AFTER THE IMAGINATION - AFTERMATH

EARTH.
''It is our duty to endure."
-Eladamri, Lord of Leaves (MtG: 'Tempest')
The walls closed in a mechanic clackering. They slammed shut in a swirl of
dust, and the last of the electric light faded away. The intense whirlwinds
had messed up the entire art room. The bell went with a shocking volume.
The room was empty. The rest of the students had propably gotten away as
the azurite-white light had swallowed them in the first place. Mrs. Linkert
stared at Carl. Carl stared back at her. They seemed surprised rather than
relieved.
"She didn't make it out." Mrs. Linkert stated, a bit of amazement in her
voice.
"No." Carl replied. "She didn't."
They got up. Slowly, very slowly. It was almost too good to be true.
Almost. But it was nothing more, nothing less than reality. The reality we
take for granted. The reality Julia had always despised. Too dim. Too
lifeless. Too normal. That matter had settled itself. Isn't it strange that
no matter what, matters are always bound to settle themselves? What control
does a human being really have about the course of actions? Perhaps it is
the only chance to control just how much it takes to settle itself. But
that was about it.
"I'm not sure what to say." Carl admitted.
"That's ok, neither am I." Mrs. Linkert added quietly.
"But she sure does." Carl said, looking at a wall.
The wall was painted in a yellowish beige, and in bloody print there were
seven words.
'I am in hell - let me be.'
Almost like a camera angle, their views dropped. The Lament Configuration,
closed and almost innocent, was lying on a shelf next to the smeary
writing.
"Do we open it?" Carl asked.
"I think the message was obvious enough." Mrs. Linkert shook her head, but
picked up the Configuration anyways. "I'll keep an eye on this." she said
with determination, and pushed it into the pocket of her coat.
"So." Carl concluded, a smile lightening up his face. "How about those
'straight As' you were promising?"
Both laughed and walked out the door. The bloody message vanished into
nothingness.



CATWALKS.
"Burning inside with violent anger/...Fate--monstrous and
empty/...come, come, o come/ Do not let me die / The winged-one of the lower
reaches..."
-Ulmatsu Nobuo 'One Winged Angel'
The chamber opened with utmost care and gentleness. The catwalks that
stretched eternally were empty. The dark diamond slowly rotated in the
distance. Nothing had changed. To the Cenobite that emerged, nothing had
changed. After all, it had existed for eternity now. Whatever had been was
now gone, not gone that it was officially known to be gone, but rather gone
in a sense that it could never have existed in the first place.
Was this what happens when we die? Do we just vanish from existence, with
no purpose, then why do we exist? What exists and what does not?
The Cenobite's view grazed over the area. No. Nothing had changed. It's
form was strange, like all of them, pale white skin, a distant memory of
Cenobites other than Channard, that - that... The Cenobite did not
remember. The human might have, but the human was dead. Had been for a long
time. No, that was wrong. There had never been a human. There was only the
demon now. The human had never been. The black leather that was carefully
sewed into the skin glittered a dark navy blue in the dim light. The head,
however, and most oddly enough, had not been shaved. The dark brown hair of
it's former self were jet black, tied into a ponytail, but not shaven.
Why? the voice that asked the question came from within the Cenobite, made
her startle. But was soon forgotten. The skin was lifted from the shoulders
at the biceps, held up by wires, and revealing the crimson flesh beneath.
The throat was opened as well, and the belly, who knew how they had stopped
bleeding. Gruesomely, the lower eyelids had been stretched down and nailed
into the cheeks, and the middle of the eyelids were interrupted by a long
cut that was sowed together loosely, leaving the halves still a bit open, so
the iris and eyeball were revealed further than natural. A monstrous dog
was at her side, moving very sleek with every breath it took. The Cenobite
was holding a most impressive polearm, a sharp pyramid-shaped tip with a
hooked and bladed end. Like all cenobites, she would never have a name. But
like humans create names for the others, they would soon create a name for
her. Tamer. Whether the cenobite liked it or not. But it was her special
gift. All of the Cenobite pets were bound to listen to her every command.
Tamer slowly walked over the long catwalks, the footsteps not even allowed
to fade, but their sounds drowned instantly. To a human mind, the scenery
would have given a sense of despair. To Tamer, it was as if the scenery
didn't even exist. Every step was balanced, every movement like the last,
until - The black diamond's beam first hit the dog, causing it to let out a
small, yapping howl. The dark light then moved over Tamer. There were
pictures--that couldn't possibly be there. There were memories--that were
opposing any logic. There was the silent desolation, and Tamer realized it.
Among the old Cenobites, she was the last. And the guilt for this was
evident. Revenge would have been a fairly easy feat to accomplish.
But Leviathan did not allow it. Though the formation was silent, though
the form was empty, though he did not speak a word, Tamer knew he did not
allow it. Tamer noticed the dog staring up at her, questioningly, as if
asking 'What is going on?'. To Tamer, the dog and the rest of the Cenobite
pets were beings of infinite grace and beauty. Tamer smiled and gently
patted the dog's head. The dog turned away as if forgetting all about the
question. Tamer's smile dimmed as they walked away. Knowledge was upon her
was a burden that almost tore the dark soul inside her in two. She didn't
speak out loud. But silently, as barely a whisper, she said:
"I remember."

~END~