Alright so this is my first post in the Writer's Corner, but certainly not my first novel attempt. Anyway, this is currently one of my two my works-in-progress. I'll be posting chapters more chapters as I write them. There is some language throughout, just to give you a warning. i know some people are more sensitive to that than others. Guess that's all, love to get as much advice as I can, especially if anyone has a good idea for a title, I'm always horrible at coming up with them.
–> Prologue
This is how you set up a scene.
I'm waking up to the incessant hum of static all around me, buzzing like flies surrounding a carcass, eager for their next meal. The sky swam about far above me, an endless torrent of black and white, constantly shifting, changing, reproducing. Its bothersome white noise reverberated endlessly, aimlessly, encompassing the entire area. I finally gathered the strength to hoist myself up from the ground, brushing away the earthen dregs from my faded blue jeans. My head was ringing, crippled by the utter silence of the area coupled with the untimely, inaudible whirring of the static sky above. My eyes were now growing more accustomed to this world.
I was collapsed at the epicenter of a jagged crater, faults and crack lines tracing the perimeter in obscure patterns. The trees surrounding my crater were hollow, made of glass, it seemed, with crystal leaves of unimaginable colors. Far beyond, the gargantuan spires of a foreign civilization ascended farther and farther into the static above. Heavy black plumes of smoke and refuse billowed forth from the peaks of nearly every other structure in sight, debris and ash dancing gracefully downward like snowfall. The entire scene before me seemed too surreal to exist. And yet, the very nature of this place instilled in me a sense of empowerment that I have never experienced before. I remember this place from somewhere. The soil beneath my feet was coarse and sooty, the air unpleasant and chalky. But real.
Uneasily, I dug my fingers into the crater’s side. It must have been a few meters high. I’d estimate around thirty feet wide. Strange dimensions. Regardless, I began to climb. No sooner than I had one foot on the incline, I felt a strange presence materialize behind me. When I turned, I immediately recognized the most miraculous part of this world.
There She stood, my Clay Womyn, as beautiful as ever. Perfectly flawless, Her skin shone bright and glossy as porcelain. Her invasive green eyes disguised themselves beneath unnecessarily thick, black eyelashes. Her shifty composition quite literally of clay, She manifested Herself without warning from beneath the crater soil behind me. Stale blond hair stood like twine atop Her clay-head, adorned with a baby blue ribbon tied double to contain Her wiry locks.
She effortlessly walked towards me, Her steps so small She almost seemed to be gliding. She spoke to me in that familiar, beautiful voice that somehow always seems to reassure me that everything is all right. The world could collapse at my feet, and even if She were retelling the death count, I would still feel relieved just knowing that She’s there by my side.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
She probably did, I tell Her.
She walks to the edge of the crater, walking up the side with ease. As She reaches out Her hand to help me up, I grab on to Her wrist, smooth and lifeless as porcelain. I’m brushing the dirt off my pants again when She asks what brought me here today.
“I lose track,” I tell her.
She turns away, silent, gliding towards the Forest. Behind us, more trees conceal the vast, booming city in the distance. I feel as if I’ve seen this somewhere before.
* * *
The pathways in the Forest never remain the same long enough for you to trace their destination. The deep red stone is constantly shifted, engulfed, and regurgitated by the furtive soil. Yet still, my Clay Womyn, She knows exactly where to go. I trail behind her through the multicolored glass splinters, following in Her very footsteps; fully aware that my path is being erased with every step I take.
More and more, flowers are starting to sprout up along the trees’ bases. Lipstick-red roses and urine-stain-yellow daisies sway in the nonexistent breeze. If you listen hard enough, you can hear them singing. The words, I’m not meant to understand them. They rise and fall in solemn, wispy strands: a fiery chorus lapping ever so gently at my heels. A warning? A welcome? A requiem?
We hadn’t walked very far when my Clay Womyn spoke, trampling a flower beneath Her bare porcelain foot. “Vae victus.”
“What did you say?”
She shakes Her head, nothing. We’re still walking. The only sound present is the nearly silent shifting of the pathways behind, all around us. The static sky continues its purposeless whir. “You know you can’t stay there forever. One of these days you’ll have to stop going back. You have to escape, permanently. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I know that,” I tell her. “But what else can I do, really? It’s not like I have control over anything.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong! Don't you see? You have all the power in the world! More power than anyone else could ever hope to dream of! This,” and She spread Her arms, motioning to the world, “this is all yours. Don’t you see? You are your own God! And I am but a humble angel, fruitlessly sacrificing everything in the service of her master.” She looks at me with Her too-green eyes peering through Her too-black lashes, winking.
I am God.
I repeat the phrase countlessly in my head. I know this. Because She knows this. We can’t keep avoiding the truth forever.
“We can’t keep avoiding the truth forever,” She says.
Bewildered, I tell Her, I know.
Just then, without any warning or reason, the wind grew violent. Vicious. The trees, with their stained glass leaves and brittle branches, snapped and shattered all around me. A hundred Victorian chandeliers collapsing at once. My Clay Womyn, She looks up, up, up, investigating the static above us.
“It is time,” She says with a bow, “until the next time.”
The skies are growing more rapid by the second. The infectious static spreads its unholy white noise farther and farther, louder and louder, until I am encompassed. Just like before, I can feel the gentle tug of the upward vacuum, the static come for me again. Just like before, I feel my feet leave the ground. I am the ascension of myself. Part-time Jesus Christ. My Clay Womyn below, she is shouting up at me again.
“You are your own God! The world is your temple, the people your pawns! You have nothing to fear, but you have to escape!”
I have to escape
I have to escape
I have to escape…
–> Prologue
This is how you set up a scene.
I'm waking up to the incessant hum of static all around me, buzzing like flies surrounding a carcass, eager for their next meal. The sky swam about far above me, an endless torrent of black and white, constantly shifting, changing, reproducing. Its bothersome white noise reverberated endlessly, aimlessly, encompassing the entire area. I finally gathered the strength to hoist myself up from the ground, brushing away the earthen dregs from my faded blue jeans. My head was ringing, crippled by the utter silence of the area coupled with the untimely, inaudible whirring of the static sky above. My eyes were now growing more accustomed to this world.
I was collapsed at the epicenter of a jagged crater, faults and crack lines tracing the perimeter in obscure patterns. The trees surrounding my crater were hollow, made of glass, it seemed, with crystal leaves of unimaginable colors. Far beyond, the gargantuan spires of a foreign civilization ascended farther and farther into the static above. Heavy black plumes of smoke and refuse billowed forth from the peaks of nearly every other structure in sight, debris and ash dancing gracefully downward like snowfall. The entire scene before me seemed too surreal to exist. And yet, the very nature of this place instilled in me a sense of empowerment that I have never experienced before. I remember this place from somewhere. The soil beneath my feet was coarse and sooty, the air unpleasant and chalky. But real.
Uneasily, I dug my fingers into the crater’s side. It must have been a few meters high. I’d estimate around thirty feet wide. Strange dimensions. Regardless, I began to climb. No sooner than I had one foot on the incline, I felt a strange presence materialize behind me. When I turned, I immediately recognized the most miraculous part of this world.
There She stood, my Clay Womyn, as beautiful as ever. Perfectly flawless, Her skin shone bright and glossy as porcelain. Her invasive green eyes disguised themselves beneath unnecessarily thick, black eyelashes. Her shifty composition quite literally of clay, She manifested Herself without warning from beneath the crater soil behind me. Stale blond hair stood like twine atop Her clay-head, adorned with a baby blue ribbon tied double to contain Her wiry locks.
She effortlessly walked towards me, Her steps so small She almost seemed to be gliding. She spoke to me in that familiar, beautiful voice that somehow always seems to reassure me that everything is all right. The world could collapse at my feet, and even if She were retelling the death count, I would still feel relieved just knowing that She’s there by my side.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
She probably did, I tell Her.
She walks to the edge of the crater, walking up the side with ease. As She reaches out Her hand to help me up, I grab on to Her wrist, smooth and lifeless as porcelain. I’m brushing the dirt off my pants again when She asks what brought me here today.
“I lose track,” I tell her.
She turns away, silent, gliding towards the Forest. Behind us, more trees conceal the vast, booming city in the distance. I feel as if I’ve seen this somewhere before.
* * *
The pathways in the Forest never remain the same long enough for you to trace their destination. The deep red stone is constantly shifted, engulfed, and regurgitated by the furtive soil. Yet still, my Clay Womyn, She knows exactly where to go. I trail behind her through the multicolored glass splinters, following in Her very footsteps; fully aware that my path is being erased with every step I take.
More and more, flowers are starting to sprout up along the trees’ bases. Lipstick-red roses and urine-stain-yellow daisies sway in the nonexistent breeze. If you listen hard enough, you can hear them singing. The words, I’m not meant to understand them. They rise and fall in solemn, wispy strands: a fiery chorus lapping ever so gently at my heels. A warning? A welcome? A requiem?
We hadn’t walked very far when my Clay Womyn spoke, trampling a flower beneath Her bare porcelain foot. “Vae victus.”
“What did you say?”
She shakes Her head, nothing. We’re still walking. The only sound present is the nearly silent shifting of the pathways behind, all around us. The static sky continues its purposeless whir. “You know you can’t stay there forever. One of these days you’ll have to stop going back. You have to escape, permanently. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I know that,” I tell her. “But what else can I do, really? It’s not like I have control over anything.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong! Don't you see? You have all the power in the world! More power than anyone else could ever hope to dream of! This,” and She spread Her arms, motioning to the world, “this is all yours. Don’t you see? You are your own God! And I am but a humble angel, fruitlessly sacrificing everything in the service of her master.” She looks at me with Her too-green eyes peering through Her too-black lashes, winking.
I am God.
I repeat the phrase countlessly in my head. I know this. Because She knows this. We can’t keep avoiding the truth forever.
“We can’t keep avoiding the truth forever,” She says.
Bewildered, I tell Her, I know.
Just then, without any warning or reason, the wind grew violent. Vicious. The trees, with their stained glass leaves and brittle branches, snapped and shattered all around me. A hundred Victorian chandeliers collapsing at once. My Clay Womyn, She looks up, up, up, investigating the static above us.
“It is time,” She says with a bow, “until the next time.”
The skies are growing more rapid by the second. The infectious static spreads its unholy white noise farther and farther, louder and louder, until I am encompassed. Just like before, I can feel the gentle tug of the upward vacuum, the static come for me again. Just like before, I feel my feet leave the ground. I am the ascension of myself. Part-time Jesus Christ. My Clay Womyn below, she is shouting up at me again.
“You are your own God! The world is your temple, the people your pawns! You have nothing to fear, but you have to escape!”
I have to escape
I have to escape
I have to escape…
