COMING IN AUGUST TO THE FACTORY


NEW EPISODE: Flood of Darkness

NEW SERIES: Bearing Inigo

Flood of Darkness

CHAPTER THREE

'Clear blue skies, a wide grass surrounding, as far as the eye can see.
I can see. I CAN SEE! I can see all of this...
Green and blue of both earth and cosmos combined; going off like fireworks in my blind.
Oh, boy, with this new found sight, a well-rested joyfulness is re-birthed into my life.
This cannot be. But perhaps?. . . The slow illusion of the past starts to evade my thoughts...
I no longer give way to the before. Or worry about the after.
I no longer ask the reasonable questions that show off human distinction...
"Where am I?" "What am I doing here?" "Where am I from?"
The cognitive. Like Adam chasing Eve in the Garden . . . . . . . . . . .
I merely just go with it. I run. For I can see. So I just run. And seeing is good.
Oh, I am mistaken and I have misspoken....no, behold!
How it is so much more than good! More than perfect, more than it all.
It is the most wonderful ability to be able to see, sans thinking and thought; of course.
And that is the final word on any debate of the human nature. Seeing is truly believing.
This new found appreciation is startling. Perhaps...I am forgetting something? Nonsense.
It is so satisfying to see the clouds and the flora. That is reason enough just to perceive.
Besides good taste and the once-in-a-while good smell, sight will always reign supreme.
As one who has seen both sides of the coin, let me say one thing I believe most out of all:

Vision, bar none, makes being happen.

Some might argue that living is undisputed in such a winner's circle, but the fact of the matter is: you can live when you cannot see and life becomes the most terrible of travesties. But if you cannot live and you can see, than your world is something else entirely; your world is of a higher calling.

At some other end of the map it starts to rain. The storm slowly approaches. The conjuring of the storm sucks the air through an earthy filter. And with it, goes that what's left of my memories and rememberings. Any magic of the moments that consisted of my former life corrupts inside the eye of the storm and is spat back out, sprinkling into effervescent transparencies that land all around me. Like Taraxacum Parachutes softly riding the wind down, and out. The storm stirs in the distance. One lamp, in an empty room. It looks either scared to confront me or unaware of my existence. Do I make it aware? What business else is there? I make a run for the storm. I run for it's shadow. It's quaking darkness to trample over. Two beings are roaming around in this one landscape. The immovable object and the unstoppable force. And that is the force of the storm, and me, the flesh of man. A force of empiricism and evolution; and most of all, soul. What doth lightening and thunder have upon it but chaos and chemicals? Why am I speaking like this? I continue on my drawn out charge. Miles of country run below my feet as I churn the machine. That storm is mine. I can see the line. The line that depicts good from evil. Peace versus disaster. Comedy and tragedy. The white from the black. My side, the side of light and life, sunshine and reflecting entities. The other side, darkness, wet, cold, shadows of the storm. I keep pace. I will jump the line and never feel the difference. Then invade the eye. Rescue my moments. And bid today a good day. I come around, getting up to full speed; And I jump. The course bends after it's climax. I start my free fall into darkness. But I do not land on the other side's floor. I fall.

Helplessly plummeting deeper into the abyss.

I can't help myself. There is nothing I can do. Helpless to say the least. The insignificance of me within this lost place becomes a manner of importance now. Now I am not a force that can rival the storm. I am merely collateral damage. And I am suffering the consequences of such a position. All the while falling into further nothingness. No pain, just fear. Sudden suspension; everything around me is black. I can not even tell if I am moving anymore. I don't feel like it. Oh, the paradox. But the truth somehow, slips through. I was caught. I was grabbed from my free fall, and now I was being pulled ruthlessly back up the hole, in which I fell, at double-time pace. A vicious sound and terrible fury sucking me in. Lifted out of the darkness and up into the storm. It lets me go and I fall inside of it; a twister. In it's center I stand up. The winds billow around me. I feel like the fans inside a jet engine. At the top, flashes of light and day come in arbitrarily. The storm swallows and purges from every orifice. It is wicked. I feel both scared and powerful. It is a feeling I have felt before. But where? Where are my memories? Were they not supposed to be here? Ah, for what, it does not matter. I am here now, And I beg to know... "What exactly am I in!"I yell out loud. The Storm rolls over and comes to a screeching halt.

I have upset the raging monster.

Now it will be focused on me. The winds pick up as the walls rise and fall. Stretched and released. Like some carnival ride that turns you into jelly. I get sucked away and thrown back in, a puppet of elemental nature. I try to get back on my feet every time I get tossed off of them. The degradation sinks in and I now know what this disaster is after. Not just humility, but it's essential core...My humanity. I stand up once again. This time preparing for another blow. It comes sweeping in from above. But before it can make contact with my face I yell, "Stop!" I hold my hand out and the raining wave of wind gets parted through my fingers and dies. The storm stops circling around, and pulls away from behind me. It gathers together as one mighty being in front of me and musters a solid form. It looks as though an ancient stone statue that has come to life. No pupils, wide intangible eyes. Young face, powerful stance. The edges continuously, in scattered areas, briefly pop back into wind. Like an organ letting off steam during a grand symphony. Translucent matter wrapped in gray stone robes and tunics. He is roughly the size of a fully grown tornado. As I look up at him, his head's silhouette practically eclipses the sun in the background. I try to make out his face in the shadow . . .

"Come...Look upon me,"

Says the storm, "I reap the Catalyst, govern the wills of nature, consume the bounty of man, and rule these lands with unpronounced superiority and unbiased execution......For I am the Storm Harvester. A god of the Earth. Humble and fierce, I show no mercy, but take stern care in my domain."
"You are . . . a storm?"
"Not nearly as simple as you phrase it. I am not just a storm. I am the consumer. I give the producer meaning in this world."
"Does the producer not give you meaning as well?"
"No...You do not even know of the producer. How dare you speak as if you know better? There is no producer. Who I speak of's name is: The Divine Catalyst, and he is my older brother. We are the last two of a dying race."
"A dying race?"
"I am one of the Asunder Gods. Made from the Mighty Force, we, it's children, broke apart from it and traveled through the universe. We came upon this planet and together made it worthy of life. Now there are only two of us left. Me and the Catalyst."
"What happened to the others?"
"A plague. It devoured us. Much like what happened to our predecessor, we created life from our essence and in that miraculous act we also created a means for our extinction. Slowly, but steadily the life we created evolved and came after us. Now they have conquered all but me and the Catalyst. For some time, the Catalyst has masked his marvel in a superficial representation of physical matter."
"I don't understand."
"He has turned himself into organic life, and now he hides on Earth. And so I rage over Earth looking for him."
"Why do you need to find him?"
"If I do not find him, they will. And after they consume him, they will become more powerful than me. But together, we can bring glory back to our kingdom before our creation wins. If we combine our forces I am certain I can revive my brothers and sisters."
"So what do you want from me?"
"You are of Earth. You can act as my godly hand on your fleshy plane. If you serve me, I will make you as powerful as I am. I will turn you into a God amongst men. You will never feel pain and suffering the same way again. Take this offer and you will become immortal."

"What must I do?"

"...Wait for my signal......" The voice fades away into the sky as the storm gets sucked out of the atmosphere into space. The whole time it swirls before my eyes. Like a whirlpool of clouds disappearing in the sky. Not like, actual. It is actually happening as I am the sole viewer. If this is earth, then I am most certainly lost. Not to mention alone. So I long for what I just bid farewell to; a storm that I was holding a concrete conversation with. Funny, the storm flees, but the shadowed earth still remains. I can still see the line. The divider of light and darkness. Finally, the bed of storm left under my feet is the last to be pulled out into cold space. I fall back to the floor. But wait! There is no floor! I fall back into the abyss. Plummeting ceaselessly. What is this? I stretch out my hands trying to find a grip. Trying to find what saved me last time, but he is gone. I grab hold of a thin drape. And I coil in the thick dark air. I swing over into the walls. I look at what I'm clinging to. It is nothing but a wisp of smoke. The moment I realize that, I fall through it. Again, I fall, trying to grab a hold of another imaginary drape. I begin to feel many linens run through my fingers. I grab them, shut my eyes tight, and swing through the dark marsh of shadow. The more I envision the cloths holding me, the thicker they become. I clench my eyelids, trying to close my eyes harder. Turning the illusion more vivid. I can begin to climb up the curtain. I struggle to make up the ground I covered falling. It is no easy feat. I am getting exhausted, but I go on. I must get to the side of light. I cannot give up. How can I not give up when these ropes and ladders made of mysterious material could give out at any time?
At last! I get to the top. And swim over to the light side. As I swim I hold my head under and it feels good. I open my eyes and look at the lake of shadow. I swim for the ivory beach. There is black bottom. Like some corroded bay, corrupted and spoiled by ages and eons of plundering and piracy. Ah, but I will be done with this soon. I can feel the velvet grains of sand catching my fingers. I am crash landing on the light side. but why can I still see the black bottom? "WHY CAN I STILL FEEL THE DARKNESS UPON ME!" I scream. But nothing can here me. I lose the sand and become one with the falling wind, once again . . . into the never-ending darkness. The black side is now everything, it is all sides. And I am giving up. There will be light again, and I will try again. But I will fail. I understand now.

The Locker assiduously opens, but I can never escape.'

* * *

Doctor Randolph (Philip's attending physician), Doctor Fitzsimons (the military scientist), and Philip's nurse, are sitting in a post operation room on the intensive care floor. The nurse is just finishing up changing his bandages, and Dr. Randolph is switching his IV bag. "With this drip he'll be back with us in a couple of minutes."
"His heart rate is still a little high." Questions the Nurse.
"Once he gets this in his system he won't have to fight as hard to come back to us. Just wait, Natalie. He'll be fine." Dr. Fitzsimons gets up restlessly out of his chair, "I am tired of waiting...This kid is going to die unless we find that plant!"
"You don't know that, the cocktail we gave him combined with operation should be sufficient. Let's just hope his brain can cope with the amount of trauma he's endured." Rebuts Dr. Randolph. Just then, Philip's ex-wife enters the room with two people behind her. "Oh, Sarah, you're back. He's still unconscious, but he is doing a lot better."
"That's good."
"We were just leaving." Says Dr. Fitzsimons as he and the nurse walk out of the room. They exchange glances with the two unknown companions of Sarah. "Hello, I'm Dr. Randolph, I don't believe we've met." Before the two can respond to the kind Doctor's greeting, the heart rate panel sounds off frantically. Philip snaps his eyes open and is jolted back into reality. Real darkness hits him. He crazily waves around his hands, testing his re-entrance into the human realm. He catches the IV post. The first thing he can target. The metal stand pivots and then cracks under the pressure Philip is applying with his palm. Dr. Randolph lunges his body at the IV bag to make sure it doesn't tear. He catches it before it hits the floor as he himself lands on his chest hard against the floor.
"Philip!" scream out Sarah's two visitors. Philip stops squirming and calms down. Still dramatically breathing. In between a couple of irregular inhales and exhales he mutters his first two words of conscious recovery.

".....Mom..........Dad.....?"

COMING SOON TO THE FACTORY . . . . . . .

"Bearing Inigo"

Flood of Darkness: NEW CHAPTER!

Coming JULY 10th . . .

. . . EPISODE THREE . . .

. . ."'The locker assiduously opens, but I can never escape'" . . . . .
. . . . . . Philip Dresden comes upon an ancient force . . . . . .
"...LOOK UPON ME, I REAP THE CATALYST, GOVERN THE WILLS OF NATURE... FOR I AM THE STORM HARVESTER...ONE OF THE ASUNDER GODS..."

Flood of Darkness

CHAPTER TWO

"...what...what happened to me?"

Philip's first moments of returning consciousness come with a bewildering tone. It is hard for him to cope with his current state, let alone reflect on his memory. "Where am I?" It is still a black stage for Philip's vision, or lack there of. He is blind, so he must make up for it with his other senses. He reaches up his arm with his curious fingers. A plastic tube, thin and professional, was prodding into his elbow. The tones and smells of the room were at last coming to Philip with familiarity. He was in a hospital, an American hospital.
"You are back in Oklahoma." Says a nurse, "Is there anybody you would like us to call?"
"Don't call my parents."
"Okay."
"Is this a military hospital?"
"No. This is Saint Anthony's in Oklahoma City. You have been honorably discharged. Whatever you did over there must've been courageous. They brought you here a couple of days ago and since then we've conducted every test we've got on you to see what's wrong."
"Have they found anything?"
"Not yet, Corporal but we're doing everything we can." Says a new voice entering the room, "I'm Dr. Fitzsimmons, I'm working with the rest of the hospital to figure out what you've got."
"Are you with the-"
"Yes, I'm a military scientist. I have been with you since you were found in the caves."
"So what do I got?"
"We haven't been able to diagnose your particular...ehum...ailment, yet."
"The plant..."
"What?"
"The Plant. Did you find that plant? Did you find it? Is it still real?" The BP monitor starts sounding off frantically.
"Plant. What plant?" Dr. Fitzsimmons is trying to get one last crossover in before he plunges back into unconsciousness. Philip's BP rate gets worse and his body starts convulsing as the nurse interrupts by rushing over to Philip's aid, "Corporal Dresden needs his rest. You two can talk in the morning." The nurse concludes while pinning Philip on the bed, lifeless, as if. "You should feel lucky you know. They haven't told us much, but of what they did...you have survived a lot. You should be so lucky that your still alive,"blessed the Nurse, "Not only that, but your grandfather is here in the hospital living out his last days. He has stopped eating, a tell-tale sign that the end is near. You will be able to see him before he passes. Now sleep corporal, you need your energy." He stops trying to keep his face above the surface and drowns his swallow in the black abyss.

Philip falls back into his other darkness. He still feels alive, awake. Lucid. And the fact that he was asleep was slowly...fading....away. He's walking in the dark. The dark he should be getting used to. He is not afraid to walk without seeing. He triumphantly marches through the night. Suddenly, he is walking on a field. A field he can see. Is he no longer blind? Not right now. The cascading infantry of grass rolls underneath a black sky. All of which under an eccentric horizon. He feels somewhat askew, but all his indicators read truth and sincerity. And so he walks on in this strange grass below a shadowed sky. Slowly, the moon rises from the horizon. It takes up his entire view. Massive, illuminating, it compels the darkness into hiding. Philip stands in the lunar light. It feels good. A feeling he has not experienced in what seems like a lifetime. He is relieved. Relief, what, for heavens sake, has he gone through? For what? If he could only remember. Philip looks deep into the moon. It has now become too close to be real. It looks as though if he were to jump, with all his might, he could land on the moon's platform. Philip closes his eyes, bends his knees, and launches his feet into the air. He is propelling forward across the dim space. He opens his eyes, and the moon is nowhere to be found. He begins to come down from his arc. Plummeting into nothingness, his relief turns to panic.

Ah
the moon,
where you have gone;
but below my feet where I cannot see.

Alas, he lands in lunar comfort. There! 'What I can accomplish if I just trust in the dark of my own mind.' His first successful feat, since...what? His promotion to corporal. Too long has he been a victim rather than a victor. 'But to trust in the darkness?' In this dark world...of quantum imagination, where only the absent rules, he could be king. Philip sits on the moon and stares at his world. The bright light supporting the back of his shoulders. Huddled around his knees he wants this feeling to last forever. The murky shadow world on the viewing deck. His realm of eternal solitude making the grade.

Fizzling away, another blackness comes alive. The dark force of blind nature awakens Philip. Once again, the fumes and sounds of the hospital come back. He can practically see it in his head. One room, one other person. His nurse sounds like a sweetheart.
"How are you feeling, Philip?" the infuriated voice invades his re-entrance. A voice that is familiar, but not the nurse's. "Philip, they told me you could hear...they told me, you were back..." She lets out a gentle whimper and quickly pulls it back in. Her footsteps move towards the door. "...I...I am here." Staggers Philip.
"They told me you were tortured, that you are blind...that..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"JUST TELL ME! Please, just say it."
"...unless they can find out what's wrong with you...you're going to die."
"I'm already dead."
"Why would you say that? What is wrong with you?...I mean...Why can't you just be happy? What more do you have to go through before you can see your life for what it is?" the woman clamors up as she purges out one more tired question. A question she has been holding onto for a very long time, "Why did you leave me?"
"...see..."
"What?"
"You want me to...see my life for what it is...ALL I CAN SEE IS BLACK, SARAH! MY LIFE...IS HELL!" The monitors in the room start going off. It must be his heart rate again. The woman steps back. Nurses rush in and stabilize him. His hear rates returns to a mild condition, The nurses leave, all but the one Philip met before. She approaches the woman, Sarah.
"Are you family?"

"I'm his wife."

The next day, Philip wakes up. It is becoming increasingly easier for him. But it is still difficult to tell in all this darkness, whether he is really awake or still in his dreamland.
"Good morning Philip, it is eight o'clock in the morning, on Friday, October 20th. You are sitting in a hospital room on the fourth floor, at Saint Anthony's, here in the great Oklahoma City..." The Kind Doctor exhales as he flips open his chart and continues, "Your file says this is your place of birth. I am a local too. My name is Arthur Randolph, I am your attending physician. How are you feeling?"
"What is wrong with me?"
"We don't have all the answers yet. Your wounds from Afghanistan have all healed. But your blood...well your blood is infected with some unknown toxin and your body is slowly rejecting it. Soon your immune system will fail and eventually the toxins will shut all your entire system down."
"What about a blood transplant?"
"We have thought about that already. It would most likely kill you. These ailments you have been exhibiting show every symptom found in patients going through withdrawal from major narcotics. The only difference is your symptoms are far worse. They are more ramped and seem to be permanent."
"Are you saying there's no hope for me?"
"As of right now, my medical opinion is no. But my personal beliefs always leave room for hope."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, I was just-"
"I jumped on top of a grenade for my troops, thinking it would kill me. I thought that would be the worst suffering I would ever have to go through. I thought that would be the end of it. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was tortured for what seemed like twenty years after that. And every time I was at the brink of death, they brought me back with that godforsaken plant. Until, they gauged my eyes out, and my rescue finally arrived just in time to keep them from healing my face. They saved me...I was...saved. Ha! Doesn't that make you laugh doctor?...saved. Now I'm stuck in this darkness," He mumbles to himself like a lunatic, "...wretched curse..."
"Are you saying that they used a plant on you to heal your wounds?"
"You think I'm crazy. I would think I'm crazy too after hearing the words I just said out loud."
"I don't think your crazy. I think you have been through a lot. But mostly, I think this plant has a direct correlation with what's wrong with you. It could be the mystery toxin that we've been searching for. What else can you tell me about it?"
"Not much from what I can remember. It looked like any other plant. Wait, the interrogator...told me that it had blue veins. Blue veins, and it sparkled under the light. The leafs were glossy, they felt almost of wax. And the sensation, the feeling of being healed by the plant. It was...amazing. It burned...furiously, but it was a good burn. A soothing burn. There were days where i craved it. That's when I realized that my humanity was lost. I was an animal, a slave to their convictions. I was okay with it, with them torturing me, Doc. I was sick. I was obedient. Just as long as they fed me more of that cure afterwards."
"I understand. That must've taken a lot to open up to me, thank you. This information is going to help me save your life."
"There is nothing worth saving." His meager tone lingers on,"...just let me go."
"Your wife was in here yesterday, you left her to go into the army...what for?"
"I'm done opening up, Doc." He snaps his mouth shut and imagines giving this pretentious doctor a cold stare. For the moment it does him good to remember the feeling of sight. But then his self-loathing turns the celebration into a mockery. And he becomes sick of everything altogether, once again.
"Then I shall go get some more inconclusive results. Till next time..."
"Wait! Doctor...where is my grandfather?"
"He's on the top floor, geriatrics, Room 713. I can arrange for a visit."
"That won't necessary. I have nothing to say to him that can't wait until later. Ha."
"As you wish, Corporal."
"Don't call me that."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dresden." The doctor pauses to say something else, but decides not to and walks out of the room. The tight air settles and Philip returns to his unconscious fields.

He wakes up again, it's a beautiful sunset. The sweltering light pierces through the seventh floor window. Philip wants to feel it on his face. He knows it's there. It all makes sense. How does it make any sense? How did he get to the seventh floor? It makes sense that he was a jerk to his doctor. And his doctor's retribution was disobeying a direct order (something a good soldier would never do). Philip was in his grandfather's room, it has to be.... "You there grand-pop?"
"Yeah, I'm here, my boy."
"I can't see anymore."
"Your doctor told me. He also told me you didn't want to see me."
'That prick' he thought. "That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, Philip?"
"We're dying grand-pop, I was trying to bring acceptance to our situation. We would most certainly have met each other in heaven."
"Heaven, Philip? I never knew you as the religious type."
"Well I always had your example to follow grand-pop. Sure, I don't know much about Jesus and the Bible. But I have faith. And they say, 'faith alone can get you to the afterlife.'"
"Who says that?"
"I don't know, but it sounds right."
"Ha!"
"Are you afraid to die grand-pop?"
"I have made my peace with this life..."
"How? I need to know."
"Did I ever tell you that we are of Cherokee descent?"
"No. I thought I was just German and English."
"Your father's family is German, but your mother is both English and Cherokee. My parents were from the Cherokee nation. And my wife, your grandmother was from an English family who came from Massachusetts to Oklahoma."
"I didn't know all that."
"It is almost the Harvest Moon."
"The what?"
"October, our ancestors celebrated the Harvest Moon. They would not eat for seven days in preparation for the ceremony."
"Is that why you're not eating? Because you're getting in touch with your roots. This is your peace? I should never have been brought up here."
"We should be giving thanks to all the forces that have helped us live."
"Five days of fasting and all of a sudden you're a medicine man? NURSE! This is ridiculous."
"Your cynicism will not save you in the end, grandson."
"I'm not looking for salvation."
"No, you're looking for condemnation, and you're not going to find it here." The nurse comes in and wheels Philip out of room 713.

"Good-bye, grandson."

Philip is brought back to his room and soon after falls back asleep. He cannot keep track of time like this. He has no will over his days and nights, when all he sees is darkness. Who knows how many hours have passed. When suddenly he is startled awake by a sharp pain daggering into his chest. He screams in torment. An action he is used to. The nurse runs in and sounds the alarm.
"My hnph- My chest!" cries Philip. Doctor Randolph comes rushing in.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"It's his heart, he's going into cardiac arrest.."
"Get me the paddles. Nurse start CPR," Doctor Randolph turns his head towards the door as his hands scramble around Philips seizing body, "AND PAGE DR. FITSZIMONS TELL'EM TO HURRY! WE NEED TO DO THE PROCEDURE NOW!" The defibrillator paddles get placed into Dr. Randolph's hands..."CLEAR!"

Caught in a current.
Brief. Shock. Light can be where.
Syringe felt surrender.