what you wish for
The sound of the wind was deafening. It screamed and howled, slicing through the white-noise rush of waves crashing on all sides against an edifice of monolithic boulders. It whistled shrill through tiny holes in the porous volcanic stones, but low and ominous over the top of the unnatural tube they formed, and sucked any warmth from within so that its precious refugee, this prisoner of immeasurable protection, was safe from the sound of his own thoughts as much as any feeling in his extremities.
It was lucky, because had he any feeling in them, he would either be digging or climbing. And neither of these would have been a very good idea, because there was no place to go. To the east? Endless ocean, frothing and churning as though it boiled - ice cold. To the west? A field of jagged razor prominences jutting from the depths, alternately appearing and disappearing as the waves swelled and broke. Beyond this hopeless stretch there rose a cliff-face so sheer and flat, it must surely be the Western edge of the world.
Had he witnessed this, he would no longer be safe, for the ocean cannot roar so loudly as despair.
Instead he remained, sprawled naked on a patch of sand just large enough to accommodate his adolescent lankiness, ringed by five enormous pillars of solid rock which stretched above him at least fifty meters. The stench of seaweed and salt reminded him that this spot used to belong to the ocean floor, but had now been annexed - requisitioned by his penultimate demand to be completely alone, absolutely safe, and entirely as far away from her as he could be without leaving the God-damned planet.
If he closed his eyes, he felt motion-sick. But on top of everything, it was stupidly bright. The walls of his perfect chamber were studded all through with something that reflected the sunlight, all the way down, shimmering with blinding brilliance. They sparkled. It hurt.
Eventually, he was able to close his eyes and believe that if he was too cold to move, he was probably too cold to throw up. Besides, this brought the mantra back, and it was the only thing that could even begin to dampen the cacophony. Though his face remained still, his tongue rolled about in his mouth, traced the words again and again:
perfect truth, perfect wisdom;
perfect wisdom, perfect question;
perfect question, perfect answer;
perfect answer, perfect truth...
Certainly it wasn’t sleep that found him, but something like a trance, which carried him through hours unnumbered until the daylight had finally gone - and with it, the wind. As though somewhere a leak had been plugged, the sun was all at once blotted out, and the air was still. The sudden silence jarred him back to reality; he blinked into the darkness, straining to hear only distant splashes as quiet and tame as bathwater.
Yet beneath even the whispers was hidden a sound far more unsettling...
It was lucky, because had he any feeling in them, he would either be digging or climbing. And neither of these would have been a very good idea, because there was no place to go. To the east? Endless ocean, frothing and churning as though it boiled - ice cold. To the west? A field of jagged razor prominences jutting from the depths, alternately appearing and disappearing as the waves swelled and broke. Beyond this hopeless stretch there rose a cliff-face so sheer and flat, it must surely be the Western edge of the world.
Had he witnessed this, he would no longer be safe, for the ocean cannot roar so loudly as despair.
Instead he remained, sprawled naked on a patch of sand just large enough to accommodate his adolescent lankiness, ringed by five enormous pillars of solid rock which stretched above him at least fifty meters. The stench of seaweed and salt reminded him that this spot used to belong to the ocean floor, but had now been annexed - requisitioned by his penultimate demand to be completely alone, absolutely safe, and entirely as far away from her as he could be without leaving the God-damned planet.
If he closed his eyes, he felt motion-sick. But on top of everything, it was stupidly bright. The walls of his perfect chamber were studded all through with something that reflected the sunlight, all the way down, shimmering with blinding brilliance. They sparkled. It hurt.
Eventually, he was able to close his eyes and believe that if he was too cold to move, he was probably too cold to throw up. Besides, this brought the mantra back, and it was the only thing that could even begin to dampen the cacophony. Though his face remained still, his tongue rolled about in his mouth, traced the words again and again:
perfect truth, perfect wisdom;
perfect wisdom, perfect question;
perfect question, perfect answer;
perfect answer, perfect truth...
Certainly it wasn’t sleep that found him, but something like a trance, which carried him through hours unnumbered until the daylight had finally gone - and with it, the wind. As though somewhere a leak had been plugged, the sun was all at once blotted out, and the air was still. The sudden silence jarred him back to reality; he blinked into the darkness, straining to hear only distant splashes as quiet and tame as bathwater.
Yet beneath even the whispers was hidden a sound far more unsettling...