posted on Jan, 28 2008 @ 12:20 PM
SISOH PRO-MATEM (Metamorphosis)
By: TheDuckster & GAOTU789
For as long as he could remember, Chris wanted to know why the race of man had become what it had. All that was left were myths and legends from the
"dark time" in his species history. Even the tomes he had been able to find in his years of searching only alluded to the awakening as the beginning
of man, not what had caused the awakening.
That was all about to change.
The book that had mysteriously ended up in his hands seemed to hold some answers as to where to look for the real story. It was written in the year
2673; the year that has always been spoken of as the beginning of the awakening. The year that the 'New Dawn' had been discovered by Anson Holmes,
or so the myths had stated.
However, this book told of a very different reality.
It spoke of a cataclysmic event that had changed the race of man forever. A major solar event had shifted the earth's position enough to change the
way man would exist on this planet. It speculated on the effects of the exposure of sunlight that would have on humans over a prolonged period of
time. The effects of this exposure could now clearly be seen after 30,000 years, although the peoples of Earth didn't know this. They had long ago
accepted the story of Holmes, and his amazing discoveries of the New Dawn. Prior to this, mankind lived in harmony with light and darkness.
Yet now, the gods had decreed that the human race live in the light of the sun. It was the only way to survive. Without the sunlight, the body would
shrivel and die within hours. Man had evolved into creatures of light; ones that abhored the darkness.
All except Chris.
He knew he was different from his brethern.
Plagued by more than endless curiosity, he yearned for the days of long ago - the legendary era of 'night'.
For fear of reprisal, he secretly created an apparatus that would afford him some time in the dark reaches. He had spent the last 70 years travelling
to long forgotten places. He had found his first hidden place as a boy, and his first relic of the mythical era of 'night', when he had become
lost in a cave for a few hours, which had almost killed him, before he was found.
This painting portrayed of days long ago. There appeared to be a large city, brightly illuminated by some sort of false sunlight; eminating from
within. The surrounding landscape echoed of mountains, valleys, and a dark sky. It had also shown some human-like creatures going through the actions
of their everyday lives.
It was 81 years ago when he had found this treasure.
Since then, he visited many similar places. Yet, nothing had come even remotely close to the wealth of knowledge that this book had contained. Its
pages, pale and brittle, were preserved under sheets of clear hard coating. This saving grace had prevented them from crumbling to dust long ago.
Sitting atop his favorite mount, he poignantly flipped through the book to find further clues as to the whereabouts of these strange, and yet,
familiar entities. His mind wondered; going through the motions of a 'faux' dream-like state that was common to all light beings. R.E.M. sleep
would elude him. He had surmised from the many passed-down myths, that the human body could achieve a total surrender to an 'almost nothingness',
with many 'mind pictures'. The ancients called this 'dreaming'. He had also recalled that these people would spend their nights in cycles.
'One third' was an important number to them.
What was this 'almost nothingness'?
Why was dreaming so important?
Were the gods aware of this as well?
The painting, that he had propped against a rock, seemed to move clandestantly across his vision. What had caught his attention, forced his eyes to
focus. In all his years of admiration and observing, why hadn't he noticed it? Yet, there it was now...in plain view.
On the outskirts of the mountains was a tiny 'trail'. He pulled the painting closer, and gently brushed an area with the back of his nails. The
trail did not want to come off. Was it a buildup of residue? The over-all layer of paint was fluidic and evenly-coated. Yet, these thickly-plied
markings were definately brush strokes. His mind reconciled that was added 'after' the painting was completed. This oversight must be a clue!
Who ever did this, wanted the tiny path to be found.
Chris stared out across the distance and re-played the many journeys over and over in his mind. He was certain that he saw this trail somewhwere.
His eyes wondered up and down the glens and peaks.
Tucking the painting into his carrypack, he smiled and jumped down from his mount. The journey would be long on foot and take him across many
dangerous other paths.