Musings from Chaos and Eternal Night

[Koyliak]

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost


I definitely died.

How can you be sure?

I’m here and here is nothin’.

How can you know a thing that is not?

Why must ye keep askin’?

You are the expert on all things and no-things.

I am ashes.

Then what am I, the wind?

Ye’re a smart ass. Mebbe this is the hell they speak so much ‘bout.

I did not think your faith included that picture of the afterlife.

It doesn’t. At least, I don’t think it does. It’s hard ta really ‘member.

What do you remember?

I’m wet. Everythin’ is wet. Even the air when I could breathe it felt moist.

I thought flames lit the way to hell. There is never mention of water.

Tha’s ‘wfully literal, bub, ye’re supposed ta be smarter than tha.

Am I now?

Aye, it’s one of the few things I feel sure ‘bout. But tha makes ye no less wrong.

How so?

If hell ‘xists it need not be a fiery pit. Hell can take up any space with the right amount of thought.

[Koyliak]

I find it surprising you have not considered the alternate possibility.

Wha's tha?

That you managed to survive whatever horror happened to us. I seem to recall you begrudging your knack for survival.

Ye do?

I do, though I do not know why you despised a skill like that.

Neither do I.

What do you remember?

My father's hair. Silver-gray like mist on the water. The way my mother's hands always held the right temperature. Cool or warm, whaever I need 'em ta be in tha moment.

That is poetic sentiment, child, but what good does that do us for figuring out how to escape?

Escape?

Of course. You do not plan to spend eternity here, do you?

Ah, aye, I recall now tha ye've 'lways schemed fer an exit. Here and 'fore, wherever we were and are now.

If that is true, what of it?

Iffn ye're forever doomed ta be a prisoner, how do ye know this jail is worse than wha confinement ye came from 'fore?

Because I feel certain that I am a survivor too but much more than that. I continue to strive for an existence I know is out there that puts this little confined life to shame.

Wha constitues a 'life' remains subjective ta me here. Does tha make ye an optimist then?

Not in the snide way you mean it. But yes, I feel with every piece of me, straight down to my core, that there is something more that stays just out of reach.

In yer core, but never in yer bones, aye?

No, I never think of bones for myself. Only you do that.

Are we really two separate ones? I know we keep circlin' 'round it but I can't fathom ever havin' a thought or desire ye weren't privy ta. Mebbe we're a whole tha's splintered.

Splintered. That word strikes a fancy in me. If I could follow that word like a rope to pull in from the fog what boat lies tied at its end maybe we would get somewhere more than these idle chats. 'Splintered' sounds right but not in the context you give it.

A boat in the fog? Who's takin' a flair fer poetics now?

You are full of jokes today. Look how productive that is for us. I thought you would enjoy the metaphor. You used to put great faith in boats.

Aye, I see tha too. Why did I think boats could speak 'cross great distances do ye reckon? Mebbe we were off at sea and capsized. I might've made a fine sailor.

There may have been water and we may have been on a ship but again I think your context is all wrong. Something guided us on a mutual course but I do not think we were one body. And I was most certainly not your first mate.

How do ye know tha with conviction?

Because, child, you say you do not remember having a thought I could not know but I feel vastly different about the reverse. I held secrets in layers, nay, in whole generations, which never came near your awareness. How can we be one when I feel certain we were never equals?

[Koyliak]

Wha happens in the spans when we do not speak?

You go somewhere. I stay.

Is it restin’?

Perhaps. Whatever it is, you need it and I do not.

Wha do ye do then when I’m gone?

I take in the silence and search for answers.

Wha answers can ‘xist when there’s nothin’ but this space?

That is why only one of us needs rest. You are weaker than me.

Yet here we both are. Together.

Yes, and there lies the rub. You are weaker yet I feel you are what keeps me here, awake and not lost.

Were ye lost ‘fore? Mebbe we really were out at sea.

You always circle back to the sea. I remember water too and chaos crashing, tidal waves. I was lost, yes, and hungry for dry ground to land on. I do not know how literal it was but I believe where I went first was just as dangerous.

And then ye found me.

Then I found you. I called to you and you came down to meet me.

Mebbe I’m yer skeleton and yer my mind?

Do skeletons speak?

Yer heart then?

I did not have a heart. You did, though I remember thinking it defective.

I was sick?

You owned a heart like a glass vase someone dropped and tried to glue back together. The pieces never fit quite right again and some stayed lost forever.

I got lost on purpose.

Possibly. You came to meet me when I called. For that, I think you my friend.

Ye call me child. Are we not family?

We hold a bond but I remember having deep disdain for family. That sense is separate from you.

Mebbe I had a family too. Though the word leaves no bad taste fer me.

I suppose that makes you more fortunate than me. Does it feel like you miss them?

There’s a part of me tha aches, like hunger pangs tha will never be satisfied.

I hold nothing to fill that gap.

I know it. Ye say findin’ me was part of yer search fer dry ground. But I think I had an anchor tha I broke the chain on when I came ta find ye.

Broken. Splintered. These are things we both share. How did we come to shatter everything?

I don’t know. But I think ye’re right when ye say I’m weak. I was scared ta stay at the mercy of crashin’ waves. I think tha’s why I came ta meet ye. Ye called offerin’ me somethin’ tha was much easier ta take.

What did I promise?

Shelter from the storm.

[Koyliak]

Do ye think mebbe this is jest us dreamin’?

We have been over this. Who are we to share one neverending dream?

We are joined ‘nough ta share, how much more odd would it be tha we dream together? Mebbe it’s still as I imagined tha we are one being but only we're---

Splintered. Fractured. I know. How many times will we go over this?

Is tha a torture fer ye?

Droning on in these endless debates that go nowhere? Of course it is.

Do ye believe in hell? Mebbe tha’s wha this is.

I understand the concept but no, I do not believe in hell nor think that is what we are in the midst of here.

‘Cause there’s no fire or brimstone or other flagrantly frightenin’ things?

There is that. But more than that, there is the fact that I do not remember feeling fear of any gods nor places they may send me. There are powers at play, perhaps, but not those, not for me. I think I have always been stuck like this, one way or another.

And tha doesn’t make ye scared?

No, never scared. Frustrated, angry, annoyed, perhaps even as far as defeated at times, but never afraid.

I’m ‘lmost ‘lways ‘fraid of somethin’, I remember tha, but I can’t tell ye wha worried me so.

Maybe you had more to lose than me.

Mebbe. I hadn’t considered it tha way.

Besides, I do not think we dream the same way.

How many ways are there ta dream?

How would I know? But if I ever dream it is about one thing and I do so actively. There are no surprise revelations beyond my own conscious wishing.

Ye dream of freedom, aye?

Always.

I don’t know my dreams anymore, only the sensation of dreamin’. Whaever wishin’ I may want ta do, the details ‘lways stay jest out of focus ‘nough fer me ta sense they are so far ‘way.

Yet you think about dreams so often.

Aye, nothin’ is clear yet I feel tha there used ta be somethin’ I valued in dreamin’, even though they wounded me back when I could see ‘em. But there were things I thought were worth havin' in dreams even iffn they could never last and wakin' would cut me twice as bad than 'fore I set ta dreamin' in the first place.

You placed an odd value on those things that caused you pain. I remember that. I found it strange, but for reasons different than others around us.

Wha reasons were yers?

That you would both seek out pain and worry about incurring any more of it at the same time.

Ye know... I can’t recall which pains were which, but I do know there was ‘lways a difference.

How so?

It came down ta a matter of control. The pain I sought came from my own doin’. I would take the trade of pain fer whaever comfort it gave me ‘cause I controlled when it happened. The other kind though, I think mebbe I worried ‘cause it was a storm rollin’ down the coast, nippin’ on my heels, and I couldn’t stop it from reachin’ land and wipin’ out everythin’ tha mattered.

If only we knew what it was that actually mattered. Maybe then we could remember what came to destroy it.

Wha iffn we're here 'cause in our depths we don't 'ctually want ta remember at all? Mebbe we are two cowards snivelin' in the dark.

Or maybe we simply won't let ourselves be conquered by a thing we cannot hope to control right now.

Ye think on us too kindly.

And you too cruelly.