The Order: A Dream Worth Having
This is a first for me. A blog! Never thought I would do this. This is a short story about 2k. I am posting it here because I am not looking for critique. I just want to share it. I actually found myself wanting to PM like half the forum(my friends!) asking them if the wanted to see. Before that became rude. I figured I would just post it here.
Before I sound arrogant. I am not sure this story is that good, rather I think the subject is something a writer will like. I hope anyone who looks at this enjoys.
The Order: A Dream Worth Having
Hi. I suspect I am bad at this, and as such I feel the striking need to apologize which I find humorous in context. Here I am scribbling down words on paper in a language that is dead. The meaninglessness of such an action does not escape me, but it does not change this undeniable urge within what I can only describe as my core. Even if these words and this book were to be destroyed mere moments after I finish, I still want them to exist; even if just for a partial fraction of a second.
I suppose it is the fleeting and desperate desire for me to cling to a hope long since past. Yet, in such desolate times, this flicker of hope is all that I have. I suppose it would be... proper format for me to introduce myself, yet I find myself, literally, unable to do so. I have long since been unable to recall my name or, at least, my true name.
On good days when I feel mildly more well than others, I do discover the ability to remember with a slightly higher level of detail. I remember a place to which I can only describe with a word like nostalgic or perhaps home. I recall a purple night sky and a beautiful green moon. I can conjure up vague impressions of people I suspect were my parents, but I can't remember what they were like. Nor can I educe what they were called and most tragic to me, I cannot extract what they referred to me as.
I digress though; I did not begin this to give myself a history lesson of what no longer matters. Look at me, speaking as if someone is going to read this. Perhaps someone might. The reason I wanted to write this is because, for a moment, I found Heaven.
The story of me finding Heaven takes place a long time past my origins. Longer than I would know how to describe. In that sense knowing that I cannot elicit my name is useful. Not by itself but in the conjunction with the premise that it is not the only thing I cannot recall. I have no knowledge of what I am either. Many have referred to me as God or a God. I am not sure I would consider the comparison fair.
I suppose it rests on what you consider the prerequisites of God. Some seem to hold the view that God is all knowing. If that is the case, I am about as far away from being God as possible. Yet, some people hold the view that God is more, a power beyond the standard ability to measure, which may be a more fitting description of me. I have lived more years than I care to speculate. I have survived many things, including the explosion of a planet or the vacuum of space.
As far as I can tell, I am not capable of death, or at the very least nothing has put me at what I consider a reasonable risk of it. Then again, perhaps I am already dead, and this is Hell? It certainly feels fitting at the moment, yet I doubt that conclusion, it seems, too easy.
But enough of that. On to Heaven, well more fittingly Hell. Before I found Heaven, I was in Hell. The cold, dark, nothingness of space. It feels like where I have spent the majority of my existence, but perhaps that is just how it felt. In either case, that is a situation in which the sensations are easier to recall vividly. The suction of the vacuum that seemed determined to pull me apart and kill me, but always failing to reach the peak of power needed to do such. The cold so harsh that water touching me would turn to ice the moment it left me and the desolation so strong my body screamed for change. Even pain would be welcomed for the sheer value of being something.
It was a wish I would soon receive. I found myself near a star and a planet that held life. Neither of which were exactly new things to me. I had by this point seen more of both than I dare to even consider guessing. Yet, this one was different. Not that I knew it at the time. Though, for how different it was, two things were the same. The first being that crashing into a planet is not a pleasant tactile experience. At least not fully. I will admit the warmth from entry was welcomed for a brief moment.
On that note, I never quite understood why people relate Hell as being a warm place. In my experience, Hell is cold.
This planet was not unique at first. I still remember my first day here. The sulfur in the air burned my newly inflated lungs. Oh dear. That reminds me. I am going to soon face the feeling of collapsed lungs again. This planet's stability is decreasing as I write. I do not look forward to that. While the oxygen here may have depleted centuries ago, the feeling of fullness is still a tremendous relief. One I know I will miss.
Once again I digress, this world was different. Not that I yet knew that but it wouldn't take long. Normally the information of my arrival spreads fairly quickly, taking as long as a month to spread around the planet. This planet was much faster, unbelievably so. I could sense different parts of the world if I tried. From what I gathered the entire planet had become aware of my presence within minutes. I had never seen information travel so quickly.
I became excited; I thought maybe they were like me, they could sense me just as I could them. This was incorrect, but I am not sure if I should celebrate that fact or lament it. It begged the question, how. How did they accomplish something that I had only seen in myself by different means? The answer was astonishing. A concept they referred to as technology.
These creatures were some of the weakest I had ever seen individually, yet as a unit(whether the unit was other members or the technology) they were strong beyond belief. They had enough strength to even beat me in my weakened state.
Before I could recover from my landing, they had surrounded me with the intent to destroy me. They were strong, but not that strong. Yet the weapons they had, one which was a hollowed out shaft that used an explosive force to propel an iron pellet, the other being needles attached to some sort of lightning generator. Both were quite painful. I fell unconscious to the storm of them.
When I woke up, I was in some sort of death trap. It appeared to be an iron room with a fire beneath me. I must have had them scared as when I woke up they began the fire. It seemed they intended to add more fuel to it but dared not risk whatever I planned to do.
In that moment, I think I may understand why people assume Hell will be hot. Being set on fire is not a feeling I miss. Yet, even in that moment, I think I preferred it to the icy equivalent. While neither was pleasant, at least, the fire had flux. It went up or down, it moved and changed. It wasn't stuck in the same sort of stasis as the icy prison.
Then again the flames would not affect me for very long. I used the energy within me to extinguish them. If I had to explain how I survived everything I did, I think it would come down to that energy within me. It constantly was recharging, the more I had, the stronger I was. It was as if the energy it used to protect me from the icy Hell of space or the flames of this oven were lower than what I replaced. Which is why neither could kill me and why I was certain that it seemed I could not die. If years in the vacuum of space barely affected this energy, what would?
The one thing me and this planet held in common was astonishment. They of my sheer abilities and me of their sheer intelligence. They asked questions like "how does the universe work." Such things never occurred to me before. I could use my energy to command fire, but they could use their intellect to get fire to do what they wished without commanding it. Something I still find to be the superior skill. Every world I had seen prior had, like me, commanded things like fire. This was the threshold to Heaven. Learning.
After their attempts to kill me had failed, and the lack of attempts I made to kill them, they began teaching me their language. It was at this time I learned about the most beautiful concept ever. Written language. Such an amazing idea. To you, one that obviously has this trait to be reading this, it may seem like nothing, but to me, one who has never seen it before? Its beauty is without compare.
Perhaps you have figured it out, what Heaven is. If not, it is a place called, "a library." To be fair, upon much deliberation. It is not the library that is the definition of Heaven, but rather a library by definition carries that criteria. Life is Heaven, and life is change, it is motion and imperfection. Nothing in all my life has been a better example of all of that then that library.
Each book was a portal to a universe of life, change and imperfection. Each one written by someone with their own unique perspective on life because of that changing imperfection. If you ever doubt the value of one of these treasures then imagine the following. You could build a bridge from a library to the nearest star with books, and if you did so, you would use hundreds of billions of books. In all that space of the frozen Hell out there you would not find anything more valuable than a single page of a book.
All of that space, all of that potential is less than something infinitely small by comparison. Because Hell, the static existence of space, it is perfect. It doesn't need anything to exist. It endures everything and thrives; it does not change because it does not need too and that is why it is Hell. Life or Heaven shifts and spins and changes. Unfortunately, as such, Heaven eventually shifts to Hell.
This world had such a nice run. I never wanted it to end. I tried so hard to protect it. I was here for countless generations, a guardian to it. Without the need to protect myself from things like ice or fire my energy increased to even greater heights than I could ever recall. I protected this planet from invaders or disasters they had yet to create technology for. I did so happily, and I had more books than I could have ever imagined. I was happy. Then the star went supernova. I tried as hard as I could. I used every bastion of my abilities to try and protect it, and for a moment, I thought I had succeeded.
In a sense I did. My energy successfully shielded the planet from the force of the supernova. Yet, it was too much for me to handle without... drawbacks. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I discovered few had died from the event, and yet, I was all alone. Everyone had died from the cold of Hell, or the resulting starvation. Without the star, the planet could no longer support life.
Never had I felt so cursed before. Why couldn't I have at least died with them? I still wonder that. For years, I continued reading while searching for survivors. I tried rebuilding the cities. I thought perhaps something would happen. Life would find me, or a survivor would appear and we would be happy. Hope became my worst nightmare and greatest dream all at once.
This world, to which I have loved as my home for so long had been consumed by Hell, and now it is about to disappear forever, taking with it every trace of the beautiful Heaven it once held. The core is unstable. Soon, like the star that fed it, this planet will explode. All the books and all the libraries will fade. It fills me with such sorrow. For all the power that I have. The most beautiful thing in the world slipped through my fingers like sand. At moments like this, I feel as far away from the concept of God as I think is possible.
I couldn't win, and I can't die. My torment seems like it will go on without end, but even with that, there is a certain hope that makes it seem manageable. Perhaps the next world will be Heaven too. Or now that I know what Heaven is, perhaps I will be able to help forge it. I would give anything to create a Heaven without end. I wouldn't even care if I wasn't allowed in. Just for it to exist.
That is my dream. A Heaven without end. I don't know if it is possible, but it is a dream worth having.
The Author set the book down on a table moments before the ground began to shake. The floor cracked, and the book, as well as the library, fell into the depths of oblivion. As sad as the situation was, it was not the time to grieve because, after all, dreams do not build themselves.
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