I'm pretty sure no one reads this, so I'm going to write a story for my own entertainment on here. If you do end up reading it, I apologize for the typographical errors. I'm only correcting as I type.
So here goes!
***
'It was a gift,' he said.
I stood there, patient, wary.
Then I felt it.
My world expanded and contracted at the same time.
'So this is what it is like,' I said.
'Yes,' he responded, 'and now I pass it on to you.'
I watched as he smiled a sad smile, and then turned to dust.
A faint wind blew.
My new awareness trailed each particle until they were out of its range, which took about twenty minutes.
That was the start of it all.
I sit here on my mountain as I have for decades on end, just watching. Life is so short, so fleeting. I could hardly remember being human. I expanded my consciousness outward and in my mind's eye, saw the Earth in its slow, stately trek around our sun. Even with my knowledge of time, when I try to think back to the beginning of things, it is too much for even my mind. Two stars exploded, sending their last gasp of life outwards, their fires spent, and their fuel exhausted. There isn't enough to keep it going. One might think that with this knowledge, they would strive for only what they could handle, not all that they could get. Can they not learn from the stars? Their final songs pour across the universe. By chance, two songs meet. Like the wind they swirl around each other. It is a new beginning. Universal forces align and bring these songs close and make them spin around each other. The force is too much, they collide! They combine, and they have a force all their own. They pull in the remnants of solar dust, a song's need to be sung once again. Time does not matter here, only will can create a new song from the dregs of others. As more and more stars sing their final tunes, this ones harmony grows and its pitch changes. It's draw is hypnotic. More and more fragments of forgotten songs swarm, wanting to be included in the rhapsody. Suddenly something happens. The pitch changes and the fragments, now whole once more explode into a rapture that is deafening. Fear thrust aside, loneliness swept away, and innumerable notes and chords become one. A symphony has been created from the dying wishes of so many songs.
This orchestra plays on and on, and eventually start to draw an audience. The jubilation is such that the some of the audience sway and coalesce. They become one, avid listeners all. The audience in the back of the theater are too far from the waves of music to merge fully, but they try. Those even farther back try to create a song of their own, but they can't find their own harmony while still in range of the first. Still, they try and are somewhat successful. They add their own chorus to the symphony and it flows.
What was interesting was what had happened to the third and fourth gatherings from the main stage. They listeners from each group get too close to each other, and some of the fourth gathering join the third. The rest of the fourth miss their old comrades and so stay close to the third while not joining them. But even though they are separated by a small space, they become dependent on each other, neither one able to stay together without the other.
They became the Earth and its moon. Their slow waltz took billions upon billions of years to get to where they are today, and yet the symphony that is our Sun is easily 100 times older than that. Our sun is still young. Time becomes unimaginable to us the farther we go back.
I slowly bring my consciousness back down to Earth and cast it about myself. I am 372 years old, next week. Perhaps I should count my entrance into this new life as my origin instead of my birth. In the end it does not matter. What's another twenty some years when you're destined to live thousands, if not more.
I have stayed here, on my mountain for 54 years. My body doesn't need the things a human body does anymore. I can still eat, still drink, and still sleep, but I do not need them. It's all rather pointless in the grand scheme of things. But still, whenever I interact with humans, it is important that I maintain appearances. After all, people would go crazy if they knew they were talking to an immortal.
Before you ask, no, I am not a vampire... at least not in the sense that I'm pale, cold, must drink blood and can't go out into the sun. But there are some similarities. This... condition... that I have is merely a tweak of my DNA. It can only be passed on by another who already has it, but in passing it on, they lose their own. Men and women who have come to see death as a gift more than a curse are eager to pass this gift on. I've been told that some only went a hundred years or so before passing the gift on. We immortals are few. There have only ever been 12 in all of human existence. We cannot be killed, and we are not born. It is a balance. If one chooses to die, another must take his or her place. It is the way it should be, the way that the universe intended. All things in balance.
Still, there is one of us who is over 12,000 years old. And he still remembers. He and I are alike in a way. Though I have never met him, he and I share the same viewpoint on life. If given a gift, especially a powerful one, it is your duty to use that power for the sake of the race which we have all come from. It's funny. He has had children that held the thrones of Egypt, have been Caesars and Kings...
Oh, did I forget to mention? We can have children, though they are born without our gift. Such is the way of nature. Even I have a daughter, though she is old enough now to have grandchildren of her own. It's... painful... and yet joyous to have a child. I, who am un-aging, much watch my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren grow old and die, and yet watch them experience happiness, sadness, the entire range of human emotion. Only my daughter knows my true nature. She has agreed that it would be wise to keep it a secret from the world, and from my family.
I should go see her soon. I want her to know I'm still here before she passes on. I want her to know that I will continue to look after our family from afar. That is the kind of solace we all want when we reach the end. It's only right.
***
To be continued.
So here goes!
***
'It was a gift,' he said.
I stood there, patient, wary.
Then I felt it.
My world expanded and contracted at the same time.
'So this is what it is like,' I said.
'Yes,' he responded, 'and now I pass it on to you.'
I watched as he smiled a sad smile, and then turned to dust.
A faint wind blew.
My new awareness trailed each particle until they were out of its range, which took about twenty minutes.
That was the start of it all.
I sit here on my mountain as I have for decades on end, just watching. Life is so short, so fleeting. I could hardly remember being human. I expanded my consciousness outward and in my mind's eye, saw the Earth in its slow, stately trek around our sun. Even with my knowledge of time, when I try to think back to the beginning of things, it is too much for even my mind. Two stars exploded, sending their last gasp of life outwards, their fires spent, and their fuel exhausted. There isn't enough to keep it going. One might think that with this knowledge, they would strive for only what they could handle, not all that they could get. Can they not learn from the stars? Their final songs pour across the universe. By chance, two songs meet. Like the wind they swirl around each other. It is a new beginning. Universal forces align and bring these songs close and make them spin around each other. The force is too much, they collide! They combine, and they have a force all their own. They pull in the remnants of solar dust, a song's need to be sung once again. Time does not matter here, only will can create a new song from the dregs of others. As more and more stars sing their final tunes, this ones harmony grows and its pitch changes. It's draw is hypnotic. More and more fragments of forgotten songs swarm, wanting to be included in the rhapsody. Suddenly something happens. The pitch changes and the fragments, now whole once more explode into a rapture that is deafening. Fear thrust aside, loneliness swept away, and innumerable notes and chords become one. A symphony has been created from the dying wishes of so many songs.
This orchestra plays on and on, and eventually start to draw an audience. The jubilation is such that the some of the audience sway and coalesce. They become one, avid listeners all. The audience in the back of the theater are too far from the waves of music to merge fully, but they try. Those even farther back try to create a song of their own, but they can't find their own harmony while still in range of the first. Still, they try and are somewhat successful. They add their own chorus to the symphony and it flows.
What was interesting was what had happened to the third and fourth gatherings from the main stage. They listeners from each group get too close to each other, and some of the fourth gathering join the third. The rest of the fourth miss their old comrades and so stay close to the third while not joining them. But even though they are separated by a small space, they become dependent on each other, neither one able to stay together without the other.
They became the Earth and its moon. Their slow waltz took billions upon billions of years to get to where they are today, and yet the symphony that is our Sun is easily 100 times older than that. Our sun is still young. Time becomes unimaginable to us the farther we go back.
I slowly bring my consciousness back down to Earth and cast it about myself. I am 372 years old, next week. Perhaps I should count my entrance into this new life as my origin instead of my birth. In the end it does not matter. What's another twenty some years when you're destined to live thousands, if not more.
I have stayed here, on my mountain for 54 years. My body doesn't need the things a human body does anymore. I can still eat, still drink, and still sleep, but I do not need them. It's all rather pointless in the grand scheme of things. But still, whenever I interact with humans, it is important that I maintain appearances. After all, people would go crazy if they knew they were talking to an immortal.
Before you ask, no, I am not a vampire... at least not in the sense that I'm pale, cold, must drink blood and can't go out into the sun. But there are some similarities. This... condition... that I have is merely a tweak of my DNA. It can only be passed on by another who already has it, but in passing it on, they lose their own. Men and women who have come to see death as a gift more than a curse are eager to pass this gift on. I've been told that some only went a hundred years or so before passing the gift on. We immortals are few. There have only ever been 12 in all of human existence. We cannot be killed, and we are not born. It is a balance. If one chooses to die, another must take his or her place. It is the way it should be, the way that the universe intended. All things in balance.
Still, there is one of us who is over 12,000 years old. And he still remembers. He and I are alike in a way. Though I have never met him, he and I share the same viewpoint on life. If given a gift, especially a powerful one, it is your duty to use that power for the sake of the race which we have all come from. It's funny. He has had children that held the thrones of Egypt, have been Caesars and Kings...
Oh, did I forget to mention? We can have children, though they are born without our gift. Such is the way of nature. Even I have a daughter, though she is old enough now to have grandchildren of her own. It's... painful... and yet joyous to have a child. I, who am un-aging, much watch my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren grow old and die, and yet watch them experience happiness, sadness, the entire range of human emotion. Only my daughter knows my true nature. She has agreed that it would be wise to keep it a secret from the world, and from my family.
I should go see her soon. I want her to know I'm still here before she passes on. I want her to know that I will continue to look after our family from afar. That is the kind of solace we all want when we reach the end. It's only right.
***
To be continued.
comicn3rd:
You really have a way with words (though I swear half of that was just a euphemism for sex....) good job!
dedlyniteshade: