BluEndings
The One Called Blu
THE CRADLE
ARC TREES
COTTON STALKS
PINK BERRIES
INSECTS
MUSHROOMS
ORB
FRAGMENTS
FEATHERS
Soft wind gently whirred against the winding maze of doughy pink, and the leaves responded with murmured song. Innumerable quiet vibrations illuminated the forest clearing with a palliating calm. Sound much too soft to be heard; instead a deeper resonation that spoke to the innate. This place was yours, and yours alone. Not spoiled by bug nor beasts, nor tarnished by ill-tempered clouds. There was no blue above, just layers of blanketed pink upon pink weaved into the woody grotto where you laid.
At its heart, stood rosy sod. A bedded patch elevated by generous branch and thicket. No edges to be seen, only a wondrously rounded circle unlike anything else around. Atop it, seven divots. Each one gently clutching motionless orbs of balled fur—save for two. Most the size of an apple, another a melon. Their delicate placements uninterrupted from the numerous winding growths that surrounded the plateau but dared not intrude.
Not a moment had passed, neither pulse nor breath before the weight of the air grew dense. Though the inexplicable illumination did not waver the feeling of warmth soon waned to nothing, and fresh reverberations became known. The pittering of observers most curious, the excited chittering of those above & below, the rousing warbling of those out of sight, and plenty more. A myriad of unknowns collecting together, but failing to awaken the slumbering forms.
Bundled as you were, it may have come as no surprise. The ample fleece your form boasted may as well have been delicate whiskers more conscious than your mind. An empty head that did not stir for anything short of danger. Reverberations that did not respect the sanctity of the soul. A feeling unlike any. A rumbling. A calling. A promise from deep below. It was as if the earth itself had whispered for you to wake. Time had not begun until this moment, and would not not last if you did not follow.
Rise and shine.
The empty dark of unconsciousness was not without its perks. It was a form of concentration. A sense of reflection not hindered by any corporal bindings. Answers to questions not asked could be received like melting snowflakes on warm skin. The unknown was not foe, but an offer. A sustained pulse of another not far off. Neither your fellow slumbering brethren nor the inevitable encroaching pittering of prying eyes. Sensitivity was a gift, and it was rewarding you with feeling. Feelings from something very close—very important.
Awake.
Encased in abnormal heat, and at the mercy of something not your own. The presence of the sap around your form was irregular, but your knowing of it even more so. This substance itself was life, and you owed it everything. Yet the importance of escaping it meant the difference between actualization and evanescence. Accept it. Reject it. Escape it. Embrace it. The exact semantics were irrelevant. Your gullet was impeded, and breath neglected.
Awake.
Taste was not something to comprehend so early, but the buzzing within your tongue was telling. Discomfort that spoke of molten steel—metal. Unnatural matter unfit for consumption, yet lingering amidst your puffing maw. A tenderness was visited upon each groove of the beak’s whole, but no mark would ever be found. Afterall, taste was finite, if even real to begin with. With no past, and nothing present, the conclusion would have to wait.
Awake.
Balled fur was the intent, but you seemed set on contesting that. Your precarious situation was not immediately evident during your snooze, but your sensations did not match the others. Heat was not so easily obtained, and an inconsistent chill was received instead. There was no soft grass, only wavering leaves at each side. Your back was insulted by coarse bark while the bulk of your form remained hoisted far above the ground. It was your tail, however, that would prove most troublesome. The end was stuck within one of the many dotted holes within the trees.
Awake.
To sleep before existence is to accept dreams as reality, and reality as dreams. Yet to grasp that, was to understand that truth required the knowledge of truth in order to exist. Your wait was not dark. On the contrary, you were experiencing light at full force. Stars—celestial bodies of simmering gas dotting the heavens with yearning. Existences that were not intended for you, yet stirred a longing much too intimate to release. There could be no greater fulfillment than what you were currently experiencing.
Surely it couldn’t hurt to let the
At its heart, stood rosy sod. A bedded patch elevated by generous branch and thicket. No edges to be seen, only a wondrously rounded circle unlike anything else around. Atop it, seven divots. Each one gently clutching motionless orbs of balled fur—save for two. Most the size of an apple, another a melon. Their delicate placements uninterrupted from the numerous winding growths that surrounded the plateau but dared not intrude.
Not a moment had passed, neither pulse nor breath before the weight of the air grew dense. Though the inexplicable illumination did not waver the feeling of warmth soon waned to nothing, and fresh reverberations became known. The pittering of observers most curious, the excited chittering of those above & below, the rousing warbling of those out of sight, and plenty more. A myriad of unknowns collecting together, but failing to awaken the slumbering forms.
Prologue: [The Awakening]
Bundled as you were, it may have come as no surprise. The ample fleece your form boasted may as well have been delicate whiskers more conscious than your mind. An empty head that did not stir for anything short of danger. Reverberations that did not respect the sanctity of the soul. A feeling unlike any. A rumbling. A calling. A promise from deep below. It was as if the earth itself had whispered for you to wake. Time had not begun until this moment, and would not not last if you did not follow.
Rise and shine.
The empty dark of unconsciousness was not without its perks. It was a form of concentration. A sense of reflection not hindered by any corporal bindings. Answers to questions not asked could be received like melting snowflakes on warm skin. The unknown was not foe, but an offer. A sustained pulse of another not far off. Neither your fellow slumbering brethren nor the inevitable encroaching pittering of prying eyes. Sensitivity was a gift, and it was rewarding you with feeling. Feelings from something very close—very important.
Awake.
Encased in abnormal heat, and at the mercy of something not your own. The presence of the sap around your form was irregular, but your knowing of it even more so. This substance itself was life, and you owed it everything. Yet the importance of escaping it meant the difference between actualization and evanescence. Accept it. Reject it. Escape it. Embrace it. The exact semantics were irrelevant. Your gullet was impeded, and breath neglected.
Awake.
Taste was not something to comprehend so early, but the buzzing within your tongue was telling. Discomfort that spoke of molten steel—metal. Unnatural matter unfit for consumption, yet lingering amidst your puffing maw. A tenderness was visited upon each groove of the beak’s whole, but no mark would ever be found. Afterall, taste was finite, if even real to begin with. With no past, and nothing present, the conclusion would have to wait.
Awake.
Balled fur was the intent, but you seemed set on contesting that. Your precarious situation was not immediately evident during your snooze, but your sensations did not match the others. Heat was not so easily obtained, and an inconsistent chill was received instead. There was no soft grass, only wavering leaves at each side. Your back was insulted by coarse bark while the bulk of your form remained hoisted far above the ground. It was your tail, however, that would prove most troublesome. The end was stuck within one of the many dotted holes within the trees.
Awake.
To sleep before existence is to accept dreams as reality, and reality as dreams. Yet to grasp that, was to understand that truth required the knowledge of truth in order to exist. Your wait was not dark. On the contrary, you were experiencing light at full force. Stars—celestial bodies of simmering gas dotting the heavens with yearning. Existences that were not intended for you, yet stirred a longing much too intimate to release. There could be no greater fulfillment than what you were currently experiencing.
Surely it couldn’t hurt to let the
DREAM
go on…?
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