6th Pesterlog // [One Foot Here; The Other There] [text]
Imagine this hypothetical scenario:
You are a part of a group of individuals that has been selected for an IMPROBABLE but HIGHLY IMPORTANT duty. The kind of duty that will necessitate your survival and your species. A voyage set adrift from the calm camaraderie and quiescent comforts into the tumultuous and extreme. Though you and your crew began the journey with good cheer, revelry and perhaps an intoxicating beverage or two. The group-appointed captain bellows, jovially perhaps, as his glassy gaze moves from smiling face to smiling face. "We have a tough road ahead of us, lads," he announces through reddened cheeks and an uneven overbite, "but we shall persevere! Look for! We have left for naught but one score minutes and nary a problem has beset upon us!" His spirited laugh belies the increasingly pitched waves as ambling black clouds roar in the distance. Soon foamy water crests the sides of your ship and our once-rhapsodic captain reforms his resolve. Strident bellows for the riggings to be set and the sails to be hoisted as the vessel heaves and falls amid the murky black of oblivion. Soon your hands become red as the coarse rope cuts into your skin and beads of sweat form and fall with the briny water assailing your face.
Then you see it: a winged devil glaring cruelly at you and your ship. You have entered his domain, and he is pissed. He descended upon you, a black blade clutched in his hands. A torrent of water follows his trail, trampling everyone into the deep. You descend, down, down, down. Your last breath bubbles around you. Your lungs heave at the pain of no longer providing oxygen. Your arms thrash and reach at a surface far beyond your reach. Knowing your demise, your vision begins to blur.
But this is not the end for you. Within an instant your breath comes to you. Your eyes regain its focus. You're alive! Yet things are different. Your world is different. You see sights that only existed in the whimsical, fantastic tales of your youth and many more that even the most drug-induced minds would dare not conceive. While strange and unusual, in time you find yourself to grow acquainted with them and your new situation. Perhaps even delight in it, or take comfort in it. But through it all you know. The knowledge comes to you when you don't expect it. When you gaze upon something familiar. When you dream. You know that your mission still demands resolution. You know you will return to where you came. You know that one day you will return to that deep and the slitted white eyes demanding your demise.
What do you do?
You are a part of a group of individuals that has been selected for an IMPROBABLE but HIGHLY IMPORTANT duty. The kind of duty that will necessitate your survival and your species. A voyage set adrift from the calm camaraderie and quiescent comforts into the tumultuous and extreme. Though you and your crew began the journey with good cheer, revelry and perhaps an intoxicating beverage or two. The group-appointed captain bellows, jovially perhaps, as his glassy gaze moves from smiling face to smiling face. "We have a tough road ahead of us, lads," he announces through reddened cheeks and an uneven overbite, "but we shall persevere! Look for! We have left for naught but one score minutes and nary a problem has beset upon us!" His spirited laugh belies the increasingly pitched waves as ambling black clouds roar in the distance. Soon foamy water crests the sides of your ship and our once-rhapsodic captain reforms his resolve. Strident bellows for the riggings to be set and the sails to be hoisted as the vessel heaves and falls amid the murky black of oblivion. Soon your hands become red as the coarse rope cuts into your skin and beads of sweat form and fall with the briny water assailing your face.
Then you see it: a winged devil glaring cruelly at you and your ship. You have entered his domain, and he is pissed. He descended upon you, a black blade clutched in his hands. A torrent of water follows his trail, trampling everyone into the deep. You descend, down, down, down. Your last breath bubbles around you. Your lungs heave at the pain of no longer providing oxygen. Your arms thrash and reach at a surface far beyond your reach. Knowing your demise, your vision begins to blur.
But this is not the end for you. Within an instant your breath comes to you. Your eyes regain its focus. You're alive! Yet things are different. Your world is different. You see sights that only existed in the whimsical, fantastic tales of your youth and many more that even the most drug-induced minds would dare not conceive. While strange and unusual, in time you find yourself to grow acquainted with them and your new situation. Perhaps even delight in it, or take comfort in it. But through it all you know. The knowledge comes to you when you don't expect it. When you gaze upon something familiar. When you dream. You know that your mission still demands resolution. You know you will return to where you came. You know that one day you will return to that deep and the slitted white eyes demanding your demise.
What do you do?