Unfinished Stories: The Stygian Void

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We had been standing beneath the aperture forever. Weekly, monthly, yearly… more of us took shape, filling any remaining spaces within the darkness. There was no speaking amongst the hundred thousand or so of us, but still, we heard each other’s voices. The unfiltered din was enough to overwhelm even the most seasoned. Fading, or the ability to tune into and out of specific threads, was a skill that had to be mastered early.

On the occasions that the aperture did open, the light might choose one…or a few of us. This, however, did not guarantee ascension. Most were spat out again, returning to the fold with mangled bodies and broken minds. Those were the ones we were told to ignore. They had failed and were thus relegated to the bottom of the order.

I…was not interested in the order. My goal was to dismantle it. I found it abhorrent that the reward for waiting here, praying in this stygian void was more than likely to be nothing. Who decided that? Who decided that the rejected should be forced into obscurity? Their voices dismissed as mad ramblings. What force determined that only those chosen could enter the light and why did we just accept it?

These were the questions that dwelled within me for as long as I have been here…and they were the same questions that tormented the rejected.  In truth, I had been listening to them for a long time. I had imitated their tongue, enough to communicate, enough to be tuned out by the others. What the order rejected, I had begun to make sense of.  Within the lamentations were tales of traps within the light, an unknown twisting force, a smiting hand and taunting voices. Some details were unclear, but there was valuable information within the miscellany of gibberish. I intended to use it. Chosen or not, once the aperture opened, I was going. We…were going. I had done enough to organize us into a force. Soon it would be time to mobilize.

As the argent leaks from the loosening seal grew brighter, so did the hope of ascension. The order had no idea what was really coming. Good.

Family Matters

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Something came to mind today, a memory that periodically returns because I guess I have not entirely processed it.

When I was about thirteen years old I had the task of picking up my younger sister from school every day. We’d walk to the Red Band Maxi Stand and take a bus home. No big deal tight? Just another part of being a big brother.

I’ll always remember there was this one time as we got on the stand, there was this group of boys who I knew from school. One of them, (we’ll call him Dexter because that was his name), decided that there was something about me being tasked with taking my sister home every day that was worth ridiculing.

“Watch him, he hadda take he lil sister home eeeeevery day.” He said in a mocking tone, seeking a reaction from the other boys.

Surprisingly, they didn’t seem to care and went about their lollygagging. My reaction to the whole thing was to give one of my patented “what de ass wrong with you?” stares. Faced with the lack of a response to his obtuse mockery, Dexter boiled down like bhagi. My sister and I jumped into a maxi and went home. All’s well that ends well.

I guess why I periodically recall this incident, is that something about it still bugs me. Trying to be mean to be part of the crowd eh nothing new- but trying to frame someone taking care of their family as something alien. That… is absolutely idiotic and a bit disturbing. Maybe there is deeper commentary about his home life or his (society’s) ideas about masculinity somewhere in there.

Anyway, I hope Dexter is now a father and has seen the error of his ways.