Post by thatguyjames on Sept 16, 2008 11:59:56 GMT -5
The first thing to go was his name.
Thinking, trying to remember, seemed an impossible task. The corridors of his mind warped and wrapped themselves into and out of complex knots and shapes, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto.
It was as if he had stepped into an unfamiliar room, only to find shadows on the floor where the dust hadn't fallen, and the sun hadn't bleached away the original color of the tile. All that remained were the outlines of items that had once inhabited the now empty room, items he now desperately searched for.
He could remember nothing, save for the fact that he had once remembered something. A name, a memory of a place, an emotion, a smell; he wished he had even a single memory to cling to, an anchor in this alien setting.
He slowly became aware that he was sitting on a flight of stairs, and the slow blinking of light behind him. Every few seconds, the stairs were illuminated by the light, then faded to black, then back to light.
Down below he could make out a portal, sealed shut by massive stone, covered with writing and inscriptions. Part of him knew that beyond the door was something massive, something alive. Part of him knew he should never go through those doors. Part of him knew he would.
It hurt so much to move.
Even the simple act of standing, the shifting of weight from the hips, down to the knees, the activation of the core for balance, the strain of the full bodyweight on the knees and the heels. He leaned heavily on the wall of the stairwell, feeling the stone beginning to crumble under his fingertips. He moved slowly, and it killed him inside to do so.
One foot in front of the other, he began working his way up the stairs, the light continuing to blink slowly over the horizon. He wanted to shield his eyes, so very bad, but his arms were cold and metallic, ultimately unresponsive. He dropped his head, and kept climbing, driven to escape the doors, even if just for the time being. Behind him, deeply cut into the stone he used for support, was the trails of his fingertips.
Ghosts.
Fluttering around him from every angle, he couldn't help but notice the distorted images of faces, curious, uncaring, bored. They floated up to him, spun around, and then vanished with the light. The ghosts spoke, but their words were far too fast to understand. He ignored them as he continued to climb. He thought to warn them about the door, but couldn't manage to keep them long enough to try and communicate. He pressed on, almost at the top of the stairs.
Emerging from the jet black staircase, he found himself at the base of a massive cliff. Staggering to the side, he leaned against the deep red rock that contained the stairs, and looked up at the sky.
and in his mind, he screamed.
Whirling overhead at a terrifying pace, he watched the sun rising and setting of the course of less than two seconds. It shot across the sky, each rotation bringing the ghosts, each setting banishing them. He raised his arms, trying to shield himself for the sight, trying to cry out, but his voice failed him. He wanted this nightmare to end, but it was only getting worse.
In the sky, the sun began to rotate even faster, soon it took only a second to set, then less than a second, then less than half a second. Soon, the light was nothing more than a solid band in the sky. Looking out of over the land, he watched in silent horror as trees shot from the ground, raising up hundreds of feet, then vanishing in a flash of fire, only to happen again.
The pain was becoming unbearable. He felt himself slowly sliding down against the mountain, which rippled like liquid. He sunk to the ground, pulling his knees up to his head as he watched the insane transformation of seasons in less than a second. All he wanted to do was to shut his eyes...
but to his supreme terror, he realized he had no eyelids.
Thinking, trying to remember, seemed an impossible task. The corridors of his mind warped and wrapped themselves into and out of complex knots and shapes, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto.
It was as if he had stepped into an unfamiliar room, only to find shadows on the floor where the dust hadn't fallen, and the sun hadn't bleached away the original color of the tile. All that remained were the outlines of items that had once inhabited the now empty room, items he now desperately searched for.
He could remember nothing, save for the fact that he had once remembered something. A name, a memory of a place, an emotion, a smell; he wished he had even a single memory to cling to, an anchor in this alien setting.
He slowly became aware that he was sitting on a flight of stairs, and the slow blinking of light behind him. Every few seconds, the stairs were illuminated by the light, then faded to black, then back to light.
Down below he could make out a portal, sealed shut by massive stone, covered with writing and inscriptions. Part of him knew that beyond the door was something massive, something alive. Part of him knew he should never go through those doors. Part of him knew he would.
It hurt so much to move.
Even the simple act of standing, the shifting of weight from the hips, down to the knees, the activation of the core for balance, the strain of the full bodyweight on the knees and the heels. He leaned heavily on the wall of the stairwell, feeling the stone beginning to crumble under his fingertips. He moved slowly, and it killed him inside to do so.
One foot in front of the other, he began working his way up the stairs, the light continuing to blink slowly over the horizon. He wanted to shield his eyes, so very bad, but his arms were cold and metallic, ultimately unresponsive. He dropped his head, and kept climbing, driven to escape the doors, even if just for the time being. Behind him, deeply cut into the stone he used for support, was the trails of his fingertips.
Ghosts.
Fluttering around him from every angle, he couldn't help but notice the distorted images of faces, curious, uncaring, bored. They floated up to him, spun around, and then vanished with the light. The ghosts spoke, but their words were far too fast to understand. He ignored them as he continued to climb. He thought to warn them about the door, but couldn't manage to keep them long enough to try and communicate. He pressed on, almost at the top of the stairs.
Emerging from the jet black staircase, he found himself at the base of a massive cliff. Staggering to the side, he leaned against the deep red rock that contained the stairs, and looked up at the sky.
and in his mind, he screamed.
Whirling overhead at a terrifying pace, he watched the sun rising and setting of the course of less than two seconds. It shot across the sky, each rotation bringing the ghosts, each setting banishing them. He raised his arms, trying to shield himself for the sight, trying to cry out, but his voice failed him. He wanted this nightmare to end, but it was only getting worse.
In the sky, the sun began to rotate even faster, soon it took only a second to set, then less than a second, then less than half a second. Soon, the light was nothing more than a solid band in the sky. Looking out of over the land, he watched in silent horror as trees shot from the ground, raising up hundreds of feet, then vanishing in a flash of fire, only to happen again.
The pain was becoming unbearable. He felt himself slowly sliding down against the mountain, which rippled like liquid. He sunk to the ground, pulling his knees up to his head as he watched the insane transformation of seasons in less than a second. All he wanted to do was to shut his eyes...
but to his supreme terror, he realized he had no eyelids.