Tuesday, May 22, 2012

AN ETERNAL SOLITARY CONFINEMENT

Tomas just sits there, staring off into ....nothing. He trembles. Sometimes he mumbles. I can't make out the words. But if I let myself, I can see what he sees. And although I cannot feel what he feels, I can still comprehend it. 


This is Sarah talking to you now. I believe wilkravitz inscribes it. Maybe it's Edith. I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it's the other one.... the one we buy shoes for.


Now how can I convey this to you? How can I represent the totality of it all? Let me do it this way.......


They say the universe is finite. It will not live forever. The stars are not eternal. A time far, far beyond reasoning will come. And it will be a time of darkness. The last pin points of light issuing forth from the few, remaining, feeble stars will disappear. Perhaps the cultures existing at that time will devise toy stars, artificial stars? Yet even they need fuel. So even they will die. 


Life will end. Consciousness will wither and ultimately the last sentient soul will die. Atoms will decompose. Protons will crumble. Nothing detectable will remain. 


The void will be all. 


Tomas floats in such a place. He travels in the mind of Lucretia, his first innocent human victim, taken all those centuries ago. 


She was the girl in the pit. She was his first 'meal.' And although he had no choice, her death still haunts him. True, she is not part of this SOUL PARADE. She's lived among the dead far too long for that. But she leads them, just the same, like a macabre baton twirling majorette. However, she has no baton. She has nothing. That one drifts through a wakeful demise, though even the sense of movement eludes her, since there's nothing left to move. Lucretia 'is,' and she thinks. 


Her mind remembers songs, simple songs, children's songs. She 'sings' them to herself, alone in an empty universe. No 'up.' No 'down.'  Does she warrant such punishment? I don't know. I am just Sarah. I am still so new.


This song, the one she sings now, has been going on for what we would call three hundred years. The darkness never changes (for there are varieties of darkness) and temperature does not exist. 


She conjures images. Flickering snipets of her truncated life burn brightly for an instant, then disappear like flash paper. 


And Tomas sees it all. I hug him, but he doesn't know. 


And she is only the first....


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