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Snippet #911

located in Life, a part of Almost an Allegory, one of the many universes on RPG.


The container of experiences that a living creature goes through, whether asleep or awake.


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The evening faded into a pressurized night, tangible with a cold light that cast fretful shadows as a fan of eyelashes trembled against the silent skin under her eyes. A pounding like a heartbeat, like the bass of a stereo, like the boom of a canon, the sound of a rumbling ground canvassed by troops of boots made the thin skin of an eyelid flutter.

They snapped open. Eyelashes fanned out from the whites. Black pupils constricted in the writhing ripples, the branching bands, the squirming streaks of her blue irises. She awakened, the distant sound of the river in her ears, slick cold grass plastered to her face, her hands gritty with salt. Salt, she wondered, her pensive fingers still pruney with river water ruminating over its texture, before a shadowy realization flickering across her consciousness severed the last of the black thread that had bound her north and south to sleep—she realized, encircling her, her magic circle of salt--a barrier between herself and what she had summoned--was incomplete.

Her breath was stifled in the heavy darkness as her ears anticipated the drip of river water from drenched clothes and hair and her eyes studied the shadows, divining a figure emerging from the gloom, a woman, her mirror image, her gauzy doppelganger come to haunt her once more. Call it what you will: simulacrum, homunculus, golem, twin, sister, daughter. With shaking hands, the same ones she used to drown it, she dipped her fingers into the salt and spread it along the ground to complete the circle, a barrier between herself and this animated flesh she had summoned, this conjuration she had then murdered by the river.

I have no guilt about this, to create someone of your own likeness. It's not narcissism, to have this need for companionship to rise from raw material into something, someone that talks to you, companion to your daily life. Considering the conundrum of your fellow human, I gave in to the tempting simplicity of having someone you could control, pliant in its familiarity, identical to yourself.

There I was, anticipating the exhilarating moment of when I could look back at my creation and ask myself, "Could I love you?"

And to my thrilling satisfaction it answers, "Yes, I could."

A pounding like a heartbeat, the sound of a rumbling ground canvassed by troops of boots, like the boom of a canon, like the bass of a stereo, like a cell phone on vibrate makes the thin skin of my eyelids flutter.

I dig through my purse and nearly up-end it before I find my cell phone, buzzing in my hand, its face glowing pale green, and answer it with a terse, “Yes, I’m coming home. No, it’s alright. Don’t wait up.”