Conversations With Myself

[Crashtour99]

Years ago I started a blog on myspace.  "Conversations with Myself" started as a few little posts for a creative writing outlet.  Here's an excerpt.   :wink:


Conversations with Myself:      The Shadow knows...

Now underground, I started down the dimly lit passage.  Small globes of light suspended from the ceiling like tiny chandeliers led the way deeper and deeper, the smooth stone walls and floor slowly getting rougher and more crudely hewn as I went down.  The deeper the tunnel led, the dimmer the light shone from the small globes overhead.  Soon, the floor disappeared under a fine layer of sand that sparkled in the pale light.  As I went deeper and deeper, the sand began to turn black like the obsidian beaches of an island volcano, and now craggy walls sparkled with tiny bits of sand embedded in them.  There was no light left now, the small globes had disappeared and left me with only glittering sand to show me the way onward.

Suddenly, the walls I had been using to feel my way along through the darkness and stabilize my walking disappeared.  I was standing there, in the middle of what appeared to be a vast underground cavern.  I could still see the glittering obsidian sand spreading out before me like an ocean of stars, but where walls and ceiling should be, there was nothing but darkness.  The empty black was thick with humidity, and seemed to sap the strength from my body.  Undeterred I continued forth, wandering into the darkness.

After a bit I stumbled, falling down a sand bank and hitting something hard.  I stood up looking around to find myself at the bottom of the edge of a crater in this dark desolate and crushing place.  Here the sand was cleared away to reveal a smooth glossy floor made of obsidian tiles.  As I looked around this place I could see something at the very center of this crater.  I knew this was what I had been on this journey to find, so I waked towards it.

As I got nearer, the darkness around me seemed to come alive, trying to push me back, hold me down, and suffocate me.  By the time I got within 10 feet of this object I could barely move, but it was close enough to see what was in front of me.  I collapsed to my knees in front of a small platform with a throne on it.  Like everything else down here, it too was made of obsidian.  As I strained my eyes against the darkness to see, a loud 'clack' could be heard, like the sound of a breaker switch being thrown to the on position.  It was now completely visible in front of me, the throne and the occupant who sat in it, as a pillar of light shown down from above.

The throne itself was of fairly simple design, with a high back, but oddly the back had 'wings' coming off each side at shoulder level giving it the look of a cross of some sort.  The person sitting there wore tattered rags, ravaged by years of solitude.  His skin was heavily scared, and blackened by what I assumed was dust from the obsidian sand.  His arms, chained to the arms of the throne, much like his legs, leaving him captive and immobile.  His head hung low, slumped forward, his ragged hair covering part of his face.

I could see the look on that face, that smiling contemptible grimace.  It was then that it dawned on me that the face I was looking at, was my own, twisted and contorted, concealed in hate and violence.  The sight made me want to turn away, but a powerful feeling made me keep staring at this visage.  It was those eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, leaving no stone unturned, no place for lies or self deception to hide.  Those same blind eyes shone with a light so bright that it burned through the scars that stitched the eyelids shut, and burned through the infinite black that bore down so heavy.  It was me, chained to that throne, sitting there staring at me, kneeling on the cold damp floor staring back up.


"Latent in every man is a venom of amazing bitterness, a black resentment; something that curses and loathes life, a feeling of being trapped, of having trusted and been fooled, of being the helpless prey of impotent rage, blind surrender, the victim of a savage, ruthless power that gives and takes away, enlists a man, and crowning injury inflicts upon him the humiliation of feeling sorry for himself." ~ Paul Valery (French poet, essayist and critic, 1871-1945)

[Digital_Mantra]

Good read. Is there more to it? I'd like to hear the conversation you have with yourself, you've set the tone and everything.