Formal introductions always bored me.
-“Hello,I am ‘I’, headmaster of history of the 2nd degree in the name of “Him, the third” “
I’d rather present myself in a less politically correct way
-“Hello, I am the void. I am rich and of recognizable physical prowess and everything bores me, even your surprised facial expression. I want to massacre you just to feel a momentary thrill or just to study your remains hoping your demise will result in something new, anything new…Don’t run…running is boring.”
I often, well, I always opt to keep such expressions to the privacy on my thoughts, after all, I am ‘respected’ member of the High Council.
The Third One? No one knew who pulled the trigger, be it a nation or a man, all I know is it just made perfect sense that it would start.
It was a blast, literally. The most beautiful mushroom clouds reigned supreme over what once were the most beautiful, powerful, consumer-based cities of the new then, presently old world. Most of it was consumed in the flames that kept raining through the blackened skies for seven long days and seven longer nights, that were later named in our current history files “The last 7”
350 years ago, I wasn’t even the thought of a sperm cell yet I’ve always wanted to witness Armageddon, to see through mortal eyes and body the magnificent event that is still vastly intriguing to the partially immortal, I.
I must re-assure you that according to recorded history and the remnants of whatever they claimed to be civilization, they had it coming, not necessarily “The last 7”, but an end of some sort; Volcanoes erupting to bring humanity to cinder and ash, beasts and plants evolving to massacre those who enslaved, dominated and consciously murdered them for the sake of the misguided greater technological progress or ‘Just’ a facade of nuclear explosions to rid the pretentious and self-righteous species of the burden they carry; Humanity.
Theoretically speaking, the latter of these “D-Day” scenarios seems the most boring but factually, it was very entertaining. Men, large and small, running and screaming and burning and praying, women wailing, momentarily mourning, children slain, geezers in pain, all occurring with my great grandfather’s favourite music playing in the background, singing that when the music’s over, it will be the end. Or at least that’s how imagined it; A thing of beauty.
I originally thought that learning about ancient history would give me what I need, would fill the bored vessel I, with something new, anything new. All I could ever find exciting was the ability of man throughout the different timelines to find enough reasons to be apart, to wage war, to end. Things have drastically changed since The Third One, since The Last 7. Don’t misunderstand, the split is still alive, well and standing physically erect, a wall to separate two ideologies that erupted post the mushroom display; The Yians called for unity among those who spiritually transcended after witnessing “The Wrath of God” to worship their different deities, to embrace nature under the one banner of ‘Yves’ The holy nation. Laughable.
The Xians suggested that what happened was merely a flaw, a gap in the sought after evolution of the human race, not remotely close to spiritual damnation or angelic retribution from the so-called God, Gods or what not. What they failed to realize is that they made the choice to be earthly bound to just a different form of deity; Physics, and they, well, we seem to be well on our way to more flaws in the humanly imperfect system. We are the Xians of ‘Xera’.
I scratch the markings on the back of my head as I ponder the uselessness of such recollections or rather, wanderings every single inane morning. The markings do not itch, I just always deducted that a physical manifestation of one’s thinking process is needed, whether to indicate to social acquaintances that one is thinking or just to imitate every and each cinematic character; the director is always in control, sometimes a simple scratch on the forehead does the trick and other times, nervously rubbing the back of the head is needed to depict a troublesome mental activity. I am the ‘Current Director’ of my dimension. I choose to scratch my marks.
I get up hastily on my feel, feel the currency spent on my illegally imported Kashmir Rug, look in the mirror to be reminded of how young I look and how old and bored I am then I order one of the iron servants to wake up mother for her daily dose of ramblings on the porch.
-“Give me excitement
Give me joy
Give me life”
For a split second I wished I’d detect confusion on its expressionless face, but to my lack of surprise, nothing happened. Damn you Palanhiuk. I then mutate my order into plain eggs. Something new, Anything new.
Time is smirking at me. Why do we still have time? I do not know.
Routine Begins in 3
– Index signaling the forbidden music to play and ironically, music starts with a great gig in the sky.
– Hand sways to shuffle through old notes, boring schedules and the news with childish hope of finally finding something intriguing. Nothing is, everything isn’t.
– Neatly fitted expressive suit, expensive analogue watch, shiny expensive black shoes that match brilliantly with my expensive black belt, All yelling: “Fuck you equality”
Routine ends in
Welcome the only being I love.