vallanceflux
02-20-2007, 05:17 PM
‘Post Euphoria’
The aphotic scar of civilisation whispered over the face of the landscape before it faded gradually into the bleakness of the surroundings. For as far as the horizon, at least, life ceased to exist, low hills boiled up through the soil, giving shape and substance to the land, but – as if painted with only one shade – it served only as a reminder of the Emotionless regime. Water-ways reached out from the scar, extending to both skies, grasping for the last remaining cities, but these too void of life.
At the heart of the landscape: Neaveu’London. Rhythmically pulsating, breathing further pollutants into the already dense air.
The stillness was unnatural, unnerving to those unaccustomed as Tai’San. A light fleck of air dashed across his face as a pained expression of shame traversed his features. His eyes darting across the hills, the water-ways, the barren landscape, they too observed the lack of life, the daunting prospect of the void – all the time averting his sight from the scar.
He wore the result of the imposed regime – dark colours were irremissible, suppressing the condemned emotion, further promoting the evolution past the physicality. His hands sparse of protection in the abrasive atmosphere, naked save a minimalist ring – inscribed, “Belief” but long since new. Faded and aging, the dull finish flaking. His features were sharp, dark hair glided elegantly into slightly oriental eyes – strange eyes- deep set: serious, fuelled and fired with determination, they proclaimed no evil, yet similarly were denied the innocence of early life.
Pausing once more to condemn the pity of the landscape and expel it from thought. Harder than normal, stronger than normal, these feelings were stranger to him. Foreign that it came with such inexorable force.
As he grew yet closer to the scar, it took a new form. Buildings tore outwards to bare itself up, still breathing, still alive despite its apparent barren nature. One spire towering over all else, surveying the extent of its power, gazing over the desolate landscape, surveying its wake, a tail of similar bleakness, a uniform destruction. The daunting effect culminated in the entrance, born long ago yet decaying gracefully. A line of spires striking upwards through the tormented ground, arching and reaching for each other at their brow, placed in apparent disorder but holding secrets known only to few, only those deemed acceptable and able enough to conceive notions of the soul. The formation of the shape between the entrance’s teeth apparently part of a larger ideal, but merely rumoured. Chanced only to incite unease and deference of the Emotionless. Moss assailed the stone work, attempting to distil life upon its arid surface but succeeded only to shrivel and die.
At the gate he stopped and shouted proudly, in the old tongue: “Are you so engaged you will not greet a lost son, be reacquainted?”
All was still, as the moss before, no response evoked.
“Will you not acknowledge his presence, not for one moment admit the presence of another, even with your preoccupied minds?”
After some time the gates screamed, keening for mercy under resolute torment of use after an era – too long – of hibernation. He stepped softly through the narrow gap into a new world of the same passive neutrality, save this time with the lack of nature. The void, now expressed through mankind and technology.
A new world of glass and steel and grey extended before him. On each applicable surface posters proclaiming evolution past the physicality into a world of the soul littered the surroundings. Preaching to the
A ludicrous attempt at perfection you can struggle towards for an infinity and reach no closer to your goal than a child to an adult in the beat of a heart. But was the result, not the isolated incidents of cult practise as this attempt as it had started but towns, cities, countries – worlds. All enveloped by the dream of surpassing everyone else. Shedding their physical form and achieving immortality
The aphotic scar of civilisation whispered over the face of the landscape before it faded gradually into the bleakness of the surroundings. For as far as the horizon, at least, life ceased to exist, low hills boiled up through the soil, giving shape and substance to the land, but – as if painted with only one shade – it served only as a reminder of the Emotionless regime. Water-ways reached out from the scar, extending to both skies, grasping for the last remaining cities, but these too void of life.
At the heart of the landscape: Neaveu’London. Rhythmically pulsating, breathing further pollutants into the already dense air.
The stillness was unnatural, unnerving to those unaccustomed as Tai’San. A light fleck of air dashed across his face as a pained expression of shame traversed his features. His eyes darting across the hills, the water-ways, the barren landscape, they too observed the lack of life, the daunting prospect of the void – all the time averting his sight from the scar.
He wore the result of the imposed regime – dark colours were irremissible, suppressing the condemned emotion, further promoting the evolution past the physicality. His hands sparse of protection in the abrasive atmosphere, naked save a minimalist ring – inscribed, “Belief” but long since new. Faded and aging, the dull finish flaking. His features were sharp, dark hair glided elegantly into slightly oriental eyes – strange eyes- deep set: serious, fuelled and fired with determination, they proclaimed no evil, yet similarly were denied the innocence of early life.
Pausing once more to condemn the pity of the landscape and expel it from thought. Harder than normal, stronger than normal, these feelings were stranger to him. Foreign that it came with such inexorable force.
As he grew yet closer to the scar, it took a new form. Buildings tore outwards to bare itself up, still breathing, still alive despite its apparent barren nature. One spire towering over all else, surveying the extent of its power, gazing over the desolate landscape, surveying its wake, a tail of similar bleakness, a uniform destruction. The daunting effect culminated in the entrance, born long ago yet decaying gracefully. A line of spires striking upwards through the tormented ground, arching and reaching for each other at their brow, placed in apparent disorder but holding secrets known only to few, only those deemed acceptable and able enough to conceive notions of the soul. The formation of the shape between the entrance’s teeth apparently part of a larger ideal, but merely rumoured. Chanced only to incite unease and deference of the Emotionless. Moss assailed the stone work, attempting to distil life upon its arid surface but succeeded only to shrivel and die.
At the gate he stopped and shouted proudly, in the old tongue: “Are you so engaged you will not greet a lost son, be reacquainted?”
All was still, as the moss before, no response evoked.
“Will you not acknowledge his presence, not for one moment admit the presence of another, even with your preoccupied minds?”
After some time the gates screamed, keening for mercy under resolute torment of use after an era – too long – of hibernation. He stepped softly through the narrow gap into a new world of the same passive neutrality, save this time with the lack of nature. The void, now expressed through mankind and technology.
A new world of glass and steel and grey extended before him. On each applicable surface posters proclaiming evolution past the physicality into a world of the soul littered the surroundings. Preaching to the
A ludicrous attempt at perfection you can struggle towards for an infinity and reach no closer to your goal than a child to an adult in the beat of a heart. But was the result, not the isolated incidents of cult practise as this attempt as it had started but towns, cities, countries – worlds. All enveloped by the dream of surpassing everyone else. Shedding their physical form and achieving immortality