Lost Hand: The Chasm
Nature of the Piece: fictional prose
Characters: Master
Universe: the metaverse
World: Master's home-world
Chronology: This piece falls some time after Shadows and Reality (part 2). An event (or rather the event) took place some time in the interim.
Context: Master here is probably ~13-15 years old. A few years ago, he invented a means of summoning his oldest and most peculiar imaginary friend (Hand) at will, by carving a circular symbol into the earth, which becomes a kind of door through which he could invite it out into the world. The establishment of this symbol as a means of summons also had the effect of binding Hand to him as a servant of sorts. The Hand assisted its master in various adventures with its special skills in 'building' and `tunneling', processes through which it was able to either to build incorporeally upon the corporeal world, or else 'tunnel' into pre-existing incorporeal dimensions. These activities ultimately culminated in Master incurring a very traumatic figurative burn, whereupon Hand vanished and all the fun stopped.
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~
If it were as simple as an omission --- if the fabric of his memory had gaped open at the event and afterward resealed itself seamlessly --- he might have come through intact.
But it did not reseal itself. That same fissure which had shielded him from the monster as it passed had left in its stead a permanent impression, which in turn harbored monsters of its own. Unlike other memories, he could not pin it down to any place in a clear chronology. And yet it pinned him --- though what to, he could not say. It was an anti-memory: an abyss. It leaked into him as he leaked into it. Henceforth he could never tell if any fragment that came back to him from that chasm was a real memory from his waking life, distorted and transformed, or rather something else entirely: something from outside, from them, or an invention of his own degenerate mind.
Since his guardians could no longer care for him, he was sent to a house for the broken ones, who could not be trusted to lead their own lives.
He laughed, at that.
This was not a world in which lives could be 'led'. Whether he wasted his here or out in or out in the broad light of day --- it mattered not. Better to die now, and end this charade.
He'd tried that. They wouldn't let him.
Who?
Them. You know.
A death premature is a resource wasted.
Though even death can have its uses. Wasn't that what it had said? The `residue' of this world.
Where does it come from?
Death.
He didn't want to give them anything more. Live he would, then, if only to spite them: a hollow life, devoid of excess, devoid of residue. No more hopes, no more wishes, no more plans for them to harvest.
No more plans, that is, save one. That plan was his and his alone.
----
note: for the original discussion of 'residue' and where it comes from, see Shadows and Reality, part 1
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~
Characters: Master
Universe: the metaverse
World: Master's home-world
Chronology: This piece falls some time after Shadows and Reality (part 2). An event (or rather the event) took place some time in the interim.
Context: Master here is probably ~13-15 years old. A few years ago, he invented a means of summoning his oldest and most peculiar imaginary friend (Hand) at will, by carving a circular symbol into the earth, which becomes a kind of door through which he could invite it out into the world. The establishment of this symbol as a means of summons also had the effect of binding Hand to him as a servant of sorts. The Hand assisted its master in various adventures with its special skills in 'building' and `tunneling', processes through which it was able to either to build incorporeally upon the corporeal world, or else 'tunnel' into pre-existing incorporeal dimensions. These activities ultimately culminated in Master incurring a very traumatic figurative burn, whereupon Hand vanished and all the fun stopped.
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~
If it were as simple as an omission --- if the fabric of his memory had gaped open at the event and afterward resealed itself seamlessly --- he might have come through intact.
But it did not reseal itself. That same fissure which had shielded him from the monster as it passed had left in its stead a permanent impression, which in turn harbored monsters of its own. Unlike other memories, he could not pin it down to any place in a clear chronology. And yet it pinned him --- though what to, he could not say. It was an anti-memory: an abyss. It leaked into him as he leaked into it. Henceforth he could never tell if any fragment that came back to him from that chasm was a real memory from his waking life, distorted and transformed, or rather something else entirely: something from outside, from them, or an invention of his own degenerate mind.
Since his guardians could no longer care for him, he was sent to a house for the broken ones, who could not be trusted to lead their own lives.
He laughed, at that.
This was not a world in which lives could be 'led'. Whether he wasted his here or out in or out in the broad light of day --- it mattered not. Better to die now, and end this charade.
He'd tried that. They wouldn't let him.
Who?
Them. You know.
A death premature is a resource wasted.
Though even death can have its uses. Wasn't that what it had said? The `residue' of this world.
Where does it come from?
Death.
He didn't want to give them anything more. Live he would, then, if only to spite them: a hollow life, devoid of excess, devoid of residue. No more hopes, no more wishes, no more plans for them to harvest.
No more plans, that is, save one. That plan was his and his alone.
----
note: for the original discussion of 'residue' and where it comes from, see Shadows and Reality, part 1
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~