YOU ARE AN OBJECT

blavox: © Dylan Kitchener

What you owed the world was about the equivalent of what the world had left you with, but of course the world felt differently.

You can imagine Man’s surprise when a booming voice filled the skies, overpowering any preexisting sound, and bellowed the words, “PREPARE FOR THE COMING,” all over the world, all of these languages, the voice translating itself for every ear on earth, seeping into the minds of even those who can’t hear or understand actual words.

In Greece, the word ‘coming’ is many times heard as ‘parousia’, a reference to The Second Coming. The ball gets rolling on the realization that this is a signal of God’s Return. Some point to the fact that the word is also used in reference to something called the Man of Lawlessness, he who might come to claim all that god has created.

It is decided in these desperate times that perhaps we should accept the fact that gods do not write books, even one’s as awesome as the Bible, or the other bibles. Men do write books, though. They get inspired. So this thing coming, this thing you all can feel climbing through the center of the Earth, is probably not God, but the world agrees that this clearly-impossible being who shall soon make itself so, is probably the Creature on Which God Was Based.

You came into prominence when you won a TV game show, a tournament-style guessing game, much like Pyramid. You were somehow able to never make an incorrect guess. Next came your TV Special.

You were 12 years old.

You were ‘the kid who can read minds.’ But it was not magic, you were simply making lucky guesses. If anything, you were ‘the kid with really good luck.’ You made a bunch of money in a short period of time. There was a documentary where you helped correctly solve a missing person’s case. You guessed the outcome of every game in five NFL seasons, and two World Cups, accurately. You honestly did not know how you were doing it. You just were.

It was the one time that you were wrong that you were basically thrown out of the limelight, denied re-entry into the kingdom. The person with the patience to try understanding you no longer found this patience useful. You had abandoned every thing you loved, everyone. It felt more like escape. You wondered why Failure wasn’t considered a mental illness, because you were barely holding onto sanity. How cruel it felt, so many fucking people, and not one of them cares you are here.

It took years, but one day, you woke up, and you just felt better. Like, all better. You walked into the kitchen and smiled at your dog for no reason, and she barked back, and you filled a cup of coffee from the coffee maker. And then the Imploding Voice came, and you knew you were all fucked. You knew you would be fucked most, though. The most fucked.

You got dressed and waited, saw on the News what you knew: the world was coming for you.

‘The Boy Who Could See’ had to save them. What you could do was decided to be some sort of almost ‘radioactive’ effect of The Lord, beneath the Earth.

You had to save them.

You had to be the there when He arrived. They didn’t care how you did it, but you had to make this something that would keep reality understandable for them, had to make it something that would keep their lives recognizable. You had to do this for them.

You did not want to.

You hated them, even the ones that you knew you shouldn’t. The funny thing about isolation is, you feel better almost as soon as it’s over, and so you nobody cares that it ever happened—you’re supposed to just get over it. Authorities show up at your door. You watched their drive over on the television. You agree to let them take you, which they were going to do anyway, they just felt bad and wanted it to seem like you guys agreed on it.

They leave you by the sea, the South Pacific, on a rock quarry. This is where scientists say the trajectory of the rumbling is leading. You didn’t even get to finish putting your jacket on. 

You stand there, your hands in your pockets, staring out into the endless sea. ‘The Earth is flat,’ you think, and smile to yourself. You can feel him charging upward, faster now. The human race watches you via satellite. You just watch the vast stretch of liquid planet before you. You feel a strong longing for those you’ve convinced yourself not to miss, longing for those you’ve stopped allowing yourself to dream of.

When the sense of an earthquake gets to the point where you are frightened of falling into the ocean, He bursts forth from beneath the sea, seeming somehow larger than the planet itself, sending a feeling through your heart much beyond fear. You are stricken by a gargantuan panic that takes your breath away, your body doused in salt water. You do not quite understand what you are seeing—your mind does not truly comprehend the space before you that once looked like the distant sky, but your brain somehow puts it together as an enormous man. It is clearly not, yet…it is not quite clear. It is there and yet it cannot possibly be. It stares down at you. Like it had something to say, but your presence has thrown it off. It thinks perhaps they thought he wanted an offering, which He does not. Then He realizes you probably are here to talk to Him.

You shout, “I’m here to stop you! Basically…I mean…I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I’m just…I don’t know. Going with it.” He looks at you, and you look up at Him, no longer feeling the cold, and you can sense that He is nodding, at you, at your words, as if He knew you were going to say that, and that he ‘gets’ it.

Like He’s basically just winging it as well. You say, “I think they just needed to believe I was special so they could go on thinking there was such a thing.”

And he laughs.

(Source: therealmofdeerblablos)