The Cowardice of Academia
4 months ago
A Rumination of Rapid-Fire Fiction
brought to you by The Blow Up Dolls in the Reflecting Pond Society
...You see, I once existed in times and tongues forgotten. What I did to pass the time only partially relevant and how I was reared, not at all. So I shall dispense with those trivialities. On the hind end of yet another campaign I happened to befriend this one very specific Centurion. The Centurion became a loyal friend of excellent character, promised loyalty with a everlasting sworn oath to protect et al etcetera etcetera ad infinitum. However I had found out rather quickly that the Centurion, over the past ten or so years before the extended skirmish was in charge of what else, but crucifying the accused and convicted alike. Yes, this was found to be a disturbing prospect by me. However, I learned to accept it rather gracefully over time.
Later because of the vengeful self that I was at the time I had been eventually sentenced to death by the very same horrifying method. Why? Ah yes a detail of the story better left unsaid. Let's just say it involved this here sword, a great deal of blood and the brutal death of another while not on the field of battle. In fact, I probably deserved the sentence cast upon me. The deed of mine may have been justified but the how of my execution of the action, arguably inexcusable of course.
No matter. The important thing is that once I found myself at the top of the hill where the scaffold was erected, the Centurion alone was standing there, forged iron spikes in hand. Regardless of our great mutual friendship the Centurion accomplished the duty with swift precision and ordered myself to be held down; but instead of instructing an underling to drive the nails into my wrists and ankles, the Centurion performed the task instead. When I felt the cold metal stabbing through the flesh and snapping apart the bone and tendons, I turned to observe the Centurion's face. The expression was impassive, almost drugged. Strange, I thought. However I recalled this same look once before under similar circumstances. Anyway, I was summarily hung and left to die out in the afternoon sun, the odious torment almost too much to bear. The Centurion turned about and marched away, the dust billowing up from the stomping heels. I watched as the Centurion ambled away as if without a care or concern for the one sworn a solemn promise to and instead to left to die.
I happen to be at a loss how I accomplished the feat, but I did it. The long arduous process of working first the wrists then the ankles over the heads of nails seemed almost impossible, implausible. -But there it was, I had done it just as I alluded to in the start of this relation. Perhaps it was the apparent faulty construct of the flattened heads. They did appear smallish upon recollection. Does it matter? The means to the end I mean, when the end meant living and not death. Odd life had become, for I felt at that moment that I would die instead on the barren ground than on the side of the scaffold. Exhausted and spent, I simply clawed my way to the spindly shade of the wooden frame. I blacked out. Every movement was agony and ache. I don't remember how long I had been there: a minute, a day, an hour or two? I cannot say. I suddenly felt the presence of another. My grasp of time was laid waste and I thought to myself I had been found at the exact moment I had been hung. I allowed my eyes to flutter open. Through the slits of my lids I gleaned the form of the Centurion standing there gazing with sadness down on me. My mind awash in bemusement, I could only frown as I never have. I did so even more than what I had permitted in all my days of fighting. I sensed that the Centurion wanted to turn away. Yes, this was the case. I could feel it. Something snapped within me and I managed to bring myself up to standing with a fey sort of quickness. The Centurion's head shook, silently telling me not to continue.
"I have tremendous will," I told the Centurion.
The Centurion in turn looked at me, the countenance shifting to and fro from melancholy to apathy. Alarmed by this I swung my arms around the Centurion and kissed the cheek of its owner.
Is thus found to be abnormal, aberrant, outlandish to the sane mind? I know not. I only know that the wounds from this life's interlude eventually swallowed me, consumed my soul and left me here allegedly wasted to tell this story.
Like I said I have tremendous will. My spirit as well possesses a vengeful heart and lacks a merciful drive. Over thousands of years now I have inhabited the abodes of the original accuser that had ordered my crucifixion and every single damned descendent. I know how to appear benign and innocent but I am anything but. Again I tell you of my tremendous will. I shall leave no blood of the accuser unscathed. I will by God eradicate and erase every one of them from existence within the physical and beyond. Oh yes they're all here with me, even given these thousands of years. They are all, living and dead at the crux of their matter.
As for the Centurion, that is a story untold and lived through an eyewitness account alone. Through the mists of my memory it shall remain, swirling and whirling for me and only me to encompass.
It does not matter my beautiful, for either way I am dead. I am dead, I am dead. All is postponed once more, whatever that may be. Even now I gaze at the maelstrom. Are we for all eternity doomed to this existence? Are we a set of vaporous souls that are set to wander through these random places, haunting the ambiance with our romantic innuendos and sorrowful farewells? Perhaps we shall continue where we left off. Do you think it possible? I know not love. Will I again survive the journey; will I again supersede the constant distractions during those times of naïve wandering to discover you, so familiar and radiant. You, who I always find in these venues of inequity, but so far in contrast with your surroundings such as a single vein of precious ore within a vast useless mine of the hardest stone. You, who when I again first lay eyes on you send a shock through my system. You, who when I gaze deeply into those very orbs bring forth a swirl of worlds, stars, systems, and universes held within your fathomless depths so frighteningly infinite. I am always utterly lost within your extents. I tell you this again and again, but even though you cannot see it within yourself I am the one that is nothing to you. You feel that you are nothing, but no. It is me that is a wanderer with no place, me who has truly nothing. Only in that moment of recovering you do I begin to count, and then it is even a severest question whether my importance is relevant at each end, at each strand that we follow each time; for I am forever the one that quarrels with such intolerance and impetuousness, while you are always the patient, acquiescing, amiable, and angelic. It is a wonder to me love, that you are the one that each time carries me, instead of the other way around. I am forever lost, as I am here, continuously torn away and scattered out across these distant places, these outer vestiges, the ends of all–
The following is a description of a device called, ‘Ghost Nephew’. The object is a one-of-a-kind microchip with synthesized neurons that allow the transference of electronic binary signals to be interpreted by any naturally occurring encephalon. Within this manual contains detailed instructions on how to attach the device to a host. This is done by locating an arbitrary orifice on the host and applying pressure against said opening to the phalange-end of the device. Once this is complete, the operative must activate it by means of the encrypted sequence (not included within this booklet) upon the opposing end (microchip). During this activation, the host must be immobilized. After the device has been activated for no longer than ten seconds of elapsed time, the device will connect with the brain. A mass extinction of the host’s memories will take place and a new quantum program will be instantly inserted into the host. The said program is analogous to a computer virus, with the exception of its alacrity at execution of the end purpose. Once the ten seconds of time has elapsed, the operative must vacate the host by no less than ten meters (recommended 0.5 km) and in no less than five minutes to preserve the operative-self. This said booklet contains the specifics of each stage, troubleshooting all probable complications, and consequences for miscarriage of the operation.