Overlords

You see what I see. They hear what we hear, know. A tome.

Battered sands, furious and yellow.

A vault of blue, radiant, curved over.

Jutting, fissured and sheeny ebony telescoped against the encroachment.

Dunes—the uproar. Melting, shifting, coalescing; torched from an oval of white. The eye. The ever harasser.

A groan.

A rotund, frenzied mouse scuttled over the labyrinthine patchwork of uneven square tiles, compacted sediments relieved with geometric eccentricities, lattices and circles bewitching the eyes. A spell, a curse, a blessing, foretold. A groan again. More pronounced. A howling wind throatily answered; between the crevices, shadows, of transduction.

Drifting...drifting.

A hooded form, bent like wire, stood fixedly before seductive serpents of smoke, writhing, twisting ribbons of vanishing gray and white, liberated spirits, for a point hard-fixed aloft. The nameless spoke. In contradictions, confused, whispering. An inverted triangle, glinting, orange, pine-hued, dangled; the impressions of ascending vapors stealthily slipped past the counterweight of the hunched murmurer; a pendant.

Something unutterable.

The congruence of minds reasserted—a puzzle of math, blossoming.

A white flash darted to the other side, striking the impenetrable in-dark.

A waft of rose, corroded metal, alchemy of salts, of life, tickled the nostrils.

The figure bowed; returning in the agony of moments. A low utterance intruded upon the stilled and leaden atmosphere, yearning for the furrowed slate. The fluidity of thoughts, condensed. A limpid boil of musings, burst the air. A paled face chalky and blue, flashed, sickly indigo—out of breath, once more. The pendant momentarily danced, musical and reddish yellow, cleaving the noxious wick’s fumes. A cough. Then a muted laugh. Liver-painted lips parted and displayed a jagged mountain range of pollen teeth. A hiss of air breached the split, toothy gap.

The figure came more in view, from a distance, then suddenly transmogrified into a crow; and shot straight for—

Trees...so softly cleaved by tentacles of dainty light, the prominence of morning’s unalloyed light, seeping, stretching into a half-awake deciduous forest. The trees shifted past; the rays of gentle luminousness, flickering. A stone strewn stream supplanted the trees. The raven flew through the air, its velvet black feathers lustrous from the spreading sun beams. In a moment, in the dissonance of flapping and cawing, the black bird alighted on the fluidic, crystal water of the brook, and became a dark branch. The green of wood, covered in light moss, smoky bark, drifted to the bottom; and settled on a bed of sand and smooth pebbles.

Waters ran over it.

Time immemorial enveloped it seeking to erode it, consume it.

A bright and yellow dog came by the reeds. The stream, now a slow-moving river, surged past. A cat came by the dog’s side, flicking its tail back and forth. The dog panted with mounting excitement. The cat peered into the waters with its emerald eyes; the slits of which, shadowy and wondrous. The dog yelped once. And wagged its tail.

The creatures remained transfixed on the stick, which was lodged between two beige stones. The melodious lapping of the swollen stream against the stony shore, continued. The dog made a motion to leap; but lurched back, its blushed tongue swaying loosely from its mouth. The cat turned and beamed at the dog, as its striated tail swept the earth into a fan shape. The yellow dog jumped in place, yipping occasionally with exhilaration, at the prospect of fetching the water-soaked limb from an ancient tree, of raven.

The stick all at once broke free, and began drifting down the creek. The marmalade cat motioned to jump into the shimmering waters, but stopped halfway at a heavy leaning forward. The yellow dog grew fevered. Barking and yipping, it chased after the branch, as the branch slid and tumbled over scattered flattened stones. The cat scampered after the dog, with tail up.

The branch soon was dammed by a collection of fallen leaves and twigs, algae. The cat came and sat by the yellow dog, which cocked its head followed by a light yip.

The stream ran past.

The two animals were silent.

Without warning, the dog leapt from the bank; and crashed into the stream, sending up rays, droplets, of water. The cat wiggled its rump. It looked ready to pounce. The dog, reluctant, anxiously treaded water as it moved toward the stationary branch. The cat closely watched, at times slowing rolling its head. The dog reached the spot above the stuck twig, and then furiously dove for the bottom. The water sloshed, then grew still. In a moment, the yellow dog’s snout pierced the surface triumphantly. In its mouth was the soggy stick. The cat traced circles in the air with its head as it studied minnows, shooting here and there in the semi-tranquil waters. The yellow dog headed for the bank, with its head tilted back, branch horizontal to the river, clamped lightly by ivory canine teeth.

The dog jumped and slipped onto the bank. Bustling through reeds, it came onto the verdant patio of grass and soon froze. It vacantly gazed down at the ground, twig in its mouth. The cat sauntered over to it, and then sat on the carpet like grass. The feline traded glances with the yellow dog and a spot before it. The small branch slipped from the dog’s bite, falling to the grass. Both animals observed it with immense curiosity.

Within seconds little white and pink flowers began to bloom on the branch. They soon shriveled and disappeared. The moss coating the branch retreated, revealing a healthy and light brown bark. The animals were spellbound and muted.

Shafts of burning, golden yellow broke forth from the closeness of the forest, shining above the resting stick. In the wink of an eye, the branch vanished. In its place was a peridot stone, of roughly heart shape, and shadowy emeralds. The two creatures were motionless before it. The stone soon took on a mauve tint; and hissed. The yellow dog quietly barked once.

At me.

The stone is me.

They joined me and became us.

We perceived the world around us. It was good...

The mists came and went; the cyclic reddening of the sky, the dying and rebirth of the trees, the buffeting winds...of our heart. I saw and understood and relayed all things to them, to us. They were me and I was them. And although a thousand rains and snows covered us, the strata mounding upon me, I existed and felt.

The biting cold.

Searing heat.

Of perpetual darkness and burgeoning light; and here I awaited the foe. And so begins the journey of the Idiot King…