The Blue Book.
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Begun: October 16th 2015.
Done: not yet.
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Author: thefrozenosviva
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The Isle of Wight, 2017.
Dear Mr. Bookman,
I thank my lucky stars for the life I awoke to, in a world, not so different from yours and yet scarcely the same. Where women and witches, men and monsters led brilliant, perfectly colourful lively lives made up of happy moments and joyous pasts.
But there were also women and witches, men and monsters with narrow-minded, grey lives containing little joy. To me their world seemed grey and dead, but it was their life, they were happy somehow, sometimes. They were meant for so much more, they held too much potential, such a light that they're all terrified of. It's not my job to save them all. It's not. But along the way, on my twisting, treacherous and wonderful route through confusion, loneliness and renewal I did salvage a few.
Because in this world I had what none of the others had, tabula rasa. No influences, no experiences. Truly a clean sheet. This was both what made me disabled and privileged. For a little while, at least. And since I had so few, there was nothing that made me so afraid as a memory lost, a thought trailing off or an emotion falling away. Anyway, this is what I remember.
In my world there are colours you have never seen, colours you can't picture, not even with the wildest imagination. The stars are so close you can feel the heat from them radiate. By your standards I have a hundred suns around me. The moons are big and so near that at night they are all you see. The music I play contains a hundred more tones than any other. When the lightning strike it's so bright that any human who were to witness it would go blind. Before lighting comes thunder which is as loud as the sound of an earthquake. As the clouds pour themselves white again and the rivers flood over you can catch droplets as big as the leaves of maple trees in your hand. Some of the trees grow downwards and there are lakes that are flying, floating, high above. The water isn't water. It's technically radiation. You'd call it light. I must say your form of language is exhilarating but exhausting. The wind that rage in my world would devastate an entire continent in yours. Time is non linear and passes through. Passes. Such a huge and ridiculous word. Time doesn't fly or walk or pass. I'm not saying I understand time, it's more or a friendly visitor that comes during the long sun's nap. See, the suns are with annoyingly irregular intervals dormant and this is when time comes out to play. This is the cause of a friend of yours, gravity. Time and gravity has weird, but consensual relationship where I come from.
Mr. Bookman, the creatures of my world are all extraordinary. I praise no gods or frighten anybody with devils therefore I see the greatness in myself, not a higher power as you have chosen to call it. There, I am the higher power as long as loyalty is upheld and cherished, greed and selfishness shunned, and love worshipped and thanked for. The mountains that run along my coasts, some of them are as close to the nearest moon that the top of it almost touches the great globe above. Seas are infinite and deadly, deep as nothing but exploding with life and beings unknown to all, even me. Love I experience is brilliant, wide and limitless. There is hate and anger, but I wouldn't silence it, bury it, hide it like a wound to fester and spread in the middle of an entire society. No, scream it out loud for all to hear so that it won't build up and sooner or later explode.
I know you want to know where I'm from. How I've come to be here and why I am a part of your life, but you must let it be. I'm not from there or here, but ask yourself, why it matters. Humans have always been my favourite people, there is true beauty amongst cruelty since darkness is common, things that are good are so much more valuable. Stop looking. Stop thinking. Stop asking. Let yourself love me, leave it be. Love is vital, but not crucial, its not the point here. Do you know what the point is? I want to know what they're made of, who they are, and if they'll accept me when they learn what I'm not and what I'm missing.
I know you struggle. You all do. So many moments of struggle, I wonder how you bare it. You're assigned a life, and the lucky ones chose their lives. You are persons, you become this whole thing that no one else knows. So you have your lives and do things and are things and you struggle against all the others who have created something for you to struggle against. You fight it, you break or you run, it doesn't matter which, I'm in no position to judge. Why do you do the things you do? Why bother? In a billion years the sun will die and the things we've made and unmade will be left in darkness. So many years to this moment, why carry on? Why the fuck not just give in? You want to survie? It's biological, you were wired that way to continue the species. But for what? Why do you want to survive? I honestly think it all was a coincidence. I know you all won't be content with that but really, somehow something happened and that's what we call the beginning and somehow something started to live and evolve for some reason. We developed emotions, among them also instincts. Instincts not to trust strangeness, not to fall, to run and to survie. What do we do it all for? There's no point in surviving. So you see I'm conflicted. On one hand I say, give up. On the other I say, it doesn't matter that it doesn't matter. This is one lifetime. You weren't supposed to be here. You just randomly are. Along with millions with other who happened to visit this particular lifetime. And I'm not sorry to say I believe you have just this one. We've created illusions, things and phenomenons around us to make it understandable and neat but really, some events a really long time ago put some other events in motion and well, look at that here you are. Don't be discouraged. We've made evil, whatever that is, your job is to undo it. If nothing else, that's what your lifetime is for, to struggle.
That's it. I'll see you soon.
Kind regards from me
P.S, could you pick up some peaches for me on your way home?
YOU ARE READING
The Blue Book
General FictionYou want to live. You want things. You have ambitions, plans, ideas, and aspirations. No? Liar. Don't say you don't. If you had a choice, a real choice, no tricks, no joke, if you actually had a choice you would always choose life. Unless you're i...
