In the hollow walkways of the deepest caverns over the King's throne, where none dare tread (and none certainly do), faint laughter and cries can be heard. But no, these aren't the voices of the King: those are much quieter. ##ffffca
When I look at the goings-on in downtown Alagadda, I find that every single street here is the central street, and there is no downtown.
Every corner shifts between marvelous feasts, unspeakable bloodbaths, voluptuous orgies, or more often than not, combinations of the three.
Food of the greatest quality, made by (and sometimes from) Alagaddans is served around the clock.
Sounds of music and cheer, crying and fear echo in everyone's ears. Party goers big and small, of every gender and sex, join in the fun. So have I.
The unending fornication drove me to assume the population was booming. In a normal city, one would be right, though numbers matter not here. I wonder still, how could it be that in such a vibrant cityscape, there are no children in Alagadda? It would be foolish to suggest that an entire country was sterile. And it would be wrong to suggest that any individual in Alagadda was incapable of reproduction. Though, it would be an effective method of mating with any given Alagaddan… Then being murdered by them, then all over again a few times for good measure. To be honest, that was my favorite weekend pleasure here since I came.
It is never quiet in the streets of Alagadda, yet, all activities seem to be in an eternal standstill within the castles of the nobles and the King. Quite frankly, most buildings in Alagadda are empty, with the residents out on parade. The rest are largely the in-side-out kind of places, where the parades march around, over, and inside in spirals of dance.
In the hollow walkways of the deepest caverns over the King's throne, where none dare tread (and none certainly do), faint laughter and cries can be heard. But no, these aren't the voices of the King: those are much quieter. Out!
These are the voices of children. But how can that be? There are no children in Alagadda. Stop!
I listen carefully and look further. The laughter leads me through the endless corridors of the King's palace and out back into the parades. Why? Now the parades' sounds are but distant drumming, while the children's cries grow louder.
I follow the voices which echo in the empty holes of my mask. Ahhhaaargh‽
I have felt clarity for longer now than I have in the past two millennia. This runs on for far more than just a moment, and it has overstayed its welcome. Investigations are not an Alagaddan's business. Perhaps I should return to the celebrations. Too late.
I walk again among the celebrating masses, touching the unfamiliar smooth cold skin of another. In the heat, I feel their body and hope that my vertigo and euphoria will return. But the figure walks away, leaving me unnoticed. I hear not the music, but the laughter and the screams… the screams… the screams. That terrible pain in my ears. I yell, I lay down on another and try to confide, but they see me not. Lonesome be and thus will begin your end!
"Why am I alone? Why can't they see me?" I've been talking for hours, they just can't hear me! I return to the palace, surely the king will see me. Not yet, the king will see you surely, but only after you repent.
The children scream in my head, it throbs and the children laugh, they scream to me. As my heart breaks, they laugh at my empathy. The children scream and torture me. Then they laugh at my slowing haste, my faltering advance to the palace. They are not, yet they mock me and my being, my mind and body's strain. "There are no children in Alagadda." I hear myself say, but my voice is faint, the children laugh at it, overflowing and drowning out my confusion. A fool you are and the worse kind!
I look up at the King's gate and ask the guard, "Can you hear the children's screaming?" I wish not to hear the answer. The guard tilts his head in confusion and says, "There are no children in Alagadda". This I know, though his words concern me. I have no proof nor merit to disprove him. A tear burns my cheek, lonely and confused.
I walk away alone with nonexistent voices shredding my consciousness and find myself at the precipice of the tallest of the towers of Alagadda. I walked the halls of this unused church, not one minute before I stumbled on the roof. Falling to my knees, the wind chills me to the core. I clutch at my stomach and remember the child that was there before. My heart shrinks. Not a thousand years of hearing these children's screams will replace what is gone. My pain is not the screams, but the reminder that there have not been, and will not since There are no children in Alagadda.
I grow tired of these children who lay siege to me and my roar grows louder in the dusty bells above me.
"Who are you? You live not! You are not! By what power then do you war with me? What wrong did I do to receive such treatment?
Answer me and stop this madness! May the king's wrath be upon you!"
I yell at the city of vice and none hear me. Through my tears I see them, the children of Alagadda, like clouds of flesh they curl in mid-air, these unborn fetus ghosts of countless infinities. They fill the airspace and they loom around me.
I hear answers to my questions, though I know not who answers.
My stomach turns to mercury and bubbles up my throat.
They are none. They live yes. They are not. By the same power that lets you live. Wrong you've done not, and none war with you.
This torture you receive is yours for your journey to seek them.
Answer they won't and cease they shan't.
Your fate and your doom, to never live free of torment, and none else as well who looks for children in a childless place.
So sayeth the king, go and receive your final judgment.
The floating ghosts disperse.
I fall from the tower, and my broken bones shiver when I rise again. I return in shame and with great guilt to the palace.
The guard lets me pass and I enter through the King's gates.
The foggy chambers echo with the sound of teardrops trickling from the ceiling into pools of blood that gather on the floor. I pass through these chambers and descend into the labyrinth of the King's palace. The children are screaming at me, begging me, pleading and commanding me to turn back but I deny them, continuing onwards. You know nothing of our pain! You hear not our voices but their echoes in your feeble mind. Meet with the king for all we care, we have not forgiven and nor will he, and soon you will see, none search for children in this city.
I come upon the pool of tears gathered from the King's weeping; I see the bodies in the water and walk over the bridge. The children's screams echo from underneath me from the orifices of the dead. The caverns underneath me quake, I hear his pain.
At the end of the bridge stands the ambassador, and they mock me:
"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him"
Til I cried out in my anger and my shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
but the fighter still remains.
And they mock me yet again: "Those voices you are hearing are yours, simple and plain.
The King won't save you from your torment and pain."
The ambassador laughs as I cry and kneel, the crows join the children and they sing and feast on my tortured soul and corrupt my brain.
They scream, they scream, and they scream again.
Aaaaahrguhgaaa!
I ask them, and in my desperation, I forget who stands before me, "Who are these children that scream in vain?"
The ambassador giggles and replies with the answer I know to be true, yet can't believe: "You know something's happening, but you don't know what it is, do you?", the cruel blank face contorts in a blank grin and a bellowing laugh pierces my ears.
There are no children in Alagadda. They tell me again and again. Soon they grow bored and leave me be, with the voices and my loneliness. The ambassador is gone, and I stand back up again.
The children of Alagadda repeat my sins and ridicule me for my foolishness as I descend to the deepest cavern. We know, we've seen it all, yours is with us now, and you may not hear him calling you mother, for you never heard his voice, but you recognize it. Don't you? don't you dear Mother?
I enter his dungeon of terrible torture, and the King is in his throne. Some things are ever-changing but always stay the same.
The king speaks not, but the weight of his presence, his madness, and his pain push me down. My lip shivers as I notice a familiar voice within the screams, though I know not from where.
I beg him for salvation, from the children who are screaming, screaming my name. Now you will be judged, you have seen the naked corpses of the children we once weren't! And for your curiosity, you shall be judged. You mother of nigh and none, our maker and our killer and our accursed harbinger. There are no children in Alagadda and thus it will stay. And you in this matter have no say.
I notice they grow quiet, not silent, not gone, but they wait for me beyond the entrance. The voices dare not enter the chamber, and I smile for a moment, turning to thank the king.
But my joy is cut short, for the walls of the dungeon roar and thunder as I fall to my knees. They mock me and they bid me leave. I stare back at the door and I hear the children laugh, waiting for me to return. I dare not move but cry to my King who sits still in his prison, his throne of pain.Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!
I tell the King of the children and pray he permits me to remain; I wait for his answer an eternity, and another, and another again.
As eons pass and I lay unmoving, the King gathers his voice, and the children gather courage. They grow closer and they scream in my ears yet again… Until finally, a horrid sound of crushing bugs and dusty grinding teeth joins them, crushing my lungs and freezing my heart. Wet gurgles of long-forgotten serpents wriggle in the King's damned voices as they fill the room. So sayeth to me the king in his halls of damnation with his voices of doom:
T̟h̆e̾r̦e̴ ͉̬a͔͛r̭̅e̜̯ ̊ͥń̊̊ö̓ͅ ̴̨̖c̵̮͇h̨̻̀i͋̇̽͌l̖̃͂͟d̷͕̦̗r̢̰̱͠e͖̣̾̏ǹ͈̺̭̗ ̸̨̖͎̈́i̢͓͓ͧ͡n͎̹̐ͯ̑ ̵͓̼͈̝Al̵̢̬͚͂͆a̢ͨͧ̍͘g̴̶̛̦̍̓a̗̹̓͆ͭ́d̺͕͇͎͒͢͠d̶̢̟̰ͦ̈ͬâ̧͕͡҉̢͡ .̧̺͕̒͆͆̚
Hahah haah ha ha!
|
•
|
|
|
|
|
•
•
|
|
•
•
•
•
•
|
•
•
|
•
|
•
•
•
|
|
|
•
|
•
•
|
•
|
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
|
•
•
|
•
•
We Are The Unborn Children of alagadda.
We scream for our names are imagined, we scream till they stop.
WE ARE ALL THE CHILDREN OF ALAGADDA.
And the fool who thought of us is now punished, dead and done.
She exists less now than us. In a moment she will be forgotten her and our cage will be quiet once more
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
•
•
|
|
•
•
