I met up with a Pilgrim. Just another monster. We compared notes. Our small parts to play. Our little worlds. The job. The task. The cause. The Plan.
We call ourselves “protagonists” and “in the service of the beast”. We are the beast. As are you. We are apart but in our bones we are the same. We are cogs in the same machine. Cells in the same body. Perhaps I am a millionth of an eye or a tongue. I’d like that. My life is spent tasting the air and gazing into the shadows. I watch the pigs grazing on human casualties. I taste the remnants of greed on the evening breeze. Amnesiacs stampeding across a plane of words. I see faded outlines of lovers with glazed eyes in dark intersections where the future and the past become the same. I taste time at the mingling of the waters.
There is a place beyond the light where I know my human legs will never carry me. A mirror world. A cave. Deep under the mountains of fear and hate. A seam of ever forgotten gold. Only the blind ever go there. The troglodytes. Translucent underworlders without language. But the metal speaks. Golden, geological syllables. If I can I will be your intermediary. I will learn to recite the words of the sulphurous depths. Translate the voice of countless gigatons of the churning magma upon which we live out our self-righteous lives. Speak the language of Septekh.
And so who is she? This Pilgrim.
She watches us as we practice our routines in the day-world. She yearns for the warmth of our fires but can never again set foot in our house. She is one of us. Yet she is beyond the pale. Outcast. Invisible. She is self-expelled. She left us all behind.
For there are unimaginable treasures out there in the dark. Clicks and pings in the vastness. The hollows of her starved face are receptors. Echolocation. She has traveled. Triangulated. She feels the winds of the deep on her dry bones.
She is the damned wanderer. This is for her.
So we set forth another teratoid infant, another communiqué from the blank spaces. We have painted a new map. By the 24th of August it will be yours to read.
The Plan never ends. It begins.
Yours always – Ldy GRZNLS