My World - Chapter One - Ground

This is my prison; I was born here. For what, I don't know. Raised by machines in a stone castle vast and unforeseen, an empty binding to the cosmos indifferent, they have fed me, clothed me, washed me, and nursed me. Not people, not sentient in any morbid sense of the word, for they are not alive, and yet intelligent enough to know they are not alive, but that they are hollow men not quite so different from me; they see the world not through consciousness but through hard, floating numbers that govern their actions that they don't know they make. Emotionless faces, hollow eyes—that is who they are. They are not sentient in any morbid sense of the word, but I yearn to join them, for they are all that I know, and I envy their satisfaction. Yes, these are the machines that raised me in a world void of others like me, a world made of stone, marble, and mud.

"Where am I?" I would ask them, and they would reply, "Nowhere."

"Where is nowhere?" I would ask them, and they would reply, "Everywhere."

So, by and by, my questions turned to mediocrity and I raised life into my own flock, for otherwise, it leads me where I know not. And yet through ignorance, my curiosity returned, and I asked, "Why did you give me speech if you don't want me to use it?"

And so they’d answer, "We didn't give you speech, for it was within you, given by your parents and their parents before them, and we have merely brought out in you what you cannot bring out in yourself."

"Who are my parents, then, and from whence did they bring me?"

"They are dead, and they brought you from the dead, so that you will live, to someday return to death."

I didn't understand this, and so as I grew older, I began to explore. This was good, for before long I discovered that my home was large beyond comprehension, with overgrown thickets, vast carpeted rooms connected by empty corridors and hallways, and abandoned mine shafts lit by cracked bulbs in the stone ceiling. An abandoned bastion, made of dusty marble and rusting metal, supported by broken rock that threatened to crumble at any moment. I found room after room, chamber after chamber, opening after opening, all connecting in a vast labyrinth that was this castle. I found bugs crawling on the torn carpets, nesting and breeding in a constant state of rebellion against the arid loneliness pervading their home. I found machines, not like the ones that fostered me, but even stranger, like mechanical boxes the size of entire rooms, purring all day long in a strange language I couldn't understand, imploring each other to do strange things I didn't want to understand. Whenever I'd approach them,  their workings would go silent, waiting patiently for me to leave so that they could start back up again. Once one of them even grabbed me with its wires, and strangled me in a grid tight like iron, clutching me so tight my neck would be red for weeks—when I finally wrestled myself free, I vowed never to approach the things again. Later I'd convince myself that I'd imagined the whole experience, but I knew in the dark recesses of my minds that it must be true. Nevertheless, from then on, I stayed away from that part of the castle. I moved on, only to find even more unanswered questions—elaborate astrolabes, broken timepieces, stark needles covered with what I could only hope was rust. I tried to ignore what I didn’t want to remember.

But it was not all darkness. One of my favorite rooms was the library, with thousands of dusty books resting on colossal shelves that stretched upward into the sky, surrounding me with sweet, sweet knowledge. It was here I learned it was the sun, not the earth, that was the center of the solar system, as the machines had previously taught me. I learned of the arts and the sciences, and read of tales from times long gone, times when there were no machines, and the world was populated with real people. And yet not a single text I came across told me anything about this place, and what it was. Once I came so close—a text from a millennia-old manuscript talked of a dead castle made of marble, one that bore an eerie resemblance to my home. This was a holy manuscript, and one that had born much meaning to the people that once lived in this land. It spoke of God, and Jesus, and sin—but what good was this to me? It was the stuff of fantasy and fiction, not the stark, harsh reality I confronted. A curdled mystery, and all I had for answers were the machines.

But the machines were no better. I didn't trust them anymore. Whenever I confronted them, they'd do nothing but posit nonsensical answers. Nothing they said made sense. Was I simply stupid? Possible. Only when I asked them about the mechanical boxes did they show any emotion at all, warning me that if I inquired further into their purpose I might just find out. I knew now that the machines had a dark side, so I relented. I didn't mind death, but I couldn't bear leaving this world before I had my answers. No, I must find my answers.

Days passed, then weeks, then years. Centuries might have gone by, and I would have been indifferent. Each hour of exploration brought me absolutely nothing other than questions. Where did I come from? Where did the machines come from? Why was there a forest at the edge of the castle? And why was it so silent? Forests are supposed to be teeming with life, and yet aside from the occasional insect, there was nothing to be found there except trees. And why was it that whenever I tried to venture beyond the forest, I somehow always ended up going in a circle? I knew the world was round, but surely it couldn't have been so small. Could it? I doubted the machines now. They never had my trust, but now they had my suspicion. Why must they lie to me? Was it normal? Once I stayed out there for a whole week, determined to find something interesting if it meant the end of me. I let the mud collect in my boots and the sweat drain from my face. I let hunger starve my body for days if only it'd rouse some answers.

Nothing.

So I made my way back to the castle and washed the dirt off my face. My footsteps echoed off the marble floor, echoed my emptiness. Was this it? Was this the fate I'd been condemned to? Maybe. But I mustn't accept it, must I? Maybe.

I returned to the library to marvel once more at its size. I could barely see the end of it when standing at the door. But there was nothing left here for me now. I'd read every book, every scroll, every letter that graced even the highest shelf. I'd climbed the ladders and scaled the walls, all to obtain that sweet, sweet knowledge. For what? So unsatisfying. I strode inside and collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. My legs ached with pain, and yet there were no chairs here, only books. I'd done all my reading on the icy marble floor, never even thinking to bring a seat from elsewhere. Maybe it was a symbolic thing. I didn't even care anymore.

I closed my eyes. The darkness was welcome; loved, even. I had nothing but love for oblivion, but the void did not contain myself, it contained the machines, and I wanted nothing but to be free. And yet was there even any point? If I did find the truth, the reason, the answers, will I then finally be happy? Perhaps the human experience was built not on satisfaction, but on the mindless pursuit of one obsession after another, curling down a spiraling fractal that never found itself. But how would I know? I was nothing but a single human alone in the world. Perhaps my insanity had finally caught up to me. Perhaps this was all but a nasty dream.

"Human."

I jumped to my feet, startled. At the door stood one of the machines; steel muscle, silicon mind. His name was Shard, and he was the greatest of them all. Powerful in strength, but that was not his skill—it was his intelligence the others feared. Why? I don’t know. But fear is in the same in all minds both man and machine. "Yes?"

"Walk," he told me, his red eyes flickering. I noticed now that they were cracked. His entire body seemed broken, actually, and covered in what appeared to be rust, or perhaps blood. They very same substance that had covered the needles. Strange. Frowning, I slowly walked towards him, careful not to make any sudden moves. Shard was known for intermittent violence. "Yes?"

Shard stared at me, his metal face unmoving. Clasped in his hand was a loaded pistol. My eyes widened, and yet I still stepped forward, drawn as if by some ephemeral compulsion.

"Shard, no—please—"

Shard smiled, and his smile broke me. I had never seen the machines smile. "Follow me, human. I have something beautiful to show you."

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Boy, this is probably the most experimental any one of my work has ever been. If you're curious, this was inspired by one of HP Lovecraft's short stories, which you can find here: http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/o.aspx. Of course, this piece is incomplete—the beginning to a longer story I'll be working on over a larger time scale. The reason I don't put out fiction as much as I like to is usually because I like to take my time with it, to stew over every word, puzzle over every phrase, and piece together a narrative like a child pieces together his playtime, with a loving care to every detail. That said, this particular tale doesn't have much left in it, which might surprise you. So many questions still to answer! And some to not. A truly great mystery leaves something to the reader, for them to puzzle over and figure out on their own, even if that something is small and insignificant. I suppose we'll see. Until then, let me know how you liked this. I'd love your feedback. Thanks for reading!