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A Voxian Echo


Lewin
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A wasteland.

Over a gleaming crystallised landscape moaned a chilling gale that sent thousands upon millions of icy particles flying aimlessly through a pale gradient of fog. Among them stumbled an unlikely visitor bearing a blank complexion; a Lonely man seemingly unhindered by the blinding storm, yet weighted down by an unseen force. If he did still breathe, the heat emanating from his incomprehensible mouth lost itself in the deathly stream of nothingness. Shadowy eyes downcast, he pressed on in the direction the wind travelled, despite the way that his body continuously evaporated, losing itself in nebulous striations that gradually became one with the emptiness of the air. He was like a fresh painting set aside to dry, only to be cruelly smeared and ruined by the mischievously treacherous hands of someone lacking the capacity to comprehend or appreciate him.

His own hands could not be seen; they disappeared somewhere into his body. There was barely a space made by the parting of his legs as he walked. The voice that accompanied his uncertain breaths was faint; silence would take its place soon enough. If he did still see out of those abyssal holes in his head, he looked upon nothing but the thick ice sheet below, blanketed by the dull veil of grey-blue above it. If he did still think, he knew not the reason for his continued journey into the nothing ahead of him.

If he still did think.

His still audible steps echoed through the plain, as if he was in a chamber rather than a frozen desert, for what seemed to be hours—days. Weeks. Months. Years. Just when it seemed as if he would finally fade away completely, there was a lull in the storm and a strange warmth at his back. Recognising it, he came to a halt as the pale grey-blue gradually softened into a mellow yellow-orange until he could see it in his peripherals. As if broken from a spell, he gasped, clutching at his chest as his lungs remembered the caress of true air. His voice was weak and shaken and his hands trembled as he fell to his knees. When his heart relaxed, he paused for a long moment, his empty sockets staring down at the crystal frost. Within it, he saw a face that was familiar, but no longer his own. Looking uncertain, he turned, intending to find the source of this light that seemed to hold that which was so alien to wherever this place was: life.

What he saw was fire. Fire, painted across the skyline, writhing about chaotically in a dangerous tarantella, yet surprisingly cohesive at the same time. It was a colossal entity, stretching far and wide, and in its enormous presence, the wind stopped. And then, it all came back to him in a terrible collage of images, triggered by the dark silhouettes of people, and places, and machines, flying over this creature’s mass. He remembered struggle. He remembered bonds that he once held dear. He remembered victory. He remembered the subsequent deconstruction of his world. He remembered his fall into the void.

He had become a mere echo in a fragmented ocean of memories. A single tear escaped the black holes on his face, his expression one of finality and understanding. That which defined him, represented by this monster that seemed to speak voiceless, yet kind and soothing words in his head, had finally found him once again. He remembered purpose.

And then, the aura that shimmered off of him grew and, falling once again to his knees, he bowed his head, submitting to the creature. The flames expanded, swallowing the ice and the pale, dead canvas.

Blackness. The silence was complete.

Edited by Lewin
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Honestly, that's what I call a cool story bro. Such a riveting tale, I honestly copy and pasted it to word, saved on my hard drive, backed it up on a jump drive, drove to the bank, put the jump drive in the safe deposit box, and will leave it there until my kids turn about 12 (when they can actually state their age, and ask what it is I'm showing them), when I will pick it up, put it in an old USB drive reader and relay this cool story to them and tell them, "kids, this is what a cool story should look and sound like...not like the stories your generation tells.

Edited by Artigo
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[quote name='Mergerberger II' timestamp='1313900737' post='2785437']
I thought it was a very well-written piece that could be rather well-applied to the current political climate as viewed from a certain perspective.

Well done.
[/quote]

Thank you, the kind words are appreciated.

[i]Lewin bowed.[/i]

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[quote name='Erwin Schrodinger' timestamp='1313249333' post='2779641']
Uncanny... so did I!

Deep stuff, I really felt it.
[/quote]
Me as well. I saw Vox and assumed Vox Populi, then read the first few melodramatic words and skimmed for AA or other facts, saw none. Then saw your Vox sig. That's all I needed to know.

I'm sure someone will enjoy it though.

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[quote name='Mason' timestamp='1314314023' post='2788375']
That was actually very impressive writing; the likes of which I've only seen in published works. Nice work.
[/quote]
You've obviously never seen the posting stylings of ChairmanHal. I'm told that when he's not ruling Haleenstar Republic, he's a published author.

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