Dear Gideon,

It is good to hear from you again, old friend. I'm glad to hear that the path you have taken is working well for you; I hope that it continues to shape you in a positive manner. I apologize for having been so distant, sometimes one gets so caught up in the future that the past wanes from memory.

Once again I must apologize, I have been keeping my public information as private as I can, for reasons not unlike your own. I am gladdened that it was not easy for you to find me, that is reassuring. I am also glad that you persisted and found me anyway.

Things are certainly about to change, but I cannot yet gauge the wind. These are interesting times, and I feel like we must do everything possible to keep track of the flow of information; particularly who desires to know what. I can tell you this: Senator Gneisenow has been carefully monitoring the troop movements and training methods of at least two other battalions, though effectively they are now private armies. I do not who whose allegiances lie where. I have also heard whispers of a highly trained and rather secretive group, one that will likely tip the scales in Gneisenow's favor. Perhaps you know of them.

There is one other thing. I have been travelling, gathering information for myself. I stumbled upon something, just whispers right now, but unsettling whispers. There is a faction, it is not safe to say which, that is conducting ... experiments, though they are not far from torture. I hear they are looking deeply into the mind, pushing people to death and pulling them back just before it is over to see what happens. I don't know what they hope to achieve just yet.

Keep yourself safe. If you need help, do not hesitate to contact me. I have resources.

Your friend,

Theogenes

Dear Theogenes,

I am writing you from a forward outpost. I'm afraid I can't specify further due to army regulation of keeping troop locations and movements secret.

It doesn't feel like its been two years since we graduated the Gymnasium together. Though we both hated it, I look back fondly upon those days. It seems like life was so much less complicated then. Then again, so much has changed since that summer after we graduated. In the Fall I joined the army. The reforms passed by the politicians in the last election did wonders for the state of the Army. I know we both always joked we'd join up if we didn't graduate and yet, when I'd come back from traveling that summer, I found the benefits, not least of which the money, as well as the opportunities offered by the newly reformed army to be particularly enticing.

Basic Training was hard. There's no two ways about it. I definitely wasn't prepared for what awaited me the moment myself and about 300 other recruits showed up for basic training. Only half of those that arrived graduated from our class in the School of Cavalry. It was a good experience though. It made me strong, physically, mentally, and psychologically. I was recommended for promotion to Sergeant. This required me to continue on for another 3 extra months of training and and extra two years of service. I'm currently assigned to the 47th Shock Division, Senator Gneisenow's Battalion, 4th Company. We're a combined arms battalion. I'm in the mechanized infantry Company. The leadership training I've received has been a great experience. Working as a group leader and tank commander is exciting stuff. I can't tell you much more about it, but I'm looking forward to our next assignment. Rumor in the Battalion has it that there is a big urban combat training exercise coming up. Urban combat is specialty of my company.

You are a hard man to find. I had to really dig to find your address. How have you been in these past two years? I assume you are still at university? What course did you decide to pursue? Philosophy and Politics? The Army is going to pay for my university education as soon as I've served my time. I can either go to the Military academy in the Capital or any of the other private universities around the country. I think I'll go to the Capital for sure. I've heard great things about it all. The few days I've spent there in transit have been some of the best of my young life.

Do take care of yourself. There's firestorm coming. Senator Gneisenow is not the only member of the Senate that has funded a battalion here in the army. Who knows how much say he actually has in the actions taken by the battalion. In any case, Intellectuals like you, who don't have a party affiliation may very well bear the brunt of what the future has in store.

Your Friend,

Gideon

Suddenly, a knock at the door...

Below you will find the final entry of Søren Asegelv's log book. Dated more than 4 and a half years after the nuclear holocaust that ended civilization on Earth. Recovered many years later by an explorer from the Mars colony. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Begin log entry. 

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Day one thousand six hundred and seventy... Two. I have been alone for so long. I am loathe to open the bunker door and see what ruin may lay beyond. My food stuffs will last for another three months ---

There was a knock at the door. If I do not return to finish this log, this is my final goodbye. 

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The following was added to the log from bunker camera and audio archives. 
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Knock... knock... knock... 

Søren shows clear signs of hesitation, and the camera clearly recorded the obvious mixture of fear, joy, confusion, and apprehension that plays across his face.

The knocks come again, with the same speed and force, making them somewhat more ominous.

Knock... knock... knock... 

Søren can be seen to press the intercom button; he hesitates and releases it, only to press it again a second later.

"Hello?

Silence. 

"Hello?"

"Is KGB."

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End of log entry. 
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-N & L

Additional Perspectives

It was really no more than the echo of a whispered breath that brought him abruptly into wakefulness. Usually there was no sleep for him; the nights dragged on into days until there was no difference between them. His mind ran rampant with imagined scenarios, imagined answers to the questions that were branded into his consciousness. He had been alone for as long as he could remember, but that also posed a problem. He could not measure how much time had passed, and he did not know when he got ... where ever he was. All he knew was that it was indoors and it was massive. In truth he did not know with certainty that here was in fact inside, but there had been no rain nor wind or any other indication of weather so he simply assumed. He could not tell night from day, and all that existed above him was a distant blackness that extended into infinity. Nearer to the ground, and that term is used generously as what lay beneath his feet was just as dark and expansive at the supposed sky above him, was some source of illumination that seemingly had no origin. It simply was; dimly allowing vision in every direction and in every direction there was nothing but more of the same dim light that bled gently into the ground and sky.

He felt as if his entire existence had been within this infinity. There was no way to be sure though; especially after being awoken by a sound. The first sound he could remember experiencing. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and it pulled at something deep within him. A longing, as if there was something that he was missing terribly and yet he could not bring this feeling into a complete thought. It seemed to actively evade him.

Again the echo of a breath resonated through the emptiness and he felt a rush rise up in his body. No, he thought, that isn’t right; how could he feel it in his body when... the thought again escaped him. All around, he searched for the source of this new experience, one that he had never known in his endless time within the expanse. As usual there was nothing to be seen.

Of course there was nothing to be seen, you are just a...

He felt frustrated. It was as if his consciousness was being suppressed or contained and he could not get out. The breath came again, this time though it was stronger, pulling him into a new place of existence. He tried to resist but he found that he could not; the will of this force was overwhelming.

With a shock he found that he could remember again. He had a body again. He was no longer in the nothingness that contained him. Lying there totally still he appreciated every sensation of skin and bone and flesh that was provided to him. A warm wetness began to dampen his back, and steadily it rose. His eyes snapped open in panic and the panic turned to absolute terror when he found that he could not see. He was still confined, a box the size of a coffin. The water rose. As he screamed the water flowed into his mouth and nose. As the body began to release the consciousness that it had just gained, he began to notice a slight illumination that had no real source. It bled gently into the ground and sky.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Interesting."

The researcher was alone, so he made no attempt to stop himself from muttering the word. There was no one but the vessel and the stored consciousness with him. He made a note, and pressed the reset button. A timer started. In three minutes, the eyes would open, and there would be a new person in the body.

-L
Read Novam Mortem for more of this story.

A Voyage Darkly

When the trials of life seem to much to bear
I wish to be swept up in an ocean of air
Wash me up on a foreign shore
Discover a place I've ne'er been before
As the ocean rolls me day after day
All of my troubles just fade away

Endless oblivion, a new beginning
Hope that this time I will know to stop sinning
As I arrive I'm too late to find
Its all the same and I'm just as blind
There must be some way out of here
As I find no escape my soul sheds a tear

There are many here among us
Who feel life is but a joke
Said he in a hooded cloak
As he showed the landscape thus
But my sins I must confess
Said I turning white as oak
No reason to get excited
The thief he softly spoke
None here but the devil
And all his condemned folk

From my wicked dream I awake
My skin feverish hot and clammy wet
No water could my dry mouth slake
Thoughts race in terror, body soaked in sweat
As I face everything brought by the new day
Try as I may I begin to forget
The nightmare has slipped away

Jarring and terrible though it was
A single moment did it give pause
for me to consider my life as a whole
Only to find my soul as black as coal
My life a kin to the dust bowl dance
Oh how I've wasted my last chance


-N

Fear The Rain

sword words

"Hail Krass! U
Lurk, Sir Asha,
As hair lurks.
A silk Hurra!"

"Rash Lark! U is
Lor'! Rush! Ask an axis!"

"Rains rush, Oaks 'lax.
Ashlar sinks our ax."

"Aha! Six Arsons Lurk!
A Skark's insular Ox."



So, as a poem or conversation, ill admit it takes a stretch of the imagination to make sense out of this. But it becomes much cooler when you know that this was written using anagrams of my name. Each line contains exactly the letters to spell my name once. I'm proud of it, seeing as i did it by hand.

Here are some I've made for friends:

Shenlon's hall juices.
His jello Aces shun on
hills. 'N June's solace,
he cajoles on suns hill
"Hone Sho'lin! Call Jesus!"



Daybreak. Lag. When
An Aged Lark, why Be
An Ah-Awl? Be Keg Dry!
Be Day-Walker! Hang
Bra! Hang LaDyke! We
Hardly Beg, Awaken
Bad Geeky Narwhal,
Began Hydrae Walk.
Dank Algebra Whey!
Gawky Halberd? Nae!
Weakly Hang...? Beard...
Nakedly Wag Rehab.
Angry Beadle Hawk
Land,Gawk, "Rhea!? Bye..."




Rum. Rematch. A Jaw. I Jolt. He,
A Heretical Hajj Mum Wort,
A Welsh, Met Him A Jut-Jar O'r
Ramjet. Ju't-a Clear, Him Who
Mom Rut A Cartwheel Hajji
Twice Jolt A Rajah Hummer!
Helm A Raja Comet. Jut Whir
A Cheat Jar. True? Hmm, I, Jowl,
A Cajoler. Hat, Whim Jet, Rum.
Achier A Jaw. The Jolt, Mr. Mu.


-L

Thoughts from a parking lot

I'm sat here in the parking lot behind the wheel of my car. Its a 1994 Camry but really its like any other car in this parking lot. Mechanical universes that transport their occupants from one location to the next. A Raven sits squat on the corner of the roof of the building before me. It cocks its head to the left and suddenly flies off.

I'm sitting in my car in front of the "Academic Center". It stands tall and proud. The pale hazel facade is marked with tall black windows which reflect the murderous white sun into all the mechanical death traps before them. The scorching rays turn these death traps and suicide machines into ovens and scalding anvils until their occupants move them and cool winds quench the heat.

I sit in my car and watch the world go by. My radio is on point as Tom Ashbrook and Yoko Ono converse about the life an times of the Japanese Avant Gardist. Students come and go from the building before me almost as if it were breathing. Inhale, exhale. Some students are late, others leaving early. Others like me, just sit in their cars. Sticking out oddly on the building is a red fire alarm that hearkens back to elementary school fire drills preformed in September and October in preparation for the Southern California fire season.

There I sit in my white mechanical universe in a black, flat ocean full of mechanical universes which make up only a fraction of the cars in the vicinity, which again hardly are a percentage of those in the county, much less the region or the state. Mind blowingly tiny am I, in my white 1994 Camry who has served me so well. Sat here in the back parking lot of this community college campus. Staring at the Academic center in front of me, eating leftover Mongolian barbeque and listening to National Public Radio, waiting until my next class.

N

Le Salaire de la Peur (the Wages of Fear)

"Fear- A negative sensation induced by a perceived threat. A basic survival mechanism occurring in response to a specific stimulus, such as pain or the threat of danger."


He recalled the brief definition yet again and as he did so, laughed. It was a laugh at the insanity of his situation. It was a laugh of desperation. It was a laugh of fatigue. He laughed hoping it would keep him sane. He laughed uncontrollably. He began to writhe. The crude iron shackles dug hard into the flesh of his wrists. They began to bleed, again. The relative warmth of the blood felt good as it spilled over his torn and already injured hands and dripped to the earthen floor, despite the ever constant pain he was in. The pool of blood around him never seemed to dry up... it just grew larger and larger as the long days and lonely frigid nights wore on. Finally, the pain came to be too much. He lost consciousness and slumped over into the red puddle all around him.


The uniformed man sighed deeply as he and the white lab coated scientist walked through the brisk morning together toward the next pit. Was his name Daniel? He couldn't remember clearly. The scientists tended to dissociate with the soldiers stationed at the research outpost. He chuckled at the thought of the name "Research Outpost", it was anything but what the name implied. It comprised a basic compound with a laboratory at the south west corner, two guard towers at north-west and south-east ends and the standard  Platoon sized barracks along the east wall. Along the north wall was the "church" where one could go to confess sin and pray, though this too was a farce. The state run religion was a far cry from the ancient faith he was raised in. All around the wall of the compound were 5 by 5 by 5 meter pits, each with their very own inhabitant. Some were political enemies of the all powerful state, others were intellectuals who dissented or posed some other perceived threat to the all powerful, all fearful regime. Others still were clerics who refused to bow to the new found religion introduced and enforced by the government. The rest were the minorities of society that the government didn't want in the public consciousness. They were systematically rounded up and sent off the these "Research Outposts" that they might be experimented on. He sighed, at least he was at a psychological research station, not chemical or biological. The pits were placed 100 meters from each other so that the test subjects within had no chance to speak with each other.
    "Daniel." he finally said breaking the cold silence as they crunched across the frost covered ground. His words fell flat and sounded nervous, almost scared as they carried along that crystalline tundra. With a start, the scientist looked up and timidly answered: "Yes?" hoping not to get yelled at yet again by one of the rough and tumble soldiers who seemed to have no respect or understanding for the work he and his colleagues were conducting. "Want a cigarette? It'll help with the stress. I hear you got chewed out pretty bad by the lieutenant the other day". Daniel, still surprised that this Sergeant was talking to him, could hardly bring himself to speak, so he just shook his head instead. They walked and smoked in silence until they came to the edge of the next pit. Again attempting to break the ice between them, Sergeant Thompson spoke up:"So, doctor, who do we have here?" Timid as ever Daniel squeaked:"Subject Number: VS-247805, sir."
"Ah, and what are we testing on him?" "Fear, sir." replied the scientist in an almost chipper manner. "Fear?" said Thompson in disbelief. "Yes, sir, Fear."
    Sergeant Thompson sighed heavily, took another long, deep drag off of his cigarette, and began to crank the pig iron winch. Wrapped around the winch was a crude, rusty iron chain. The chain itself was a nasty piece of work. Intentionally made so that the edges of each chain link were sharp as razor blades, to prevent any attempt at escape. The chain was draped over a makeshift crane that then dropped the razor linked instrument of torture into the center of each pit. At the end of this rusty, bloodied contraption were even cruder manacles by which each "Test Subject" was securely held. Once a day each test subject would be pulled by the wrists out so that they might be examined by the scientists and "tested". The man, if you could still call him a man, that was being heaved out of the pit was dripping in blood. With each crank of the winch he jerked up another foot or so. With each jerk of the chain, the manacles cut deeper and deeper into his wrists, eventually nicking at his bones. All across his forearms were long red streaks, some were clearly stains, others were fresh as his blood coursed down his arms, down to his toes and dripped into the pit. Thompson cursed at the sight, then mumbled a quick prayer that he would pass out sooner rather then later. He felt sorry for him, to an extent, he also hated to hear the screams for help and mercy.


The chains lowered him mercilessly foot by foot back into his pool of blood. the pain was so great he could hardly bear it. He laughed and laughed and laughed. The scientist performed his daily routine. That timid, afraid, squeaky, little scientist told him he was going to die a long painful death, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it and then told him the definition of fear. Though this time, the scientist added something new. "Don't Fear the Reaper. The Angel of Death is coming for you" He laughed and laughed and writhed and bled and laughed more and then fainted from blood loss.


The whiskey poured out of the bottle into the glass in a long golden stream. Lieutenant Ibrahim was dismayed to find that he had indeed finished nearly 7/8 of that golden whiskey throughout the course of the evening. How he hated to write reports. He liked whiskey. Whiskey made writing reports about the strange experiments the scientists performed bearable. That is it made the thought of the experiments and the writing easier to deal with.  He sipped his whiskey and turned back to the typewriter that sat before him on his desk. It was squat and black, and hearkened back to the time of his father's generation. Since the "Great Glorious Revolution" the new and all fearing, all controlling government did all in its power to prevent another uprising. The government feared the military most of all. The military remained to be the only part of society that had the capability to overthrow the government. Not that there was any risk of that since the revolution, but the government officials weren't dumb, nor did they take risks when not completely necessary. As a result of this shrewd, calculating and patient regime, the military was continuously over burdened with paper work, threats of termination and other darker tactics. Of course most of this was just rumor. Rumor got the job done though. All of the higher echelons of all of the Armed Forces were afraid of stepping out of line in the very slightest. The Commissaires stationed at every command had direct ties and communication to the government and would write weekly reports about the status and progress of each the commanders and their troops, as well as the scientists and their experiments. The rumors must have some source. No one would invent something as terrible and horrifying as the stories of torture and mutilation to those who opposed the government that circulated from officers mess to officers mess. The government, in fear of the army, banned most modern technology from the military. Instead of using computers, officers were required to write their reports on old fashioned type writers. The requirements for these reports were near impossible. Both length and content needed to meet the requirements and if they didn't... Ibrahim preferred not to think about the alternative. He downed what was left in his snifter, and poured himself the rest of the whiskey. He liked whiskey. It helped him forget about the fear induced stress and pressure from his commanding officers as well as Commissaire Schmidt who was always nosing around the command building and more often then not, in Ibrahim's small office.
    There was an abrupt knock at the door which tore Ibrahim from his musings. "Come in" said Ibrahim groggily. He was beginning to feel the full effect of the alcohol which now coursed freely through his veins. It was Sergeant Thompson. "Sergeant Thompson, reporting as ordered, sir!" Thompson spoke in a normal tone, but Ibrahim in his intoxication perceived it as shouting. Ibrahim jolted out of his chair and stood inches from Thompson's face. Ibrahim let loose a tirade of curses and insults. Thompson watched warily as Ibrahim's hand's began to ball into fists of rage as he continued to swear and degrade him. Just as Ibrahim was about to throw his first punch Commissaire Schmidt whirled around the corner followed by two soldiers. Before Ibrahim could land the blow, the Commissaire seemed to poke the lieutenant in the ribs, forearm and shoulder. Ibrahim's fist was an inch away from Thompson's jaw, when just as fast as the punch had come, the Lieutenant's arm went slack and lost all momentum. If he hadn't seen it himself, Thompson would have never believed how fast the tables had turned, and with what incredible speed Commissaire Schmidt had reacted. With that same unbelievable speed, Schmidt lightly tapped both of Ibrahim's knees with index and middle finger. The Lieutenant fell forward like a tree into the waiting arms of the two soldiers who promptly whisked him away, despite his continued shouts and curses. "Thompson, for your own good, don't speak a word of whats happened here." spoke Schmidt as he turned to leave the office. "And be sure not to let what happened to Ibrahim happen to you. Ibrahim's future is a dark one indeed."


It had been a week since Lieutenant Ibrahim had "disappeared". Life seemed to progress as normal. No one openly noticed Ibrahim's disappearance. Earlier that morning a new Lieutenant arrived at the research facility. Thompson scowled at the thought of him. He only needed one glimpse to know that this new officer was fresh from the academy, still wet behind the ears and still bought into the full party line of the government propaganda. Thompson crossed the center of the compound to the church and continued to think how much he would dislike his new superior, that is if he was anything the way Ibrahim was when he first arrived. The Sergeant had been raised in the ancient Faith of his grandparents, not this faux regime worship instituted by the government. He closed the door behind him, knelt, crossed himself and whispered: "As-salaamu alayka". He instinctually looked up at the stained-glass window before him on the far wall. He rose and walked forward to the circular altar at the center of the room. He found it funny, that he was in here. Despite his upbringing, he wasn't a particularly devout youth, and yet now that he had reached adulthood and seen the relative horrors that he had in the military and out of it. He found himself here, in this supposed place of worship, once a week. He had been here everyday since Ibrahim's outburst of drunken rage. He reached the steps leading up to the altar and once again got down on both knees and began to pray silently.


"Attention!" yelled one of the soldiers outside the door. Daniel Cartier shuddered at the sound of the brash announcement. He took his glasses of and rubbed his eyes wearily. He had been hard at work for many hours already, now he needed to put up with this new lieutenant. Ibrahim had been bad enough, but some how they managed to semi peacefully coexist, despite the terror Ibrahim struck into him. If only all these thick headed military types understood the importance of the research he was conducting. But instead the ordered him around meaninglessly to perform petty tasks which pertained nothing to his research. If only they would just leave him in peace that he could concentrate instead of insisting on constant updates and daily progress reports. Though he appreciated Sergeant Thompson's attempts at casual conversation, Daniel couldn't seem to relax enough to have a casual conversation with anyone but the other scientists and what was left of his family. He wasn't sure what it was but something about any and all military personnel made him unease. When they spoke to him, he began to stutter. The more intense the interaction, the worse his symptoms. He had even seen a medical doctor about it, though that in and of itself was an ordeal. It had been a military doctor. Fully absorbed by his thoughts, Cartier failed to notice that this new lieutenant now stood in his office right next to him. "Mr. Cartier!" Daniel looked around in horror at the young officer's face. The Lieutenant began to shout and yell but Daniel couldn't hear anything. He was terror struck, his mind raced. He began to panic. He couldn't move. He was paralyzed.


It had to have been near midnight, or so he assumed. He had lost track of time around 3 weeks ago. The moon shone brightly. It was cold, colder then it had ever been since they put him in the pit nearly a month ago. It had only been a week since they would examine him on a daily basis, previously it had been a weekly matter. Until then he still had hope in release. But as of three days ago he began hallucinating. At first it was just little things like an aspirin pill on the far side of the pit or that his hands and wrists were on the mend. Recently the hallucinations became more and more vivid and as they did so, they became more and more wildly insane. This morning as he suffered from the full force of the summer sun, he was convinced that the pool of blood all around him was in fact a large cool lake of deep fresh water. His parched lips longed for the cold refreshing taste of water. He was torn back to reality by the bitter salty taste of his own blood. He stared up at the moon and the dark splotches on it. He had loved to stare at the moon in his youth. He sat on the roof of his parents house and watched the stars go by as the night sky was illuminated by the cold yet loving embrace of the moon. Now as he watched, one of the dark spots seemed to grow larger and larger. Indeed it was coming straight at him. He could begin to make out a distinct shape, though this thing grew darker as it approached. Above the main shape was silver and radiant crescent. Below this was an unidentifiable shape in wavy black that appeared to be to have no definite shape at all. He began to ponder the nature of this thing coming toward him. Then suddenly he recognized what came towards him at an unrelenting pace. He began to scream and writhe as it drew ever closer until it stood at the top of his pit, towering over him, it's shadow cast long across the earthen floor and the pool of blood. He blinked and it was no longer at the rim of the pit. He looked around to find it was standing right behind him, as he turned around to face it and beg on his knees. The last thing he saw was a silver flash. The Reaper had come.


-N

Sun Warm Red

     Everything was red. Actually, I suppose that nothing was red, but that was all I could see. The color of the sun through closed eyelids. One of my favorite colors, not because I like red in and of itself but rather because it is always accompanied by the pleasant sensation of sunwarmed skin. That perfect enveloping embrace that shows that the universe can love you.

     The fools I call friends were doing their usual stupidities. This time it was jumping from the second floor balcony of Chris' house into the pool below. The water sounded nice, but i was perfectly content to be warm and dry. It was a very zen place, there on the concrete. nothing to disturb me, only warmth and calm and the grit beneath my back.

     At least until my reverie was broken by a deluge of ice.

     "Agh! Faggots!"

     "Haha calm yourself, zen master. Its time you bent the forces of nature to your will and beat us in the dive contest as usual." I could hear Tyson smiling .That lopsided half grin that only his face could make. I made no move to get up and so, taking matters into his own hands, Tyson began to prod me with his big toe. I don't like feet much. I gave in.

     "Alright, alright, I'll go. What shall it be then? My trademark Jack-Knife?"

     "I think that would be in order," piped in Chris from the other side of the pool. "It is the only thing you are good at!"

     I gave him a mildly bemused look as I made my way toward the makeshift stairs we had fashioned out of chairs and tables and a math textbook. No one likes math. I had to make a bit of a leap to get up to the balcony, but I had been doing some free running and made easy work of it. Suddenly, I didn't want to go in. Overcome with one of those gut feelings that cant be explained. Not that I could say anything about it, saying that my gut felt funny would only lend itself to PMS jokes. That's about the maturity level of the people I hang out with.

     I inhaled deeply, bracing myself, and lept off the balcony. Relishing the half second of free-fall. Agonizing over the freezing water. My body hit the water, cleared a crater, bending the water around me to allow one last microsecond of sun through my closed eyelids before water cascaded back, launching itself up in a pillar of magnificent crystalline glory. I sunk to the bottom of the pool, looked up at the rays of light dancing upon the surface of the water, flickering and wavering as they made a leisurely descent, finally creating an ever-changing, undulating light show on the floor of the pool; I stayed there for an eternity, unmoving, pensive, feeling the gradual ache build up in my chest as my body began to want for air.

     When I finally surfaced, everybody was yelling.

     "Holy son of a motherless goat! Did you see that!?!"

     "Dude I know right! That was sick!"

     "Wait, what the hell did you just say? Hahaha"

     And on and on... I suppose they liked the show, but in all honest I felt like my form had been a bit off. Plus I had a headache now, probably from getting a rush of water up my nose or something. Still, it was hard to concentrate on anything. Everything suddenly seemed very surreal, almost fake.

     "Oh damn, we gotta go man, its past 6..."

     That was Matt, needing a ride home. I lingered a second, wondering how it could be Six o'clock already. Got to the pool at 12:30, spent an hour and a half tops, that would only make it 2...

     I dismissed it and walked to the car. Walking felt strange, more like i was gliding than anything. An I was moving FAST. Much faster than I should have been. Put the keys into the ignition and the diesel engine came to life with a roar. My head still hurts. The rumble of the car beneath me did not help. I put the car in gear and started down the street.

     A few minutes later I realized that I wasn't the one driving. Perhaps I was the one getting the ride. I couldn't focus long enough to figure it out. Maybe it was good that I wasn't driving, I would be dangerous. 45 minutes later we completed the 10 minute drive to my house. There were a lot of people, all rushing around, talking very excitedly. My parents and siblings always had people over, i guess they threw a party and i just forgot about it. Yeah that must have been it. Matt wasnt around anymore. The throbbing was getting worse.

     The sun room was quiet. I shut the door behind me and sat. I tried to meditate to calm myself, but something kept interrupting me.

     "Om tare tuttare --" I couldn't focus on it.

     I sat for a moment, trying to pinpoint what it was. A slight beeping. I couldn't place it. Almost as it were coming from inside my head, slow and constant, a heart beat in my consciousness.

Beep.                   Beep.                    Beep.                     Beep.                  Beep.

     I attempted to draw it out, but the more i listened to it the more severe my headache got. Another sound began to drown it out. An agonized scream that grew until it enveloped every aspect of my being. I opened my eyes and took in the room around me. It wasn't my sun room. White washed walls, a small bed, fluorescent lights, hyper-clean sterilized air. My throat hurt. I needed to stop screaming. This was all too much, and I was on the brink of passing out from exhaustion. So I did.

---

     Days went by normally. No more of the rooms transporting me, people didn't disappear and I was driving when I thought I was. Only the beeping persisted throughout. And a blessing, the headaches had gone.

---

     That beautiful warm red of sun through closed eyelids. The universes embrace. And of course, they can't just let me enjoy it for a few more minutes.

     They want me to do another dive for them. A shadow passed over my face, drops of ice rained down on me.

     "Yeah, alright, I'll go."

     Back up that tower of chairs and tables. Once again that leap to get up the balcony. The beeps were getting more frequent.

Deep breath and all seems still. The calm before the plunge.

Beep.                         Beep.                             Beep.                             Beep.

Bend my knees and leap. The feeling of wind on my body.

Beep.             Beep.             Beep.            Beep.             Beep.             Beep.

Warmth as the sun caresses my face.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ice as the water envelopes me.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...

Darkness as the world collapses around me.

Silence.

Oblivion.

---

     Tyson couldn't take his eyes off of the monitor. The flat green line that was his friend's heart beat.

Silent tears glistened on Chris's Face.

Matt Sat rigidly by the side of his friend's body.

     The head trauma from the dive had been great, but if he had been brought in just a bit sooner, he might have lived. Those four hours had been vital.

Instead, he had slipped into a coma. Two weeks later, it ended.

Oblivion.




-L

Fear The Rain

They walked along a narrow trail
And as they did, told many a tale
The one eyed the sky doubtfully
Listening to the other carefully

The heavens seemed to darken
The thunder bade them hearken
Then began to fall a large drop
And another so without stop

Will it rain the elder asked
Seems that way the other replied
His defeat so thinly masked
Both hoped it might subside

All hope was then put aside
The dark skies were opened wide
All along the mountain side
Reigned the thunder and his bride

Rocks began to tumble
The hills began to slide
Mountain deep to rumble
Thus the fateful water ride

They tripped and fell
They stumbled and flew
Down into a dell
And then fell anew

Their descent came to an end
Their bodies in the flood
The other searched for his friend
The water red with blood

They were alive amidst the downpour
They both were in great pain
Their survival wouldn't reassure
That's why they fear the rain

-N

Novam Mortem

It was the silence that woke him. Never before had he heard such  absolute silence. It was oppressive, he felt as if he was suffocating in his own mind. He felt nothing, not his pillow, nor his bed. Finally he  opened his eyes. And for the first time he felt pure terror. He could  see nothing. He must be dead, that is the only explanation. As suddenly  as lightning strikes, the memories came back to him. He was put into a  case, about the size of a coffin, and slowly he felt the water rise. He  could feel again the burning of his lungs as they cried out for air, he  could feel the pounding of his heart as he slowly drowned, and he could  feel the hopelessness as he knew he would die.
   Then he felt something. A slight dampness beneath him. Slowly it became more pronounced, his back was wet. His mind reeled with the revelation. He decided that he must still be alive and his heart leapt for joy.  Around him the water was rising, but in his ecstasy he didn’t notice  until it had enveloped him. His lungs burned for air as he inhaled the  first gulps of water, his heart pounded as he slowly began to drown, and the feeling of hopelessness engulfed him as he realized he was going to die. He could feel himself being snuffed out. A minute passed. Two. He  was no more.
    It was the silence that woke him. Never before had he heard such  absolute silence. It was enlightening, he felt as if he was suddenly  blessed with knowledge of everything. He felt nothing, at least not  physically. It was as if he could stretch out his mind and touch the  essence of the universe. Finally he opened his eyes. And for the first  time he felt pure joy. He could see nothing, but within it he could see  the mysteries of his existence. He must be dead, that is the only  explanation. As suddenly as a light being flicked on, the memories came  back to him. He was placed into a case, about the size of a small couch, and slowly he felt the water rise. He could feel again the relaxation  of his body as it prepared for what was to come, he could feel the  pounding of his heart as he realized that he would be experiencing the  greatest journey of his life, and he could feel the hopefulness as he  knew he would die.
     Then he felt something. A slight dampness beneath him. Slowly it became more pronounced, his back was wet. His mind reeled with the revelation. He decided that he must still be alive and his heart leapt for joy.  Around him the water was rising, but in his ecstasy he didn’t notice  until it had enveloped him. His body relaxed and prepared for what was  to come, his heart pounded as he realized that he would be experiencing  the greatest journey of his life , and the feeling of hopefulness  engulfed him as he realized he was going to die. He could feel himself  being released. A minute passed. Two. He was no more.
   The man glanced at the peaceful face in the container. This same face  that not eight minutes before had been contorted in terror and rage now  resembled that of a saint. He made a note, and pressed the reset button. A timer started. In three minutes, the eyes would open, and there would be a new person in the body.
-L

Incepted Genesis

There are two. The first, who we will call N, is the elder. The other will be known as L. Neither would be considered the wiser, nor would either ever claim to be. That would be an affront to their mutual respect. They write, both with their own distinct style, though neither is particularly bound to it, sometimes together and other times not. Many styles appeal to them. Many topics as well. Expect to be entertained, and, at times, to have your brain wrinkled.