1000 YEARS - Book 1 - Awakening

1. Awakening*

Blackness.
Blackness. And silence. Timeless.

Suddenly a spark. A tiny fleck of light.
Then blackness again. And silence.
Another spark. Brighter now.
And blackness returns.

Flashes appear, in wider clusters, like distant fireworks. The cycles repeat; each event growing brighter, more luminous. Then a blinding flash crashes through the darkness — and stillness returns.
But there is something else now, in the distance. A thumping. Rhythmic.
Like a long-forgotten melody it transcends the stillness.
And there is a gentle whistling. Also rhythmic. Closer by.
No sense of the passage of time. — And beyond the steady rhythmic sounds, there is always the return to blackness.

The visuals become more frequent, more intense. Colors and shapes smear with motion, with sounds in the background as impressions flash in and out. And then fade back to darkness.
Into the black void other sounds intrude, muffled intonations echoing in an infinite tunnel, sometimes close, other times more distant.
New sensations.
Warmth. Reaching into the dark.
And more distinct chattering.
And always periods of stillness, of solitude, of calm.

Then the sensations are back. The warmth.
Accompanied by a peculiar, slow buildup of tension followed by a sudden, soothing release.
And always chattering out there, somewhere.
The cycles repeat. Indistinguishable. Indefinite. Comfortable. Timeless.

Another cycle starts. Another cycle of warmth, of buildup of tension and of release.
But something is different.
At the end of the cycle, instead of mollifying calm with distant chatter, there is another source of sound, deep and rumbling.
The warmth resumes.
More differentiated and far more intense than anything prior. It begins up close and travels, very slowly travels, migrating around planes of intense sensation, tingling, and enticing.
The deep rumbling murmurs close by, penetrating the silence, drawing attention, coaxing.
The warmth searches, and gains purchase in areas where sensations are strongest, — titillating, arousing, inflaming.

There is buildup of tension unlike any before.
A feeling of invasive pressure, deep within, moving and assailing. And the periodic deep rumbling that beckons and cajoles.
Pressure mounts and tension increases to the nearly unbearable, but just prior to the moment of release the warmth stops moving, and tension ebbs — but not for long.
Inside, the rhythmic drumming much faster than usual is reaching a frenetic pitch.
The taunting resumes, pulling on awareness, and the occasional deep rumblings, sumptuous and velvety, demand focus.

As the stimulation continues mercilessly, the hissing noises elevate to a staccato, hitching on something internal that gives, ripping unearthly sounds from within, ragged and involuntary. Tension ratchets up to the insufferable pinnacle and the deep rumbling, like rolling thunder, very nearby, coos something.
Then finally. Finally, the fall over the cliff — a violent convulsive release which tremors on for a long while, drowning out all other perceptions.

Silence had returned after the onslaught of sensations, and the chatter and deep rumble had vanished. Yet something had remained of the deep rolling thunder. — A wisp of awareness floating in a dense fog. It was trying to emerge, clawing its way through a thick haze. Approaching, dark and ominous — until at last it reached cognizance, "Will... she... remember...?"
Other words had tried to pierce the veil, but they had never quite broken through.
Sleep had taken over.

— ~ — ~ —

DAY 1:
The light had felt uncomfortable, at first, through the closed eyelids. Chatter had returned, clear voices like children's, moving about nearby. And the effort to lift the eyelids had felt exhaustive. It had required several attempts to accomplish.
Then they were there, two female faces, hovering right above, both holding a most peculiar, beatific smile.