From: kjc@aramis.rutgers.edu (Kelly J. Cooper) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [MG] Dying, Is an art ... Keywords: In the midst of the battle Message-ID: Date: 2 Jul 93 21:23:16 GMT ADMIN: This happens at about the same "time" as Liralen's [MG] Songs of Joy and Hutch's [MG] InFighting... in time i will collect the world First there was nothing, or at least a kind of blackness, an absence of light that seemed like miles of wet velvet coiled around her but not touching. IT, which was not an IT but a nothing, muffled everything, which probably wasn't anything anyway. Gradually, she became aware of wind blowing and she wondered how long it had been between when the sound had started until she'd noticed. The wind whispered roughly, as if it had been screaming for so long that it had torn or broken its voice. The sound was ragged and cold and seemed to come from everywhere, going nowhere. Deprived of context, her senses began overlapping. She could feel sounds, the sound of the wind sliding through her, but nothing touched her skin. There wasn't anything. She was aware of her body, motionless and suspended, but touching nothing. It occurred to her that they might be moving, and then she wondered who "they" were, and who she was for that matter. At that immediate moment the darkness cracked allowing light to flood in and with it, her memories, tumbling over each other and ricocheting around her mind as the oddly held moment in time moved and became the next moment, and the next and the next and she remembered that there was something inside of Nescie and it was holding her with Nescie's hand in a freezing cold grip that burned. They had moved <> way to somewhere that was a few degrees north of noplace and faced someone (thing?) that was like ... was like ... MAR ... but that also had light spilling through a hole in its (his?) chest. It, (he?) looked confused and ... familiar? Yes. Ah, the security mage who had escorted her out of the Mage Guild. Dieter. With something in his head. The Dieter-thing had killed a waiter; she had blood on her clothes. Blood on her hands. Blood on her face and she was ... loosing some of her grip on ... things. Words. Movements. The blackness A spilled out of Nescie and wrapped around her and she felt tiny stingingsearingrending pains singing through her body as part of things within her snapped and she was lifted again, her wept suspended again, this time by the hand wrapped around her and shrank heart, squeezing it tightly. Pain blossomed and spread smaller still and she felt her body responding, healing, sending hiding and just painkillers through her mind and NO! NO! NONONONO barely holding on TORE RIPPED PAIN SHREDDING SANDPAPER SEARING BURN so unable to under ACROSS HER MIND HER BRAIN ON FIRE CUTTING BLOOD stand the pain that HE'S NOT CAN'T AH I NOTHING NEVER NONONONONO it simply refused and pain so HURTS she couldn't HOLD it rebelled quietly oh so understand it TOUCH it get HOLD OF IT it quietly can't let him see was beyond comprehension beyond BEYOND can't let him know i'm here lost TEARING she RIPPING she CUTTING have to stay quiet and hold on she HURTING she TWISTING let go ... she couldn't escape the pain ... there was nowhere to go ... he was amplifying her agonies and weaving them into his power ... The small part of h er that w as holdin ... the rest of her surrendered to the pain ... g on shud dered, an d hid mor e deeply. ... and she began to see visions ... a boy, she nailed to felt dizzy a tree ... and it spun until it was a card, the hanged man, rope around ... the tree fell ... his ankle, leg crossed, hands nailed to the roots ... an altar bearing a flayed corpse chained to the marble ... blood ran along the channels on the edge to flow through a trough at the base and spill onto the white floor... ...white hands pulled a rough piece of cloth over her eyes and in the darkness, she saw bright points of light, swimming and colliding... ... looping almost lazily ... ... two lights came together and formed a brighter point ... the lights danced ... and the vision resolved itself to fireflys flying in synchronized patterns ... ... the lights came closer (got brighter?) and she could gradually make out beings made of light each paired with a being made of dark (black? darker than nothingness) ... the light fed the dark, making each smaller but more intense ... the dark sucked at the lights, making them dim slightly and move slower ... the pairs danced a slow waltz and she realized she could hear music ... even as she noticed, the music ended and another song began ... the lights switched to a minuet, but the darks resisted, preferring instead to create a mosh pit and slam dance ... the lights began doing interpretational jazz and it occurred to her that she was actually --very slowly, or was it quickly? time had lost relevance-- going mad ... which was, in truth, an amusing thought outside of the insistent pain throughout her body and mind ... she couldn't get away from the pain ... that required separating her conscious mind from her body that was one thing she could never do ... that was why she was what she was ... why she could heal herself ... the eggs and wings of you who fall on butterflies calvary The small part of her consciousness was thinking, frantically shovelling sane thoughts into the vast swirling mass that used to be the rest of her mind. She was failing. Everything she threw disappeared without a ripple. Stopping, she gazed about herself, almost an island in a roiling rainbow sea of everything melting together losing definition carved by pain and horror. She blinked. Within the eye of the storm the image of Jameson that she held inside herself, maintaining her self, sat down and began making butterflies. had you wings of i give my children butterflies butterflies Everywhere her butterflies touched, the blackness and pain recoiled slightly. She began making them faster. * * * The battle raged, sometimes with hits and throws, sometimes in motionless tests of stubborn resolve. In front of Nescie-who-was-MAR, facing outward, Jameson W. Walker stood utterly still, eyes opened as wide as possible, rippling shudders of tormented muscle and bone flowing under her skin where it showed through the tatters of her clothing. Her arms were flung outward, her fingers spread taut. She looked as if she had been caught mid-flight and pinned to a board. There extended from MAR a myriad of what looked like fine black wires, each tipped with a small barb. Most of them were embedded in her flesh, pulling here and easing there as MAR's being undulated. MAR was using her as a shield against a direct attack from Dariel, and abusing her ability to heal herself to keep her alive. While keeping her body from fully healing he was also blocking her endorphins to better amplify her agony and use it as a weapon against those who sought to destroy him. One hand, buried in Jameson's back halfway up Nescie's arm, held her heart, allowing it to beat only when her systems were close to failure. When the Servant of Hope stood before Him, He looked back in disdain. The Other would never kill an innocent, even to destroy one such as Himself. He was caught off-guard when Dariel stepped THROUGH the woman. He felt the burning pain of Hope touching his being where He held her heart and silent white light exploded outward, everywhere, lighting everything. Light spilled out from Jameson's eyes, mouth, fingertips, and torn skin. It ran up his lines, flowed around his feet, crashed over his head. The brightness poured into his being, quickly spreading through him like wildfire. Jameson smiled. He began to scream. --- "Butterflies" is by Toad the Wet Sprocket, track 3 on the album FEAR. Does anybody read any of this? Just curious ... Feedback appreciated. Kelly J. Cooper kjc@cs.rutgers.edu