You still see it, no?
It has dimmed slightly, but, as if they existed in a state of begrudging equilibrium, the darkness has grown stronger, thicker, and it ventures deeper still, so it doesn’t much matter anyway. The silvers of pitch-dark shadows still dance against their brilliant backdrop with the same fervor, with the same irreverence to our watchful gazes.
You do still see it.
Yes. I’m sure of it.
It’s been a little while now since I noticed it’s reflection in your eyes, not least because of the overpowering replacement; the sight of your own newfound gift. At first I thought perhaps it was merely a distortion of the reflection, but I soon came to realize otherwise, but yours does mimic mine now more and more.
Still, let’s not waste time on semantics, because time is short isn’t it?
Time is short and the reserves of my creative arousal that I nervously stockpiled for a day decidedly without rain are likely to deplete ever faster as I continue my consideration of that odd development.
Inspiration is a little like sanity and oxygen; seldom coveted until they cease to be available, and then sought with the mad ardency of suicidal fourth-quarter cravings for life, for vitality.
Beside, what is this I can see of yours? Ah, I see you’ve spruced things up a bit. I won’t speak on how I saw yours originally. It’s not important. Now though, I clearly see all the vibrant changes you’ve made. In the wake of the alterations, it seems to drift between bright hues of pink and red, with a bubbling candescence that bleeds excitement everywhere. It’s really quite a thing to behold as it’s bounces around it’s confines, smudging the walls with it’s flamboyant slime.
Plus, you never did much care for how mine appeared originally, did you? I don’t doubt it was intimidatingly absorbing with it’s violent colorless blaze that seemed to swallow all that isn’t devoid of it’s taint in the manner of a black hole. The impression it presents is of a sort that conjures exhilaratingly disquieting imagery of the wordless expressions of the dying at the sensation of absolute annihilation.
I still remember when you first began looking upon mine intently, how your mind seemingly couldn’t help but color it as something more palatable to your impression of me. You saw how it had began to manifest for me then, it’s black crepuscular murk that fizzled with silent rage, and pictured it instead as the pale blue tint that it’s apertures wear as stained glass. Oh you and your prejudices of the heart - but you still saw it. That’s what was important. It’s what drew me inexorably to you in the first place.
I know you weren’t sure what it was you were seeing initially. I told you that what you were seeing was effectively the ethereal blueprint for a grand machine, beyond human knowledge, but certainly not it’s comprehension. A mechanism I’ve, of course, since fully explained to you, at length, and often. One whose presence we’ve also since managed to attribute to several other great minds throughout history; divided between those we’ve decided possessed it’s influence for certain, and those that only probably had it. Nonetheless, it has left a metaphysical residue on all of their manuscripts, as it has on all of our own. I know I’m not alone in wondering if it will be detected by others bearing the gift in the future?
Ah, but when I saw the fierce wonder in your eyes as I detailed it’s purpose! Wonder, not originated from innocence, as of a child’s when ignorantly foolhardy at the prospect of a new discovery, but of keen, eager relish and power hungry delight, as of those watching the first atomic bomb testing - well with the knowledge that you’ve uncovered something terrible, and destructive, and inhuman in it’s ferocity, but, despite your otherwise terrifying proximity, you know it cannot, it will not harm you, and that you will, yourself, tame it, master it.
Then, in your eyes, I also saw frantic disbelief. And not that of an unconvinced rebuffing of what you saw, but rather the hurried huge-in-number reworkings and reorderings as you adapted your reality, or what you knew of as reality, to accommodate this new epiphany. Your disbelief was obviously decidedly pointed; focused at how you could have possibly considered a world view that excluded this power, and how uncertain the rest of reality seems compared to the absolute certainty with which you now knew this to exist.
Because you knew it was truly real. It was a concrete waypost from which all other things could apparently be calculated and derived.
It is an axiom of character.
And you realized you had never really seen one before.
Everything else you’d come to know about people; their personality, their inclinations, their talents, they all seem so artificial and of tremendously questionable validity in comparison to it.
And so, you came to believe in my magic I had long since borne instantly.
Because I would not lie to you.
And because you would not be lied to.
So then I told you. I told you that a momentary prototype of the Promethean spark had somehow become embedded in the protective armor of my soul. Before Prometheus risked everything to steal away from the heavens, elope to earth, giving humans fire, condemning himself to an eternity of suffering, he had briefly considered giving them something else. Something more valuable. Something that would have earned him a fate more terrible even than ceaseless torment had it’s bestowing been similarly discovered.
Prometheus originally sought, for just a moment, to gift to humanity, a means of illumination and combustion that would eclipse even the mighty fire.
But he hesitated. Faltering at the decision’s implications.
'Too much, too soon.' he thought as he eyed this paramount prize one last time before choosing it's inferior ancestor.
Instead, he brought us the spark of something else, fire. And we learned to burn things. And we burned, and burned, and burned. Fire cleanses the earth just as well as water, only now humans had the means to bring about one of these destructive plagues ourselves. We, along with Mother Nature (and her cranky disposition towards us), had a far greater ability to create and destroy, to kill ourselves and each other, and to signal to the heavens with combined streams of inky smoke our tiny evolutionary step.
We felt powerful. For we had control of a tool that the Gods themselves revered.
But to this stone spearhead, a hammer and sickle had almost came into our possession.
That would have changed everything.
And it still will.
I hadn’t realized I had it myself. I only knew that something was different. I knew that where others felt an airy absence, I felt the heated contact of a burdensome stowaway. It slowly consumed the shell that protected my essence, day by day, piece by piece, until all that was left was cinders and ash.
And then it ignited, fully. It blazed blue in my mind. Blinding me with it’s brilliant radiance, which seemed to permeate through and around every part of my vision.
And then, my eyes adjusted, and it’s intense beaming took on (if you’ll excuse the pun, which you certainly will) a whole new light.
Everything was illuminated. Truly illuminated.
I saw with a clarity that God’s aspire to.
And I will show the others this new sort of fire soon enough.
But you saw it first. You see it now. Perhaps now more than ever, when I no longer stoke it, seeking momentary refuge before I redouble it’s fuel. Absence only makes appreciation grow stronger after all, as we both know, and so you’ve come to long for it in my eyes when it’s radiance grows weak.
And of course, this power of vision is yours now too. Just by proximity, I borrowed you the kindle unknowingly, encouraging a little sea of flickering pink flames that licked at the confines of your mind, charring the surfaces with sanguine cauterization.
It was already too late when I saw in your eyes what I see as a weak impression on the shadow theater of my eyelids when I close them tight.
But we both know that others will come to possess at least a weak facsimile of what we have, in due time, so there will come a point when we must allow the conflagration to consume us, fully, wholly.
And I will hold your hand whilst the smoke rises.
And I will hold your hand when we are reborn anew.
Because you were the first.
The muse that joined me on the pyre.