Cold

"The universe is a cold, dark place. Other than a few minor aberrations, everything is enshrouded in a freezing blackness. Cold is the most powerful force in existence, and I have taken it upon myself to be it's loyal servant. It's waiting for us at the end. We are pulled inexorably toward it. We can huddle in fear by the firelight for only so long. All things are destined to end; all fires to fade. When the stars are extinguished and life fades in a whisper, only cold will remain."

"The first was Nadine. I met her at a bar. She was a chef. As a chemist myself, we had much to talk about. We flirted as we drank. I explained the chemical reactions of her work. I introduced ideas to her which blended our two fields together. She was fascinated. Before long, she was mine. I took her home that night. Offered another drink and insinuated even more. She was so passionate. Lovely, really. It made it easier. She undressed herself as the drugs took effect. I dragged her body into the basement and tied her to a chair. I listened to Hildegarde as I prepared everything and waited for her to awaken."

"After a few hours, consciousness finally returned to the dark-haired girl and we could begin. She did as I knew she would. (As they all do.) Pleading, crying, screaming. So horribly unattractive. I've never felt such a clear, utter revulsion for another human being as I did then. I calmly explained through her ravings what the night had in store for her. We were going to perform an experiment. Me and her. She would be my subject, and I the good doctor. What were we supposed to learn from the experiment? Who knows! This was pure science for science's sake. Sometimes you just need to throw something at the wall and see what sticks. In my hands, I cradled a smooth, metal canister. On the table by the chair, where my subject awaited, was a hammer. Inside the gleaming canister, was liquid nitrogen. The experiment was simple. I would pour small amounts of the liquid gas over parts of her body, smash those bits with a hammer, and see how she reacts."

"I started with her feet, then her hands, attempting to move slowly as to keep the subject awake and alive as long as possible. It didn't work. 15 minutes in and she already lost consciousness. What a waste. I froze the rest of her body, smashed it up, and threw it into the river. Nothing identifiable as human remained."

The next subject was a little younger. The name on her driver's licence was Annalee. I found her waiting at a bus stop. There was a severe snowstorm forecast for that night. Maybe that was the reason for my sudden passionate inspiration, the coming wave of cold. It was late and she was alone, so I just took her. I proposed a new experiment this time. I confess, I did torture her a little beforehand. Mentally, of course! I'm not some kind of monster. I asked if she ever had a major surgery to which she nodded no. Then I explained how the doctors put you under before a major surgery. There are a mixture of active components in anesthesia that are used to three different effects: they make you unaware, they make you immobile, and they numb your body. Sometimes one or more doesn't work. There are countless stories of patients watching the doctors as they slice into their immobile bodies. Quite interesting, wouldn't you say? Well no bother, tonight we won't be worrying about analgesia."

"I took her limp body outside. I drove her into a large, isolated field. I laid her on the ground. I stood over her, talking to her, as the first flakes began to fall. Then I simply stood. And waited. And watched as she was slowly buried alive. She was aware and she could feel. I knew that. I liked the peaceful dignity of her death. I stayed, silently watching, until her body was entirely covered. I wondered what she might be thinking. I tried to imagine myself as her. Lying on the ground, unable to move, cold slowly entering my body like a gentle lover. Death watching from the periphery. Unseen like a pervert in the night. Waiting for Cold to fully penetrate me before it took me into its eternal arms. I gave her a good death. A profound death."

"And that brings us to you, Mark. My third. My most elaborate experiment, no... tribute the god of freezing blackness. The ender of all things. The final form of the universe itself. You shall by my first truly ritualistic offering. I see now. I was but a child in my first act. Curious and naive. Then a teen in my second. It was romantic, impassioned. But now I emerge reborn. Coldness has embed itself into every fiber of my being. I truly understand now. For this, your death, is my most elaborate. After the first two I put my mind to work. The others were trite, unoriginal. That isn't what you offer to a god. And this, the ultimate god, deserves so much more. Something never done before. Something nearly impossible in its execution. And I've done it. Here, let me take of your blindfold so you can appreciate the lengths I've gone to. But first..."

The sound of a button being pushed and machinery moving. The man, lying on the floor at first, feels himself being lifted feet first into the air. From out of the darkness, he feels a tug at the back of his head and his vision is filled with a blinding light.

"I would ask you what your thoughts are, but I've learned my lesson. The duct tape is staying over your mouth. I won't have your sacrilegious, callow utterings spoil the grandness of this act. Just look, Mark, even as the victim you should be able appreciate the scale of what I've accomplished."

From his position dangling in the air. Mark sees the doctor standing by a control panel. The doctor's appearance is clean and genial. He's wearing a lab coat, non-slip shoes, small gold-rimmed glasses, and white latex gloves. He seems glad and proud. They are in a large room. A mix between laboratory and warehouse. Directly beneath Mark is a massive vat of clear and perfectly still liquid. All surfaces are metallic and spotless.

"You couldn't begin to imagine the lengths I had to go through to set all this up. The idea was divine inspiration, but work a labor like no other. You see, the idea came about when I was trying to figure out a way to entrap someone within ice. I didn't want to put them in water then drop the temperature because then the person would also be frozen. I wanted the person to be alive in the ice. I also didn't want to trap them in a room of ice or cover them in ice shavings. I wanted to submerge someone in water, then have the water instantly freeze around them. It took me a while but I eventually came up with a theory. The theory was sound, but how to build a method of actually doing it?"

The doctor strolls over to the side of the vat.

"Look at it. It's marvelous. The culmination of all my work. First I needed an area free of all dust particles and bacteria. Then I needed a container. One perfectly smooth and clean. And large. I settled upon this vat.I had to fill it slowly. There's a thin sheet of plastic over the top to keep out any stray dust particles. I had to use purified water. No imperfections. Then keep out even the tiniest bubble of air. It took a many tries, but at last I did it. Then I needed to slowly reduce the temperature until it was zero degrees Fahrenheit. If all done correctly, the water will remain a liquid. Do you see? It's BELOW the freezing point AND still a liquid! Hahahahahaha! Now all I need to do is drop you into it. When I do, you'll pierce through the plastic and the water will instantly freeze with you still warm and alive inside! You'll be suspended in the ice! It's perfect!"

Before Mark could fully understand what was about to happen to him, the doctor pushed the button, releasing the hook that held him in the air. He dropped down, plunged into the water, and stopped. He could no longer move. His body was contorted in an unnatural way. He felt intense pressure and pain in random places all over his body. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. Cold needled its way through his every nerve. He lingered for what felt like eternity, yet didn't die. Unbelievable, unrelenting pain was all he knew, and cold. 

Nightmares From Urth

Did I ever tell you about the time I went to outer space?

I ended up stranded on a little mudball in the middle of nowhere that was overpopulated by these squishy little monsters.

Horrible creatures.

They had absolutely no concept of Unified Field Theology. It was awful. They were lightyears from civilization and lacked any means of returning to it. They had some primitive theories relating to quantum superimposition, but had not yet gleaned its implications. As a means of travel, reality phasing was impossible without a Karmic Entanglement Inducer. Their most advanced conveyance methods involved harnessing oxygenated explosions. It was hopeless, utterly hopeless.

They had no way of truly understanding one another. They could not mind-share. They could not dream-rec. They could not group resonate. They were trapped in their singular universe, isolated to their individual bodies... forever alone.

If my ex-wife hadn't used my life signature to track me down for unpaid alimony, I wouldn't be here drinking ginen tonix with you guys right now.

I know, it sounds unbelievable, but I swear it's all true. I'm toying with the idea of writing a book about it. I'm thinking of calling it: Nightmares From Urth.

Although irregularities within the quantum foam are commonplace, it is extremely rare for these distortions to manifest themselves on a macroscopic level. When this occurs, the normal rules that govern the universe are broken. The inconceivable happens. The unexplained permeates the fabric of predictable reality. A tangent of this nature is capable of undoing reality. Much in the way matter and antimatter are fundamentally identical, yet will annihilate each other upon contact.

A tangent universe is volatile to existence as we know it. The abnormality must be corrected before any major deformation of the prime universe emerges.

Chapter 3 rough draft

"Where are you?" a haunting voice beckons then falls silent.
The silence lasts an eternity.
Then again, "Where are you?"

An unfamiliar ceiling. Or is it? "That could be my ceiling." a dazed Riley thinks. "Maybe if it would stop moving for a second I could figure it out."
She rolls over in an effort to get up.
"Well this is definitely not my floor."
A cheerful voice rings out in the distance. It informs her of the aspirin on the table by her side and the glass of water with it. It lets her know breakfast is almost ready.
"Oh that's right. I went to Katie's place last night for movies and wine. I don't even remember what we watched." Riley rises unsteadily to her feet and takes the aspirin. Then saunters over to the table and flops into a chair, trying her best to will the outside world and her headache to disappear. The food smells like food. She forces herself to nibble at it despite the writhing protests of her stomach. "Katie is cheerful as always. She remarks about how I must have finished the bottle myself after she went to bed. I did. And I'd do it again. It helps me not think."

Riley responds appropriately to what Katie says. Then makes up an excuse and leaves. She walks straight home and crawls into bed. She dreams vividly for three hours. Her alarm wakes her and she changes her clothes, pats down her hair, and goes to work.

Work is uninteresting, soul-crushing even. Everyday is a rerun of the last. Nothing ever changes. No one ever understands. When asked to perform a specific task, Riley does the task exactly as asked. When she is finished, they tell her it was wrong. They admit she did what was asked, but she should have known to also do other things they didn't ask. Or to do things differently than asked.

Riley stares them dead in the eye without emotion. She asks how she would know to do things without being told those things need doing. They say it's only common sense. Anyone would just know to do it automatically. That she's strange for not understanding that.

Riley sees no logic in this reasoning. She nods. At eight o clock she leaves.

Chapter 2 rough draft

I've always thought of the act of writing to be an act of limiting. The blank page holds endless possibilities. Any story imaginable can be carved into its pristine void. Any word in existence can be the first word of the story until the first sentence is penned. After that, infinity collapses into one.

At school Riley was consistently at the top of her class. Not that it mattered to her. She was simply doing what was expected of her and had no issues understanding the material. That was her special ability after-all. It failed to give her great pleasure or great pain. It was simply a thing to be done.

Already Riley understood adults were mostly liars and automatons. They practically told her so themselves; solidifying a suspicion Riley had for years. Age does not equal intelligence.

She would do what was required. Nothing more. Nothing less. When her release date was reached, she would leave this torture camp and find her own happiness. Until that day the only goal was to survive.

Riley spent most of her time in deep thought. She was constantly observing the world and altering her theories. People were the easiest of all. Everything they did was just a show for each other to watch. There was no substance to it. All anyone seemed to care about is the manipulation of the people around them. Each one said or did things simply to further their own goals. And what their goals inevitably turned out to be were little more than the attention of others.

They earned money so others would pay attention to them.
They made art so others would pay attention to them.
They studied so others would pay attention to them.
They exercised so others would pay attention to them.
They made jokes for attention.
Cried for attention.
Got angry for attention.
Every thought and action with the same insubstantial goal.
The attention of others who are as weak and meaningless as themselves.
Do they think they can only be real if they all affirm each other's reality?

Either way, it was a closed loop. Nothing gained. It just keeps going around endlessly accomplishing nothing. There must be something else. Another way. So as Riley grew older, she paid attention to no one.

Chapter 1 rough draft

I would say this is my last chance, but that would be a lie, wouldn't it? For who can really tell which chance is truly their last? I've tried all my life. Every chance seemed like the last at the time. Then there was another... and another. What might feel like the end isn't necessarily THE END. More often then not, it is simply an end.

So let me tell you about an end. We can uncover its finality if and when the occasion arises. Until then, you'll be needing a background. The sequence and timing of events is crucial to understanding the situation we currently find ourselves in.

Riley was one of 8 siblings. During her early years her parents wondered if there might be something wrong with her. She did not begin talking until she was three years old, a full year after even the slowest child in the neighborhood. Yet, when Riley finally did speak she was far more elegant with words than her peers. (As elegant as a three year old can be, which turns out to be not that much.)

Only two years later, at the age of five, was the first time Riley considered killing herself.
"It was simple enough," she thought. "Just hop in front of a car or jump off a bridge, and there you go. Real quick and painless. If I do this I'm definitely not doing it the other ways."
The other ways were slow, and messy, and painful. She didn't want pain. She wanted out.

You see, Riley's mind was a special one. She had the ability to understand. She understood things like: Everyday is someone's last day. And what does everyone hope to do by their last day? Change the world? Leave a mark? Accomplish great feats and be remembered and loved by others? Find purpose? Yet, look at this world. It refuses to change. People constantly die unknown and penniless. They are forgotten, or hated, or an air conditioner falls out an eighth story window and smushes their head to bits. Pointless.

There is no grand arc to a person's life. No hero's journey destined to be fulfilled. There is simply nothing. You do arbitrary things until you stop doing arbitrary things and that's just the way it is.

Still, the thought of eternal torment in Hell terrified her horribly. Now Riley didn't really believe the words spoken by the adults at church. To be honest, they terrified her. She found the possibility that truly believed what they said to be the most frightening prospect of all. Still, she could not make this decision without first getting more facts on the subject. Once she understood the truth of the matter, she could make an informed decision.

Riley cried alone in her bed. Fully cognizant of the Hell of reality which stretched out seemingly endlessly before her, and begged any higher beings of any kind if they existed, to please help her.

Tired Today

I saw part of the eclipse before going to bed. I dreamed I was on a road. Sometimes I walked alongside it. Other times I drove upon it. It was my main road. I lived on it. I took it to work. I sat at it's side and watched time pass. And as I traveled back and forth on this worn, average road I heard a voice speaking to me.

It told me this was the road to greatness. It may look ordinary. It may be identical to innumerable others, but this here, was the road to greatness.

Every influential person in the history of the world traveled down this same path. They felt the mundanity of everyday life. Doubt overcast their works and actions. Not one of them felt particularly gifted or special. Yet they were all destined for greatness.

This is how it felt to be a world-changer. It felt like nothing at all. It didn't change fate to not feel destined for anything.

I was tired, aimless, and trapped by day to day life. I wanted it to end. I thought of ending it myself, but I stuck around. I stuck around because or hope and chance. Something could happen as long as I kept going. As long as I didn't give up. There were no promises of change, only the opportunity for it. So I waited.

The voice promised, despite all of this, that I was destined for greatness. I was an important figure in a grand plan I'll never understand. That I was on the road. I just had to keep walking it.

Anal Wonderland

time. eternity in an instant
fantasies commingling in immutable dynamism
tomes scrit in search of a word
of a person
a feeling
the truth of a feeling

can a disparate collection
of moments and ideas
ever truly be loved
or love in return

I hate you all so dearly
you ragged husks of contradiction
with your antithetical missions
and self-defeating notions of triumph

unknowable
gazing through a glass darkly
intentions disobeyed
vitiare in perpetuum