Echos
After the explosions, the laughs, and the food, it didn't seem quite right; I'd forgotten how quickly a night of mundane fun can end under the flash of a sudden, awkwardly-timed vision. Of course, that's just the way of these things, in my experience. Subtleties creep in, only to be noticed at a time I find myself completely incapable of dealing with them.
The first flash was blinding. Attention was ripped from the TV screen, past friends in animated conversation, past dogs jumping on couches and begging for attention, inward and downward, when everything went white. There was no surprise, no fear, only suddenness; I was safe. I'm not sure where I am, but I've been here before, and it seems rather like home, in a way.
As the light fades, a silent world appears, streak by streak. It's as if a cosmic brush is swirling around me, badly painting a sphere of reality. I'm left in a half-completed world, a bubble in which everything outside appears warped and twisted, with plenty of unused whitespace. Interest is quickly lost.
Focus snaps inward. A jolt shakes my body for an immeasurable fraction of a second, leaving bones rattling. Electricity floats through my spine, slowly drifting up and down while vibrating outward. My body curls slowly, unsure of its decision to embrace rather than recoil. Bones chatter, vibrations propagate to every extremity; sight is useless. I am again lifted into white space, leaving my torn and twisted bubble of reality behind. The light is inside me, projected by the metallic hum of bone against... what? My body begins to dissolve as the hum fades; I am no longer "me", nor am I the light. I seem to just be.
Darkness falls. From an eternity away, a thousand points of light fall toward, into, and through me, sparking as they strike, casting brief flashes into an uncomprehending deep. A star appears. It is not a thing of light in itself, but simply a hole in the darkness, an escape for the white fire. The star is in my chest, lodged under the heart. The fleeing light flows out, unheeding, bending around the dark, pulsating obstacle. Pressure builds, time stops. Explosion.
The light will blind if looked at, the sound will deafen if listened to, the vibration will disintegrate if felt. My heart, an entity of its own, soars upward, soaked in adrenaline, powered by the last sparks of a dying star, on toward some unknown height.
Memories and dreams are easy to record, but how do you record a feeling, without referencing itself? The above is left, not as a literal record, but as an (rather quick and simple) attempt to describe the split-second answer to the simple question, "How are you feeling?"
Well, how are you feeling?
~Japlin
The first flash was blinding. Attention was ripped from the TV screen, past friends in animated conversation, past dogs jumping on couches and begging for attention, inward and downward, when everything went white. There was no surprise, no fear, only suddenness; I was safe. I'm not sure where I am, but I've been here before, and it seems rather like home, in a way.
As the light fades, a silent world appears, streak by streak. It's as if a cosmic brush is swirling around me, badly painting a sphere of reality. I'm left in a half-completed world, a bubble in which everything outside appears warped and twisted, with plenty of unused whitespace. Interest is quickly lost.
Focus snaps inward. A jolt shakes my body for an immeasurable fraction of a second, leaving bones rattling. Electricity floats through my spine, slowly drifting up and down while vibrating outward. My body curls slowly, unsure of its decision to embrace rather than recoil. Bones chatter, vibrations propagate to every extremity; sight is useless. I am again lifted into white space, leaving my torn and twisted bubble of reality behind. The light is inside me, projected by the metallic hum of bone against... what? My body begins to dissolve as the hum fades; I am no longer "me", nor am I the light. I seem to just be.
Darkness falls. From an eternity away, a thousand points of light fall toward, into, and through me, sparking as they strike, casting brief flashes into an uncomprehending deep. A star appears. It is not a thing of light in itself, but simply a hole in the darkness, an escape for the white fire. The star is in my chest, lodged under the heart. The fleeing light flows out, unheeding, bending around the dark, pulsating obstacle. Pressure builds, time stops. Explosion.
The light will blind if looked at, the sound will deafen if listened to, the vibration will disintegrate if felt. My heart, an entity of its own, soars upward, soaked in adrenaline, powered by the last sparks of a dying star, on toward some unknown height.
Memories and dreams are easy to record, but how do you record a feeling, without referencing itself? The above is left, not as a literal record, but as an (rather quick and simple) attempt to describe the split-second answer to the simple question, "How are you feeling?"
Well, how are you feeling?
~Japlin