Prose: The Gatekeepers ( nature is dangerous and it WILL kill you)
[So Maria's pic inspired me to write a thing :) Its a WIP, but I figured I might as well post it. ]
Here's the thing: the forests are alive.
Oleander knows this, was taught this from the time that speech became something more to zir than unintelligible syllables. The very fabric of their society is built on this, and it is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Ze was told stories as a child, sitting outside under the glow of the bio-luminescent trees, of the inexorable will and strength of the forests, of the trees and the vines and the animals whose eyes held too much black to be anything but sentient.
Ze remembers the tales, the records kept of the times before the Fall.
The Forest is large. So was the city, once. But now, the glistening sides of the skyscrapers are covered in creeping vines and clutching roots and the Forest reclaims it.
The streets of the city, they are told, were once completely flat. They were miles and miles of grey and black lines, intersecting at almost perfect right angles and laying boundaries between the towers of sleek grey buildings. They're gone now, the grey lines and right angles and flat surfaces, disturbed by the growth of roots, bucking the asphalt into cracked patterns of webs, covered in moss and lichen and brambles that sometimes move in the corners of your eyes.
The city was grey once.
It was cold and sharp and dead, the streets ran with rats and filth and rainbows made of motor oil. There were people there too, swarming like ants to and fro, so much more numerous than they are now. Oleander has seen the footage, gigabytes of vids of just the streets of the city as it was, filled to the brim with humans, so crowded and numerous that they seemed like a living river, their footsteps contributing to a currant they could not see. Its...strange , even imagining so many people existing in such close quarters. Just the thought is enough for breathing to become difficult.
The city is green now. The eddies and swirls of frantic humans are gone, for the most part, but it remembers.
It was arrogance that destroyed Those who Were. That and Greed, that took and took and took until the only thing left to destroy was itself.
Now it is the Forest's turn to sate its long-denied hunger, and it consumes the empty grey placeswoundssorescitiesgraves with a voracious but patient appetite. Its maws are large, the Forest, vast beyond the comprehension of a single being, and its thoughts are languorous and equal in depth. The forests are old, and patient, and persistent in ways that humans will never be. The forests have a greed of their own, a possessiveness that latches on and sends its roots deeper and deeper and never ever lets go.
And that is what they're taught: the forests are alive.
Humans are small. They are fragile and weak and oh so very breakable. Oleander knows this. Sees the indeliable proof written in purple and red and yellow all across zir skin like light seen through a dirty stained-glass window.
There's a certain beauty in that fragility. Like flowers and dragonfly wings, so fleeting and easily crushed.
Ze sets out when the sun is at its zenith, not for any particular reason except that ze likes the way the word rolls off zir tongue.
The Forest is full of dark places. And as ze walks deeper and deeper into it, ze can feel the forest watching zir. Its light at first, like the caress of soft leaves against zir skin. But ze can feel the weight of the Forest's regard pressing in on zir heavier and heavier, like thick vines wrapping around zir shoulders the farther ze travels.
It is different, to feel how alive the forest is, than to be told or to imagine of it. It sends a shiver down zir spine, and ze cannot tell if it is fear or pleasure.
Here's the thing: the forests are alive.
Oleander knows this, was taught this from the time that speech became something more to zir than unintelligible syllables. The very fabric of their society is built on this, and it is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Ze was told stories as a child, sitting outside under the glow of the bio-luminescent trees, of the inexorable will and strength of the forests, of the trees and the vines and the animals whose eyes held too much black to be anything but sentient.
Ze remembers the tales, the records kept of the times before the Fall.
The Forest is large. So was the city, once. But now, the glistening sides of the skyscrapers are covered in creeping vines and clutching roots and the Forest reclaims it.
The streets of the city, they are told, were once completely flat. They were miles and miles of grey and black lines, intersecting at almost perfect right angles and laying boundaries between the towers of sleek grey buildings. They're gone now, the grey lines and right angles and flat surfaces, disturbed by the growth of roots, bucking the asphalt into cracked patterns of webs, covered in moss and lichen and brambles that sometimes move in the corners of your eyes.
The city was grey once.
It was cold and sharp and dead, the streets ran with rats and filth and rainbows made of motor oil. There were people there too, swarming like ants to and fro, so much more numerous than they are now. Oleander has seen the footage, gigabytes of vids of just the streets of the city as it was, filled to the brim with humans, so crowded and numerous that they seemed like a living river, their footsteps contributing to a currant they could not see. Its...strange , even imagining so many people existing in such close quarters. Just the thought is enough for breathing to become difficult.
The city is green now. The eddies and swirls of frantic humans are gone, for the most part, but it remembers.
It was arrogance that destroyed Those who Were. That and Greed, that took and took and took until the only thing left to destroy was itself.
Now it is the Forest's turn to sate its long-denied hunger, and it consumes the empty grey placeswoundssorescitiesgraves with a voracious but patient appetite. Its maws are large, the Forest, vast beyond the comprehension of a single being, and its thoughts are languorous and equal in depth. The forests are old, and patient, and persistent in ways that humans will never be. The forests have a greed of their own, a possessiveness that latches on and sends its roots deeper and deeper and never ever lets go.
And that is what they're taught: the forests are alive.
---------------------------------
Humans are small. They are fragile and weak and oh so very breakable. Oleander knows this. Sees the indeliable proof written in purple and red and yellow all across zir skin like light seen through a dirty stained-glass window.
There's a certain beauty in that fragility. Like flowers and dragonfly wings, so fleeting and easily crushed.
---------------------------------
Ze sets out when the sun is at its zenith, not for any particular reason except that ze likes the way the word rolls off zir tongue.
The Forest is full of dark places. And as ze walks deeper and deeper into it, ze can feel the forest watching zir. Its light at first, like the caress of soft leaves against zir skin. But ze can feel the weight of the Forest's regard pressing in on zir heavier and heavier, like thick vines wrapping around zir shoulders the farther ze travels.
It is different, to feel how alive the forest is, than to be told or to imagine of it. It sends a shiver down zir spine, and ze cannot tell if it is fear or pleasure.
---------------------------------
Oleander doesn't know how long ze has been walking. The almost physical weight of the Forest pressing down against zir psyche makes the world just a bit fuzzy. Perhaps it has been only hours, or perhaps days or weeks. It is dark this far beneath the canopy, and the only light come from the bio-luminescent plants, so ze cannot tell the passing of days.
Ze thinks ze eats a few times, but cannot recall what it was exactly, or even the clawing feel of hunger that must have prompted zir to eat.
Ze walks, and walks and walks.
Ze cannot remember any reason not to.
Ze walks, and cannot remember ever doing otherwise.
After what might be centuries, or days, ze stops walking.
---------------------------------
There is a ring of glowing mushrooms. They are large, larger than any tree that's manages to grow within the city, but not quite tall enough to breach the canopy. They are beautiful, and terrifying, like all things born from the Forest.
Oleander hears the whispers of their hooves long before ze sees them.
Ze waits.
They have the body of a horse, the horns of a stag, wings like a giant tattered moth, and a cracked white mask. Ze knows that there is no face behind the white disk.
The mask glows eerily in the soft light from the toadstools. It tilts as it regards zir through the dark holes of its mask.
---------------------------------
Here's the thing: the forests send their roots deep and do not let go.
Comments
Post a Comment