Attn: kinrazza
Blue invokes varying imagery.
For Chronicus, it manifested in the form of a stream-of-consciousness tale.
TfmechExchange July 09
The Marble
What a perfect little thing.
It sits there, hovering in the middle of darkness, yet it still manages to shine.
I haven’t seen anything quite like it in a long time. Of course, I haven’t been off-planet for tens of millennia.
I wonder … what kind of life walks on its surface? What do they dream about at night, if they dream at all? Are there libraries to gain knowledge, or do they lack sentience?
It’s hard, just to remain where I am, to view it from afar. To be so close, yet so far away is illogical. But I’m not supposed to be here, anyway.
Funny thing, that. I was supposed to be on Cybertron, absorbing the wonder that was hundreds of thousands of Cybertronians learning. When they experienced an epiphany, I was there; as a point was made, I was there. To witness the joy in a young protoform’s face as he or she beheld the great expanses of my halls … my spark glowed with pleasure.
But that is no more. I have seen to it.
It has often been said that one mech’s loss is another mech’s gain … but is that proverb true? I feel no sense of gain … rather, insurmountable loss. Pain and sadness envelope me as tightly as those puffy clouds so delicately wrap the blue, blue world.
So much blue, I note. Water is not an alien concept, but I have never set foot on a planet with so much of it. My core consciousness spins with fantasies. What would it be like, I speculate, to feel it upon my armor? Wetness I am familiar with - oil, lubricants, Energon. But true wetness - the kiss of a raindrop cycled from the earth to the sky, then to rise again and start the circle all over … No, I haven’t been so blessed.
What would a warm rain feel like? I suspect much like a warm shower, or the sprinkling of one of my fountains. But that is calculated; true rain is unpredictable - so many droplets falling in so many directions. It would be amazing, I muse.
For a moment, I float towards the sphere, hovering there, unsuspecting. So small, so naïve.
No, it’s impossible. My core flares, tells me that in no way could I ever set foot on this world. I am far too large, it far too small.
A sadness, more sweet than the despair that coats me, touches the edges of my consciousness. What beauty, what grace.
Perhaps it is best that I do not come closer. Beings like myself no longer bring joy … we bring fear and destruction. And sometimes, we have been destroyed.
No, it is time to go.
I turn, slowly; one last glance over my shoulder. The blue marble spins on.
May you never know my pain, I tell it. May you be spared the war that caused my exile.
And so … on I travel.
For Chronicus, it manifested in the form of a stream-of-consciousness tale.
TfmechExchange July 09
The Marble
What a perfect little thing.
It sits there, hovering in the middle of darkness, yet it still manages to shine.
I haven’t seen anything quite like it in a long time. Of course, I haven’t been off-planet for tens of millennia.
I wonder … what kind of life walks on its surface? What do they dream about at night, if they dream at all? Are there libraries to gain knowledge, or do they lack sentience?
It’s hard, just to remain where I am, to view it from afar. To be so close, yet so far away is illogical. But I’m not supposed to be here, anyway.
Funny thing, that. I was supposed to be on Cybertron, absorbing the wonder that was hundreds of thousands of Cybertronians learning. When they experienced an epiphany, I was there; as a point was made, I was there. To witness the joy in a young protoform’s face as he or she beheld the great expanses of my halls … my spark glowed with pleasure.
But that is no more. I have seen to it.
It has often been said that one mech’s loss is another mech’s gain … but is that proverb true? I feel no sense of gain … rather, insurmountable loss. Pain and sadness envelope me as tightly as those puffy clouds so delicately wrap the blue, blue world.
So much blue, I note. Water is not an alien concept, but I have never set foot on a planet with so much of it. My core consciousness spins with fantasies. What would it be like, I speculate, to feel it upon my armor? Wetness I am familiar with - oil, lubricants, Energon. But true wetness - the kiss of a raindrop cycled from the earth to the sky, then to rise again and start the circle all over … No, I haven’t been so blessed.
What would a warm rain feel like? I suspect much like a warm shower, or the sprinkling of one of my fountains. But that is calculated; true rain is unpredictable - so many droplets falling in so many directions. It would be amazing, I muse.
For a moment, I float towards the sphere, hovering there, unsuspecting. So small, so naïve.
No, it’s impossible. My core flares, tells me that in no way could I ever set foot on this world. I am far too large, it far too small.
A sadness, more sweet than the despair that coats me, touches the edges of my consciousness. What beauty, what grace.
Perhaps it is best that I do not come closer. Beings like myself no longer bring joy … we bring fear and destruction. And sometimes, we have been destroyed.
No, it is time to go.
I turn, slowly; one last glance over my shoulder. The blue marble spins on.
May you never know my pain, I tell it. May you be spared the war that caused my exile.
And so … on I travel.