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Chapter 31
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Fleeing, falling, drowning in the dark.
Light reflecting on silver, muted in the hollow of the void. Soon, the light fades, and there is no more. Tumble further, stumble further, reach out and plummet towards what is reached for… The ground? A solace in the night? A dream, a memory, or maybe waking from a dream?
A cold whisper. Ahh, the memory of a friend. But now it feels so distance, yes? So hard to discern the words stated… Or who stated them to begin with. Were they ever stated? Did words ever exist, or was it simply a faulty memory?
We must not have any of that. There must be something more tangible here, something to grasp, to hold, as the darkness grows darker still. Tomorrow will never come if today does not become yesterday. Otherwise the time does not cross, the date does not change, tomorrow never comes.
But tomorrow must come.
So the details must be found. Today must become yesterday, if tomorrow is ever to be today. And tomorrow cannot be yesterday until it has been today. It’s very picky about this sort of thing, see, and it needs that sort of solace. ‘How come I have to be yesterday? Can’t I just stay tomorrow forever?’ Ah, but if that were to occur, there’d never be an end to today! We need you, tomorrow. We all depend on your arrival.
Distractions, distractions. They all pull from the matter at hand. Can anything be remembered? Do any fleeting glimpses of memory exist? Any-
Oh, here comes something. Yes, a face - a face with a name! What was that name? It escapes, doesn’t it? Ahh, so close, so close to recollection and now it is gone! And the face leaves with it. Or was there ever a face? No, no, just a conjuration of what a face might look like or a name might sound. Nothing tangible.
It is beginning to appear as if nothing can be recalled - or that nothing may have ever been! Which means there are no memories to pull from. Is there nothing to be recalled? The first time something happened, perhaps, from the very beginning.
Do you remember your first word?
Perhaps, if that comes readily to mind, do you remember your first breath? The first sensation of being you felt, drifting through your consciousness? You existed before, no doubt, but the consideration of the fact - you were alive, beyond any possible doubt - did not enter your mind until with your very own lungs, you took in the world around you.
Well, You knew now about being alive, regardless. Had You been before? possibly, even likely. Otherwise You might not have known how to walk as You slowly stood. You had been created with a body - who was the creator? This particular indication seemed obvious at first given the fact that You existed, but the questions it brought about were so concerning. Who made You? Why had You been made? Was there any specific purpose, or was it the whim of some fanciful craftsman, bored by the inane rigamarole of daily being?
What seemed infinitely more important, however, was that You instantly discerned the audible frequency of some repeatedly scraping motion coming from nearby. What was worse, it seemed to match every thought, as if You spoke the words audibly and the sound matched every syllable. Undoubtedly this could not be a someone who was listening to those thoughts, as last You checked, those thoughts stayed inside the head and could not be detected.
Wait a moment. The noise muffled slightly. There was a tapping sound, which seemed to speak indecision. Then, there was a terrible crawling sound, as if some centipede was wriggling inside the ear canal, and the Chronicler appeared.
“Hello.” Said the Chronicler.
“Hello.” You said.
“I would greatly appreciate it if you described my appearance, but before any of that can happen-” He eyed You up and down a couple of times. “May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the one to whom I am speaking?”
You thought for a moment.
“Tomorrow.” You replied. “My name is Tomorrow.”
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Correctamundo!
Ooh, this ain’t it, chief.
