Writing Experiment: Epilogue

…stumbles through a doorway into a room that, if they were in a position to feel anything other than pain, to notice anything more than a metre or so away, would feel vaguely familar.  Ahead there is a dais formed of a shimmering silvery metal, with an odd iridescent sheen to it.  Lights blink in all the colours of the rainbow.  There is a grouping of red lights that seem to form a sequence.

…Lurches across the room towards the dais, blundering into a table and scattering its contents.  Instinct causes a tractormorphic appendage to snake out and pick up a cloth which shimmers with the same iridescence as the block of metal.  …climbs-collapses onto the dais and pulls the cloth over its recumbent form.

Time passes.

The room and all it contains begins to contract, eventually becoming a single point of light, bright and white.  Dazzlingly white. Blindingly white.

The light disappears and nothing is left except nothingness…

Time passes.  Or perhaps it doesn’t.

Welcome to the Forge.  The Forge of Dreams.  From time to time things happen here. From time to time.  Although this is not the right word: there is no time, here.

Mostly though, there is nothing.  It might be inky black.  But that would indicate an absence of light, and there is nothing. It might be brilliant white.  But that would suggest a light source, and there is nothing.  Perhaps it is grey.  But that would give rise to the possibility of choice, and there is nothing.

What is this?  It is different from the nothingness that surrounds it.  It is a point of true light, bright, clean and demonstrably something. 

Time passes.  Or perhaps it doesn’t.

The point of light resolves.  It glitters, and scatters light all around.  As a consequence, the nothingness surrounding it appears to be much darker than we might have initially thought, although further away, the void is unchanged.

Time passes, or perhaps it…no, time really is starting to pass.  The point of light can be seen to be spinning, and in spinning is slowing down.  Time passes, and the point is resolved as a disc, still spinning.  Spinning too fast to see any details other than that it is a cube, a cube with six very different faces.

Time passes…

The cube appears to be slowing down…

© David Jesson, 2019



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