Attn: Detritus
Out of context: Reply #4
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- detritus0
I come to, spinning - physically and physiologically - my gut churning in nauseous disgust. Beyond the freakish improbability of the world strobing around me frenetically, the twist in my bowels is the first indication I have that something Very Bad has just happened. I come to a stop. It takes an age before I can even begin to resolve what's just happened - parts of my brain are still doing a 100 rpm. The smeared field of view I can't help but take in does nothing to dilute the sickening morass of motion that I'm drowning in. The short time is enough, however, and I begin to see the crowd. There seems to be lots of them - and they're all looking at me with the same perplexed shock. They draw in, close around, blocking out the little of the grey light I can see above. I think I throw up - I certainly retch, but it's now that I feel that I'm sat in something warm and wet. Christ, is it blood? "Whu..?" I find myself mumbling, "Are you alright?" I think I hear - yes, an old lady - at the fore, she's stooping down and grasping my shoulder. I can just about see her through a single squinted eye - she's worried, I guess for me. "It came out of nowhere!" someone else says - a woman - shrill, voice breaking at the end "and I think it's coming back". My head slumps and someone else bends over to catch me, before my face plants into the asphalt. "We've got to get him out of here - quick!" the angel apparent commands. The shrill voice bites through the crowd as a dozen arms reach down and begin to drag me off. "Oh no. Fuck! It really is coming back - fast! quickly - we've got to.." - her voice cuts off as I sense the crowd begin to hurry, dispel and scatter - "whao..?" is all I can muster, beyond another retch. Now the pain in the rest of my body comes into focus - the greedy scraping of my legs against floor sends out a clarion call to all the other nerves and they respond loudly in kind - I am overcome by the symphonic agony that is playing all over me - every subsequent drag another terrible crescendo. Increasingly, I realise the hideous score is accompanied by my own pathetic wailing."RUN!" I hear the shrill woman shriek, and then.
Light. Instant, everywhere - not a flash, but an immediate submission to a wholly different reality. There is nothing. Absolutely nothing. The inverse of space above - but - no reassuring motes, floating in the void - celestial specks of matter and energy watching down charitably. Nothing.
But then, a voice. From within, from without - from the highest peaks of pitch to the lowest core of bass - a command, a demand - "DETRITUS, BASGIE DITHERING SEXOMORPH OF YORE - HEAR ME!". I blink stupidly and stammer "..wher.. where am I? where did all those people go?..". "IRRELEVANT, EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN IS NOW OF NO CONSEQUENCE - YOUR SOLE TASK, AS ORDERED BY <DESCENDANT COMMAND> IS THE ERADICATION OF THE DIMENSIONAL ARTEFACT KNOWN AS <THE INFIDEL BRISTOLIAN>". What the fuck? I think - "What the fu.." I begin to say. "SILENCE! YOU ARE TO BE AMALGAMATED INTO <THE INFINITE POINT ASCENDANCY>, TO BE PROCLAIMED <NIMROD, HUNTER OF THE GODS>, GIVEN TASK AND HONOUR OF THE <VARIANCE BLADE>, WITH WHICH YOU MUST SPEAR <THE HEART/CORE?> OF THE AFOREMENTIONED ARTEFACT. GO NOW".
I inhale, begin to muster a thought and then find myself back on the pavement in Holloway Road, North London. Everything is as it was, but as it was before - there is no crowd in the streets, no panic - just shoppers, prams and illicit cigarette sellers on the corner. The curious thing is, I know that in the moment between where I was and where I am, I was somewhere else entirely - and for God only knows how long - an entire lifetime, perhaps. I do know that I am different - and automatically, I reach down into the deep pockets of my trousers and find a knife. It's then that the knowledge of what I have to do - what lies in front, crystalises in mind.
The Infidel Bristolian will die soon. There will be war - millions, perhaps billions may die. The world will change forever, but this is destiny. Descendant Command has decreed, and its will be done.
En guarde, Pseudo Bristolian, obsidian knight of the Birmingham/Brighton interspacial confederacy - your secret is up and your time is upon you.
- I got a little bit carried away.detritus
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