weaver. She felt weariness in her legs, and stiffness in her arms. Her left arm in particular began to throb with pain from her beating heart. Her tail still hung loosely behind. Her footsteps were falling shorter with each step. Heaviness settled onto her heart, and hung over her head. She did not stop. At first, her head bowed, and she walked on. As time passed, she reached forward on her hands and feet, and walked on. Her pace slowed, and she walked on. More time passed, and she walked on. Then, she stopped. She sank to her knees. She bowed her head beneath her hands, and she cried.
In darkness, there is privacy for tears. In silence, tears are strange in the ears of their own maker. When the body is weak, and the heart is weary, the strength of the spirit stands aside to let the flesh grieve. Perhaps understanding that tears are a necessary misfortune, the soul allows itself to mourn that is may continue on, for after the shedding of the tears it takes heart again.
Tiffany cried, still yet detached as it were from her own mortality, for as her body trembled and her heart shook, she listened to the echoing sob almost curiously. What a strange sound it was to hear herself cry. How lonely it was, and how foreign. Perhaps somewhere in the darkness someone was listening, and would it not be a foolish thing to overhear? "But there is no one listening," she counseled, so she cried unhesitating. It was a beautiful thing - the voice of a woman weeping, though in her heart she felt like a girl. When had she attained this dignity? When had her voice ever sounded so beautiful? Almost, she thought what it might be like, to have a mother sing to her in a voice like her own. Yet, neither father nor mother Tycoon ever sounded like her.
After a short time, the weeping slowed and then subsided. The strength to cry was spent, and though the body was neither stronger nor the mind more hopeful, the spirit remained determined. Thus, after minutes more when her voice had trailed to silence, Tiffany listened, and then stood. She would walk on. She must walk on.
Tiffany reached the top of the ladder. Met by darkness, silence, and the bitter cold, she reached across a gravelly void to pull herself out of the shaft. She was as lost as she could be in the cold lifeless mine, yet her heart still beat with warm living blood. It was the quest of a survivor to go until the sinew wasted and the lifeblood ceased. If she could but imagine the despair of the many wayward creatures which perished in the same tunnels, or conceive of the desperation of the captive human mind in the same solitude, she might've feared the days to come. Yet, as if untouched by the fears of both man and beast, disconnected from her own mortality, she pursued darkness into an abyss.
Time went on. Silence followed every echoing step, and here and there a soundless voice seemed to cry out of a distant tunnel.
Doubt is the Reaper in far fiercer form. If one can hold onto the hope that somewhere there is light, or even if there is darkness forever that somehow it will be okay, one will have courage to keep on walking come what may. But doubt is the dread that freezes the sinews in the legs and stiffens the joints with fear. Doubt is what stops a good decision before it is made. Doubt is the decaying of human hope, and the end of a battle before it begins.
After a long time of yielding no progress - each turn bringing further darkness, and each step leading no farther - Tiffany's heart began to weaver. She felt weariness in her legs, and stiffness in her arms. Her left arm in particular began to throb with pain from her beating heart. Her tail still hung loosely behind. Her footsteps were falling shorter with each step. Heaviness settled onto her heart, and hung over her head. She did not stop. At first, her head bowed, and she walked on. As time passed, she reached forward on her hands and feet, and walked on. Her pace slowed, and she walked on. More time passed, and she walked on. Then, she stopped. She sank to her knees. She bowed her head beneath her hands, and she cried.
In darkness, there is privacy for tears. In silence, tears are strange in the ears of their own maker. When the body is weak, and the heart is weary, the strength of the spirit stands aside to let the flesh grieve. Perhaps understanding that tears are a necessary misfortune, the soul allows itself to mourn that is may continue on, for after the shedding of the tears it takes heart again.
Tiffany cried, still yet detached as it were from her own mortality, for as her body trembled and her heart shook, she listened to the echoing sob almost curiously. What a strange sound it was to hear herself cry. How lonely it was, and how foreign. Perhaps somewhere in the darkness someone was listening, and would it not be a foolish thing to overhear? "But there is no one listening," she counseled, so she cried unhesitating. It was a beautiful thing - the voice of a woman weeping, though in her heart she felt like a girl. When had she attained this dignity? When had her voice ever sounded so beautiful? Almost, she thought what it might be like, to have a mother sing to her in a voice like her own. Yet, neither father nor mother Tycoon ever sounded like her.
After a short time, the weeping slowed and then subsided. The strength to cry was spent, and though the body was neither stronger nor the mind more hopeful, the spirit remained determined. Thus, after minutes more when her voice had trailed to silence, Tiffany listened, and then stood. She would walk on. She must walk on.
