Untrodden

09. Event Horizon

She.

The furious madness of reckless abandon given form. The insatiable hunger of complacency and bucolic arcadistic dream given flesh. All the absolute and unforgiving grace of nature that wills us to strive for survival in a mud-ridden world. She, whoever she was, whatever she was, was greater. Her presence could not only be seen, but felt, as if the arc of vision thrown by the eyes were also an extension of touch, of hearing, of smell. The sun, even though shinning at its strongest in the middle of the sky, for some reason, somehow, was now under her, beneath her. Her shadow was infinite, a mouth, a maw; eating, consuming all that it touched and painted with dark. Looking at her, at this distance, right now, right when and then, was to gaze to the point in space where perspective was obliged to converge, to collide. Lines of sight were dragged by force so her frame would not deform, so everyone was compelled to look at her on her rightful magnitude. All eyes had to look at her, they had no other option, for she was the inescapable event horizon to which all sight and all light were forced to be dragged upon. People, animals, land, earth. Everything that was, is and will be are now but trails in the cosmic impersonal and indifferent dance of the cosmos. And she was the one who walked.

And she moved, moving, with her, the entire center of the universe. Her face, if she had one, hidden behind a full helmet with darkened visors, gave her an eerie mien, like a forgotten goddess without name. Left behind was her bike, who shone in metal and steel so wicked that it seemed more as a living creature born from the uterus of a billowing volcano. It was harsh, brutish, and bleak. Like the remains of a silent atomic battle camp. But, just as the cruelty of life, it was undeniably beautiful. As its owner walked from it, the bike stood alone, with no other machines daring to approach. It was as if its metal countenance pushed back all other vehicles a mile away.

Step after step, the woman walked. Each step projected a ghost echo that reverberated through all directions, even though they were in a big open space. Air itself was compelled to become walls in order for her stride to be heard in all the valley. Each step resounding, thundering, in the exact needed level to pinch the ears of all who beheld her.

Closer. She was getting closer. Or on the contrary, the world was being dragged towards her. She wore...what she wore? There were clothes, yes. They existed, with colors and fashion that were impossible to mistake for anyone else. But what was it? Gazing upon her seemed like a forced invitation tied with a necessary demand. It was not easy, it was not free to look at her. If was as if all eyes themselfs had to require light if it could lend them the permission to gaze upon that walking force of nature.

But indeed, she bore clothing: brutish yet gentle, spontaneous yet meticulous. A strap shirt so flimsy and worn out that a breeze could tear it apart, and yet it stood the violent movement of her hellish bike. Her bra, visible by the giant thorn whole of a cleavage in her shirt, was equally threadbare, its straps threatening to break at any moment. And yet, it also stood. Her pants, with fluid jeans that clasped around her strong legs, were as worn and thorn as the rest of her attire. And, still, it stood. A jacket made of weak fabric, colored many shades of brown and green, whirled precariously at her shoulders, waving tantalizingly close to be swooped away by the winds. And. Yet. It. Stood.

She. Walked.

Even closer now. Her steps unrelentingly moving forward in her old and discolored shoes, the plastic now so far gone that her socks could be seen peaking from behind. With her arms raising, her hands grabbed around the straps and she pulled down her helmet, freeing from its cage her face. She had one. And eyes. Ravenous eyes. Pure flames of dichromatic sovereignty. One eye was as the darkest bark of the eldest molted tree. One eye was brushed with the brightest blue of the most hidden lake at the bottom of the earth's true watery heart. Together, they blended into a dance of power untamed, conquering everything with but a glance.

And those dancing flames of blue and brown now stood, still, looking at Raymond's absolutely perplexed soul. Up close, she seemed unreal. Like the invisible threads of destiny made apparent to mortal beings. Without her helmet, her hair was now free to roam around, as wild as fancy itself. It rolled over the sharp edges and designs of her face, the stern silhouette of her lips, and rested impishly down the middle of her back, with some locks protruding over her arms like tendrils of a poison loving anemone clad in red and yellow.

How tall was she? He could not say. He dared not think of it. She seemed bigger than life and death. Yet, she was no taller than him. Was she even of the same height? He could not tell. He would not tell! Because he was under her gaze. Her sight. A predator, a creature, a being that exuded absolute strength and demanded absolute loyalty.

He could feel his legs, his arms, his soul trembling. She was about to make a move. The line – the invisible line that marked her territory – was throbbing. Reality was at the brink of a nervous breakdown, anxious to see what its ruler would do forward. Raymond held his breath. And so did all students watching.

And then...the woman smiled.

"So, are you the one who glanced my territory?"

Her voice was not really spoken. It was the tapestry of causality made apparent by the ears and by the hearing institution of the mind. It was law, simple and plain, and one that could not be restrained.

And it was also clean. And soft. And with a raspy taste so enjoyable it defied explanation, like the sandpapery feel of a cat's tongue caressing your childhood dreams. It felt good, and it felt like home. Raymond could not hold back it. He could not hold back a pure and heartfelt smile.

Inside eternal bliss I have my rest

Between bucolic creeds that brood and pore

But this fraternal peace inflames my chest

With this psychotic need to scream and roar

A sound, a music, a poem? He heard it coming from her: not spoken, but projected. As if he could read her being through more ways than light passing through his eyes. Was there more to it? He looked at her smile – her devilish deviously daring smile – and his heart raced uncontrollably...

Inside eternal bliss I have my rest

Between bucolic creeds that brood and pore

But this fraternal peace inflames my chest

With this psychotic need to scream and roar

I want the infernal hiss to scratch my breast

Amidst chaotic bleeds by drums of war

This soft diurnal dis no more I'll nest

Now this demonic breed will free and soar

Down there, the human world goes round and round

Misguided by the lie of heaven's dole

Beside this myth they curl with their dreams drowned

Don't try to fake your worth for when you die

You won't find paradise outside your soul

Happiness lies on earth, not in the sky

He blinked. It was as if time had frozen. How much of it had passed? It felt like ages gone by, and the earth had been already destroyed by a red dying sun. However, everything stood the same. She was still looking at him. Probing. Analyzing. With that unchanging smile. That horrifyingly beautiful smile.

"What's your name?".

She asked.