The Philosopher's Heart - Finish the Fiction #19
I Will Write No More
Prague, 22 September 1994
Dear silent friend,
once again I will force you to bear the tremulous handwriting of this pathetic old man.
Time has yellowed my fingers and your pages in equal measure. But I know you will not complain in finding yourself soiled by my memories once again, after such a long time, after the hiatus of decades of life, spent far away from the ancient leather of your cover. And I hope it did not bother you to try the tickling of my pen again. Not more than three spots of water and ten sheets before this, you still were curiously waiting for the hand of a fourteen-year-old, full of dreams and watercolours.
As I write, the mist rises from Moldova and lingers among the ancient gothic spires, guardians of forgotten secrets, while a pale September sun, as a master of alchemy, transmutes in gold water and heavens.
There is this little kestrel who, for a few days, has been picking on the attic's glass at dusk, while I perform my little preparatory rituals before everything happens like every night. The graceful winged evening’s maid urges me to once again cast my gaze on the hundred towers city, but these eyes will no longer be able to patiently stand on the surface of the mystery.
"I discovered a terrible law that links the green colour, the fifth chord and the heat. I lost the joy of living. Power scares me. I will write no more”. Such were your feelings, Gustavo and I still remember your trembling voice when you confided in me, the last time we met, before the great war swallowed everything and everyone, forcing us to interrupt our occultic studies. Only now that the layers of reality have finally crumbled before my eyes, like a sedimentary stone on the sides of a primordial river, I can grasp the true meaning of your words. The anxious joy of discovery, mixed with the ancestral vertigo of sidereal abysses, has overwhelmed me and continues to overwhelm me every night I leave.
And, just as in the layers of rock are the remains of creatures lost in time, even these levels of reality are not devoid of surprises .. and encounters. By now, I'm sure they saw me, but I cannot help but go back. Of all, I know that the faceless child already waits for me, every time closer, just beyond the threshold. He craves my warmth, my vibration and, this time, I do not know if I will manage to continue playing the game of deceiving him, while I persevere to the end. Certainly, I cannot draw back right now that my human life ends and, at the same time, I’m experimenting one, a hundred, a thousand lives.
Forgive me, dear diary, for having forced you to bear my poor ravings again. Perhaps, we’ll never meet again. The kestrel flew towards the old city. It's time to leave.
The Philosopher's Heart
Light
Heat
So this is what I have long dreamed of in the indistinct darkness between one apparition and another.
The memory is born confused, its beginning is lost in the void. It had always been there, but it took countless apparitions for me to notice, and countless others before recognizing that, although changing in appearance and aura, it was always him.
The apparitions seemed to last longer, but more excruciating was the darkness when he disappeared. Almost unbearable.
The thirst, the thirst... the irrepressible thirst that came up seeing him and that remained, adding itself, every time he was gone. A thirst that became so strong that it almost prevented me from perceiving his.
Is this getting old? We have aged together?
I looking for warmth and body, looking for... life
What is this word? I know it... it comes from before, before of everythng...
I LOOKING FOR LIFE, he... looking for... I do not know...
He tried to quench a thirst like me. More and more strong, I felt it. For this reason he remained more and more, but thirst consumed him, his despair was evident, his strength was perceptibly waning.
There was something that bound us, I know. I see these subtle, yellow things... the colors... the solid feeling under... fingers... I have fingers... another ancient word resurfaced.
I feel his presence in this object, in these subtle and sinuous signs... black... they bring me meanings... my new fingers can reproduce my thoughts here, after his own.
I think I will discover new things from the signs he left in the yellowed things before this... maybe I'll find out his name, maybe I'll find out mine... we were similar.
Perhaps, I will discover the reason for his gift... for his exchange.
Everything is new to me, everything here is so strong and beautiful.
Who knows why he was so sad and eager to leave this wonder behind, to come and probe in the grim darkness, beyond?
Who knows why, after countless apparitions, when we finally reached and touched, he opened the door to me, accepting the exchange?
I wonder if I'll ever see him again…
This is my entry for the week #19 of the awesome contest held by @f3nix: Finish the Story, and earn Steem Basic Income Shares.
More informations about the contest may be found here: https://steemit.com/contest/@f3nix/finish-the-story-contest-week-19
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Excelente continuación, @marco! Muy poética. Saludos
Grazie!
The picture is perfect for your ending...more accurately, your beginning. You went in a positive direction, when darkness seemed inevitable. Nice go.
Thank you! I have a little database of pictures of my travels, and I try to match them with the stories I write years after :P
Ah, I didn't notice that this is your shoot, a very good one.. put "original by the author" below, someone might think it's taken from another database ;-)
I like the way you steadily reveal more and more hints about the nature of the narrator and the apparition. Really well done
Thank you!
This is beautiful Marco! Your switch of perspective, their thirsts, and all of the details in the exchange (love how you focused on the fingers and yellowing) kept me reading on (thirsting for more).
Thank you Brisby! I wanted to show a good side in the entity beyond the portal... and to give a sense of sacrifice to the search done by the old man :)
The portal and the equivalent exchange, excellent Steel Alchemist! You did a great work in representing the entity beyond the portal gaining awareness of its nature and connection with the old man.
Maybe it was lost long ago and forgot every memory of its past life... I learned about Gustavo Rol only after my writing... interesting man he was! But, as you said last week, even if I had recognized the quote, probably I would have taken another path... maybe making the alchemist find Gustavo stuck in a catalepsy after trying to read the absolute void mind of the Tortillas de Pelo. :P
Very nice continuation Marco, good luck today! 👏
Thank you! You didn't participate this time, why?
My girlfriend was on vacation so I was spending time with her. I almost did one this morning but I ended up having to leave.
Ok, then! Spending time with your gf is priceless! We'll read your entry for the next week 😉
This was a brilliant idea and very well executed. I like how the reader gets to gradually figure out about the exchange. Very well done!
Thank you very much!
Great entry marcoriccardi. I love the way you get deep inside the mind of the narrator placing us as readers firmly inside his/her head.
It is interesting how you have tried to describe someone between forms, lost in incorporate body-less mess, yet as I said above we are their in the mind of this person. Great stuff :-)
I put some effort in thinking about how the "facelss child" could write in a page of diary, thank you for your appreciation!
Just stopping by with a little thank you for all you do for the Freewrite House
I wish I could do more!