The Art of the End, Prologue

          An untamed spirit lay suspended in a vast and empty space. It was not subject to the laws of time, nor any law taken as absolute truth to those who live. The body consisted of a pool of energy and pure untouched happiness. A stray pull caught the essence, drawing it away from its empty home.

         It came to consciousness, and for the first time came to realize its innate ability to reach outward. Clenched fists uncoiled. Eyes opened to a hazy flood of light and vague patterns. The sight struck the spirit as beautiful, and as a peaceful home. The body stretched its every limb to their extent, arms reaching toward the heavens.

         Enclosed within the light, the spirit began to evolve into a more complex being. Along with every new skill uncovered, an acute awareness of its surroundings grew. Patterns of noise echoed within its ears. There were two distinctive voices it knew well. One was soft and always nearby. The other was harsh; often its presence brought pain to the being's ears.

         Suddenly a sensation of fear overcame the being. Normally its body floated comfortably within the light. Now, a shift of gravity caused it to slip, coming in contact with some sort of wall. Shortly thereafter, loud sounds emitted from the one with the harsh voice. The being was then thrown against another wall, and slowly floated back to the middle of the light.

         An entirely new feeling interrupted the untouched happiness. The hazy light was gone, replaced by an unkind and unnatural light. Images formed before its eyes. There were two humans standing above, peering down into the face of the being. Again, one seemed to be soft and the other harsh. The soft one was smiling awkwardly with long red curls cascading down, almost long enough to touch the being. She spoke, referring to the being as "the baby." The harsh one did not smile, in fact he looked at the baby with nothing outside of cruelty. The baby was frightened by the emotion in the air.

         They blurred and spun about a rather large enclosed space. The woman covered her ears from a screeching sound. Its source was a mystery to the baby, however after a moment it recognized the sound as its own. The man violently covered the woman, moving his lips sharply with harsh words.

         Before the baby’s mind could encompass the situation, it changed. With its ability to somewhat see and think; it knew there must have been some lapse of events. It laid elsewhere, different images before it. Another male human scooped it up, and in that fraction of a moment it saw the woman in the distance, crying. The one that held the baby made an exchange with the man from before using their hands. The harsh man sorted through what he received and expressed his approval with a nod, brining the thin slices of an unknown item into the coverings of his body.

         A series of experiences came upon the spirit of the child. Although it continued to grow at a slow pace, its soul endured much, aging the spirit far beyond its physical age. The last thing it recalled was being huddled in a corner, hiding from the horrid man who was surely coming for it once again. It began to wonder. Was this a normal life? Was there a way out? The child awaited its chance to escape.



Next ---> "The Art of the End, Chapter 1: Modern"