Geneva Oblivion

*****

I work hard at keeping myself in the dark. Anything less than total obfuscation is disintegration, squared. I focus on the physical pain; it's easier to medicate. The trouble with hitting rock bottom is that there never was a bottom. If your not careful, you keep sliding down, forever. That's hell, I guess. Further and further from your own light.

I started sliding on the 1st of July. I'm not sure what I was doing on June 30th, but it must have killed me good. Everything after is just falling. I cry out "Save me!" as I descend into the cold darkness of my own inner-spatial awareness. At least the experience is nothing like the storybooks say. Points to the universe for novelty, I guess.

I woke up the day after I died to a world of collapsed event horizons. My foundation had been built on uneven terrain, and my home -- my sense of being -- lay in ruin, on it's roof at the bottom of a ravine. A cold, polluted stream runs through it now. There is an ugly poetry in that, at least.

After that, things got worse. My wife disappeared, abducted by aliens. What returned was a creature of hybrid-sentiment, wrapped around an advanced sensor array. It follows me even now, and questions everything I say or think. Obviously, I am not strong enough to drive it away, even if I know what it is, but I take little comfort from her android DNA. Even when it lies still I listen closely for its whirs and clicks.

Days turn into months. I cling to my life preserver, and it fails me, again and again. There are no helping hands here, in the place beyond the place of dead-end roads. The truest expression of love is a tightly balled fist to the face. Her kiss is a slow, hesitant morphine drip, and I melt into it until there is nothing left but the thrum of ultraviolet rainbows, falling into hydrocarbon seas on a distant plane.

What is real? Nothing here is solid but the pain. I don't know what part of it is from the holes in my soul, and which is from the holes in my cape. I muse at the darkness, and we share a smoke. There is subtext here I think, but I am falling too fast to catch it. The world shakes and shudders again, than -- drops, from seam to sky like the vertical on an old television set. Previous trials and ordeals suddenly feel safe and comfortable.

She stayed long and is still here today. She doesn't have anywhere else to go. I curse my good fortune, and write down my pain.

+++

a reply to: 0zzymand0s

Well written. Whomever composed that is quite same and in control of their faculties.

Wow! Tip my hat to you...

a reply to: intrptr

I don't know if I would say that, exactly....

originally posted by: 0zzymand0s
a reply to: intrptr

I don't know if I would say that, exactly….

Regardless, that was very well written. I wish I could do that and I am quite sane.

It was a compliment. Did any of those story elements have a real world counterpart? Even better to write from experience. Sharing toxins lessens their toxicity.

Don't ever stop writing. You're good at it.

a reply to: 0zzymand0s

This was my favorite part, love the imagery!

I woke up the day after I died to a world of collapsed event horizons. My foundation had been built on uneven terrain, and my home -- my sense of being -- lay in ruin, on it's roof at the bottom of a ravine. A cold, polluted stream runs through it now. There is an ugly poetry in that, at least.

Beautiful written story!

a reply to: intrptr

Unfortunately, I am largely motivated by what I know and experience. This makes MIL Sci-Fi impossible for me, though I enjoy reading it, for example. Thank you for the kind words and feedback.

a reply to: 0zzymand0s


Very Good!!! S+F for You!!!