The Book of Logic

Deleted scene from Eraserhead.

3 Likes

Chapter 6

The tiny trickle of water You had been following grew from a weak stream into a massive river, flowing with increased strength and defiance. Multiple times You looked up at the Sun, reminiscing over the prior argument, and once while doing this You almost fell in the river, which scored you a small lecture from the Chronicler about absent-mindedness and how water was likely one of the most evil substances in the universe, despite how docile and not evil-looking it was.

“Water can erode a canyon in only days. A steady flow will turn a tiny trickle into a yard-wide creek in months. Water always destroys.” The Chronicler insisted as You continued following the river. “And I know what you’re going to say, that plants need water and animals need water, but so far YOU haven’t needed water for anything you’ve done, have you?”

You handed the flower to the Chronicler. He glared down at it as it lay in his hand, its bright, yellow color beaming out of the black pit in which it had been set. Not too much pollen; someone might be allergic.

“You have a good heart.” The Chronicler sighed, his weary eyes following the flower as he tossed it into the stream. “But you must be a little more cautious as you go about your doings. The world is inherently dangerous, and you can’t… Just… Try to be a little more careful, all right?”

“I could envision the river being gone entirely.” You suggested.

“No.” The Chronicler immediately replied, breaking eye contact with You. “Then you would never hear the rain’s song.”

You felt the first drop of rain hit the Arm. More and more kept landing all around as you walked, until You stood right in the middle of a torrential downpour. The Chronicler was shielding himself with his arms and glaring at You with a worried expression.

“Listen and hear.” The Chronicler mumbled, deliberately floating in front of the path.

Tra-ooo, Tra-ooo

That once I was living is true, is true
But then vile concepts began to stew
The mirth and the merriment fled away
And shadows crept 'round, and dark was day
And I was alone.

The future was mine to control, control
And cages constructed, they could not hold
My passion and fury destroyed these bars
And then I could reach out beyond the stars
And I was alone.

I told my sweet tale to the Sun, the Sun
And whispered my dreams to the silent Moon
The Sun did rebell, but the Moon stood still
And in its reflection I saw with a thrill
That I was alone.

The rain that is falling is from my tears
And it will keep falling for many years
The prison around me I built so strong
And all of my sorrow is poured out in song

Yet I was not wrong in my vicious flight
But my newest prison is ever tight
I cannot look elsewhere except the sky
The pale, eerie moon reveals that I

That I am alone.

Tra-ooo, Tra-ooo

The Chronicler silently swept out of the way, revealing an ominous shadow cloaked by the rain. “The Rain’s Song.” He mused, floating towards it and beckoning You to follow. “The first to fall. Brought the Sun down in all its might, but could not free itself.”

You approached the dreadful silhouette, and it was an impressive sight. A heavily armored figure, clutching chains of numerous sizes in one hand, and the other hand held out in salutation. But the armor was empty, and frozen with rust from the rain.

“Several stories were written before yours. This was the first challenge, and so many failed. When the rain brought down the Sun, the rain went beyond outside help, trapped in a prison constructed in an attempt to be free. Now the only way that prison will falter and fail is if the rain descends… Or the song ends.”

You stared at the powerful statue as The Chronicler proceeded onward, something akin to pity dancing somewhere in those conflicting, jumbled Thoughts. If there was nothing more to do, there was no reason to remain. It was up to the rain what happened next.

“Is that why we’re on this journey?” You spoke up, following the floating Chronicler as he scribbled the words You spoke and the thoughts you had instead of actually listening. “To help those who have jeopardized themselves? And if all the other stories ended here… Have those beyond this point never been reached?”

The Chronicler slowed for a moment and scratched what you still assumed was a chin, with a slightly mischevious air. He glanced at what he was writing, he realized he would have to say it.

“Right as rain.”

You gave a slight glare as The Chronicler chuckled noiselessly at his own humorous endeavor. “Well, well, we won’t gain anything by adding our tears to the pool! This is the river’s source, so our path forward will be based on wherever we can find footing. What do You see as the path forward?”

You looked, and saw nothing.

The Chronicler rubbed the base of one of his palms into what could be considered a forehead while closing his eyes and squinting their lids. Hard. “This is the part in which you envision a way forward. Who we meet and how we progress is up to you now. So… Go ahead. Do it.”

The Chronicler made a sort of shooing motion with one pair of his hands and glanced at You lazily. You reached out and took hold of the doorknob, turning it and swinging the door open.

“Simple enough, and clever enough.” The Chronicler nodded, glancing inside. “After you. Don’t worry about the size of the door; I’ll fit.”

So You proceeded, The Chronicler inexplicably worming his way through the doorway as if he had been designed for just such a purpose. As he closed it after You, there suddenly appeared a suspicion that someone was following You. Looking towards the Chronicler for some solace, he refused to return the glance, but silently laid a hand on the shoulder.

No, no, the other one - the Left one.


“If ignorant both of your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril.”
― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

8 Likes

don’t quite get it, but that was scary because I envisioned it on the right shoulder

2 Likes

ugh reread the entire story to get the callbacks ugh ugh ugh

1 Like

I’m not literate, remember?

1 Like

go read dick and jane until you can

that’s too basic a level of reading for me. I prefer Ramona personally.

2 Likes

Maybe you would prefer One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

3 Likes

Chapter 7

The road ahead was dark, and all thoughts pointed sharply at the unknown. It glared out from the void, beckoning You to step blindly in and meet whatever sinister fate awaited this naive traveler and the ominous recorder who seemed to know a great deal more than he let on, and only he know the exact purpose of heading down this lightless path illuminated only by the beacons of vision echoing out of the Chronicler’s head.

“And spoil the story?” The Chronicler mumbled, focusing more on his writing than engaging in conversation. “You know, you have a very nasty habit of wanting things to be over with quickly. Is not half of the journey in and of itself the excitement of what comes next?”

“Yes,” You said, “But it feels like we’ve been walking in the darkness for twenty three days without anything occurring. That’s an awful long time to be indefinitely curious.”

There was something akin to a groan which climbed its way from the tip of the Chronicler’s form out to the location in which a mouth would be. “I grant that only because there has been nothing to write, and the story thus far has been increasingly dull. So here we are, and while jumping this forward a little might mess up the arrangement of a couple of events… Well, hopefully you’ll stop complaining.”

The area was lifeless and dull, with the sandy ground a hue of greenish grey and the sky above dripping with shadow. Ominous walls rose in every direction, seemingly constructed out of stone hewn in precise angles, blocking off any view outside of the granite prison while still appearing open and inviting. And in the middle of this highway was a small pile of dirt, stones, metal, and other commonplace materials generally considered worthless, save a metal pole stabbed into the center of it with a frightful bend in its frame.

You approached with caution, unsure what to make of this development. The Chronicler rose slowly as he traveled forward, eyes darting about in every direction as if anticipating some unseen force which would spring from its hiding place.

“Hello.” Said the pole.

“Hello.” You replied.

“I don’t suppose you came all this way just to speak with me?” The pole questioned, emitting an aura of curiosity which seemed rather beyond the scope of capability for a steel pole.

“I’m not sure. It wasn’t my intent, no.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to speak to anyone, regardless of intent.” The pole responded. “It’s so awfully dark here. There is light, but only with which to see. The land is hopelessly dark and unkind with no indicator of future compassion, and the sky is dead with this sort of creeping death which swallows you up in its terror.”

You looked up at the Chronicler, only now noticing his new position. These sort of descriptions had been plentiful and prolific; when was there going to be some greater description which was slightly more sympathetic towards its audience?

“Do you know what I am?” The pole asked.

“A pole.” You replied.

“Quite an immediate declaration, is it not? And yet I am more than just a metal pole.” The pole beamed. “I am the part of a car with which it cannot move forward. I hold the wheels to the chassis and support the entire weight of the vehicle.”

“Then what bent you?” You questioned, slightly motioning with the Head towards the middle of what portion of the pole was visible.

The pole reacted in a strange way, making all sort of half-word noises and gasps as if continuously surprised. “That is an explanation! One day I awoke and the world was tilted. I thought that it was simply the way things decided to be. I even began to question if they ever had been different before, but now-! Yes, yes this makes absolute sense!”

“You were bent without knowing it?” You asked.

“Somehow, yes. And to think this whole time I was attempting to rack my brain around how the world could tilt! It’s incredibly impressive that I could be so stupid.”

“Are you su-”

“I AM BEING SARCASTIC.” The beam growled. “What, you immediately end my silent reverie and provide me with meaningful discussion only to immediately point out the crippling flaw which ends my function? Am I supposed to be pleased that the first thing you notice is how incapable I am of fulfilling my purpose in being? Well, THANKS. I’m THRILLED to have spoken with you and your attention span, PLEASE leave me to wallow in my own disgust and don’t you ever think of talking to me again.”

To describe the sudden tirade as startling would be inadequate. Here You had expected to hear a detailed description of the woes of this poor metal pole, and instead he flew off the handle at You for noticing the incredibly obvious physical flaw he possessed. And yet to accept his request and abandon him to wallow in self pity and spiteful vitriol would be a disservice to him - so far, assisting others was the only goal You possessed.

“What car-”

“DID I ASK YOU TO SPEAK AGAIN?!” The pole hissed. “No. No I didn’t. I did not. I actually asked you to not speak again. And here you are. Defying my wishes.”

You hesitated again, trying to determine what way to approach the situation. After a moment of silent thought, you began circling the pole, the Hands folded behind the Back, making quizzical glances at the pole for any indicator of his origin.

“What is this. What are you doing?” The pole immediately protested, glaring out of nonexistent eyes at this strange behavior. “HEY! Are you listening? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“I’m not supposed to talk, so I’ll find out on my own.” You responded politely, still inspecting the pole as the subject of your investigation grew angry with this roundabout way of getting an answer from him. And yet, he knew he would either have to relent or endure this sort of nonsense indefinitely.

“Fine. What?” He snapped.

“What car did you come from?”

The pole seemed irritated, but at this point it seemed like his only emotion. “A 2003 Ford E-350 Super Duty. I am the rear axle. Is that enough for you?”

“And the bend?”

There was a strange metallic groaning sound. “I’m not talking about that ever. You’re just going to have to live in eternal doubt and confusion and ponder the peculiar occurrence of my malformed form until you drop dead, with my blessing. Now go away- HEY!!”

While the axle was speaking, the metal groaning sound repeated, and looking up You observed the Chronicler furiously attempting to restrain what appeared to be a whirling pair of drapes, spinning about in dramatic fashion to avoid the complex grip of the recorder. When the topic shifted to how You would carry the thoughtless wonder of the axle’s imperfection to the grave, the strangle object lashed out, sending the Chronicler flailing through the air, half of his arms dedicated to writing properly and the other half trying to minimize the impact. The cloth stopped its rotation and a pair of sinister eyes beamed downwards.

Right as the descriptive automotive part was trying to tell You to vacate the area, You bolted to the top of the pile and tugged on the axle with as much strength as could be mustered. “HEY!! Knock it off, you- Stop! I SAID-”

The axle came loose from its place in the ground just as the massive figure plummeted towards where it had once been. You tumbled backwards in time to avoid a nasty impact, and the figure rose to its full height. Wrapped in heavy layers of red cloth, which contorted themselves around into a facsimile of-

“Chronicler?!” You exclaimed. The actual Chronicler chose that moment to rush back in, slamming into the artificial recorder and attempting a grapple. But the artificial Chronicler deftly unwrapped its limbs and rewrapped them around the attacking hands, threatening to bend the limbs backwards as it twisted him about, ƒօɾçìղց հìʍ էօ Ӏҽէ ցօ օƒ էհҽ աɾìէìղց էąҍӀҽէ. ហօա ìէ աąʂ ìղ էհҽ հąղժʂ օƒ էհҽ ɾҽąӀ, էհҽ էɾմҽ, էհҽ ʂօ ìղçɾҽժìҍӀվ ìղէҽӀӀìցҽղէ ↻հɾօղìçӀҽɾ, ահօ աąʂ ʂօ ʍմçհ ʂʍąɾէҽɾ ąղժ ʍօɾҽ çąքąҍӀҽ էհąղ էհҽ օէհҽɾ ìժìօէ քҽօքӀҽ ահօ աҽɾҽ ʂօ ժմʍҍ. Ӌօմ çօմӀժ ղօէ հҽӀք ҍմէ քɾąìʂҽ էհìʂ ɾҽժ-çӀąժ ʍąҽʂէɾօ օƒ Ӏìէҽɾąէմɾҽ ƒօɾ հìʂ ҽӀօզմҽղէ ʂքҽҽçհ ąղժ ƒӀąաӀҽʂʂ çօʍքօʂմɾҽ ահҽղ աɾìէì

You pulled yourself off the ground as the Chronicler rubbed the knuckles of the hand with which he slugged the fabric fabricator, causing him to collapse in a crinkled pile. “True authors have skill, not egos.” He huffed, glaring at the horrible writing in his ledger. “You have horrible fine motor control. Probably because you’re a carpet.”

The cloth pile began to whimper in a strange, high-pitched squeal, before lashing out with sudden and violent speed. In a moment it had constricted itself around You, covering every limb entirely with a suffocating layer of fabric. Even with this heavy material smothering you, you could still see the blinding green glow which had appeared the moment the cloth darted. The axle fell to the ground as the Chronicler tore at the cloth, trying in vain to rip it off of You.

And then the cloth wove around your neck, and contracted. There was a snap.

And there was darkness.


“If quick, I survive.
If not quick, I am lost.
This is ‘death.’”

― Sun Tzu , The Art Of War

9 Likes

Chapter 8

You tried to move.

But move what, exactly?

You could not see the hands or the legs or the arms. You could not see or feel anything except cold. All other sensory inputs were completely gone. What happened? What exactly had occurred?

Ah, that is correct. You died.


If there is any hope in a return, could it not be now? Now when the hour of hope is at its darkest, you reach out into the cold and find what must be there.


After all…


If you exist, you aren’t alone.


Right?

No.


If You had died, the story would be over. You couldn’t have died, since You could think and feel; You could consciously determine logical results. The story was far from over, far from over indeed.


“Hello!” A voice called from beyond the darkness. It was childlike and peppy, but had enough maturity in it to imply age greater than what was perceived.


“Hello?” You responded.


“Hello!” The voice said again, much nearer this time. “Are you a Was?”


Well, this was going to be interesting. “I don’t know what a ‘Was’ is.” You replied. “Who or what are you?”


“No, no!” The voice protested. “I’m not a Who or a You! I’m a To Be! I can’t be a Was or a Who or a You because I haven’t been. I’m a To Be. But now, now that I can hear you better, I know you are a You and a Was. What role did you have?” The voice got closer, eagerly anticipating the response. “Did you meet the hero?”


“Who’s the hero?” You responded quizzically, wondering how on earth this fit any logical definition of a sane conversation.


“The protagonist!” the To Be chimed. “The hero of the story! The one who follows the hero’s journey - the initial triumph, the mentor, the setback, the prevailing, the fall - I think we’re far enough along now that the fall must be taking place. What happened up there? Did the hero lose a loved one ? Or-” The voice gasped suddenly. “Was it YOU?? Did the hero lose You, his best friend??”


If You had a neck, you would be retracting it further and further into the darkness as the voice seemed to pound down on You with questions. “No, the story is about me. I guess I am the hero.”


“Hello?” You called into the nothingness. The voice had gone silent, and returned in a feeble whisper.


“This can’t be right. It can’t.” The voice whimpered. “You’re the hero, you can’t end up here. This is no place for the living.”


“Where is this place?” You asked.


“Between the lines.” The voice answered. “Where those yet to be and those who have been rest, some anticipating their arrivals and others finally bidding the page goodbye. But you’re the hero.” The voice grew shaky, almost verbally entering the fetal position. “You can’t die. You’re everything the rest of the story lives for.”


You thought for a moment.


“But this is the story.”


“What?” The voice replied, startled. “How can this-”


“Because I can still think and see.” You continued. “Because I know somewhere the Chronicler is writing these words, even if he himself can’t read them. You can’t think, perceive, contemplate, or react unless you yourself exist. I don’t know how you’re speaking without a mouth - or how I am, if I’m being honest - but we wouldn’t be having conversation; we wouldn’t be discussing our disagreement if the story was over.”


The voice had been inhaling gasps of varying levels of realization and excitement this entire time. “It’s not over?” The voice gasped a couple more times. “THIS is the fall! That means… I’m about To Be! Oh, joyous day, I’m about to live!


You chuckled at the theoretical sight of this unseen figure bouncing up and down with glee at the concept of existing. “But You!” The voice ceased its merriment. “You’ve regained confidence and are surely going to return soon. I don’t know what I’ll be like when I- when I exist, or if I’ll even remember our conversation here. But I can’t thank you enough! I got to meet the Hero of the story before meeting the Hero of the story.”


“I’m not the only hero.” You beamed. “Maybe you’ll be one too.”


Inarticulate reactionary sounds of joy bubbled from the void and eventually calmed into silence. You could feel the darkness loosening its grip - soon you would return.


“Hero.” The voice, meek and small, peeped from the blackness. “What does… Before you go, what is living like? Is it truly worth the pain, the inevitability of death? Is living worth living for?”


You thought for a moment.


“The Chronicler taught me the value of life when I tried to bend the rules.” You softly replied. “He quoted my own story. ‘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.’ He saw only a sliver of life through me, and it meant the world to him.”


“I think you’ll enjoy it.”


“The only chance of life lies in giving up all hope of it”
― Sun Tzu, The Art Of War

7 Likes

WOW I AM LAZY.

…Erhm, anyway, Book of Logic is back! I highly recommend reading it from the beginning to catch up to speed. Also, yes, this is a full chapter, and not just a white void, I promise.

Things’ll get fun from here on, so stay tuned.

5 Likes

My time has come

so Having the whole story taking place in what I have creatively dubbed “The Phantom Text” is ingenious. And it’s always interesting to see how authors describe what death is like, for some it’s an small black void and for others it’s an infinite expanse of never before seen colors. I’ve got to say that you’ve nailed it this chapter, the dialogue is clear and doesn’t over stay its welcome. Overall this is one of the best chapters yet and I’m looking forward to more

1 Like

Metal Gear Solid V
the phantom text

1 Like

Although I liked the cryptic description of the wrecked car at the bottom of a quarry, this chapter is my favourite now.

Enter the hero!

2 Likes

Chapter 9

Slowly from the depths of the sea of white, You emerged.

The fabric of the paper tore away from You as You rocketed towards the surface, fiber and ink giving way as the hero of the story returned to its pages.

This unseen fate, the demise of the hero, would have to be rectified. This unseen threat would need to be dealt with.

Perhaps… Some assistance would help. Someone would need to step up to the plate and assist.

It was finally time for a To Be… To have been.

Tearing through the cloth, You looked up from the ground. The Chronicler was viciously beating a mechanical man with the talking axle, who was complaining about every swing. The mechanical man had a blinding green light emerging from his forehead, which had dimmed slightly due to the ferocity of the Chronicler’s attacks, and the aggressor was unaware that his writing hand, which had been writing inkless words for a few minutes now, was now writing in legible ink.

The screaming axle finally got the message across - that You lived once again - and the Chronicler, pausing briefly to confirm he was writing natural words again, whirled around in shock. The mechanical man was sparking and shuddering, unaware how to respond. You stood, defiantly, and raising the Hand You snapped the Fingers.

There was a deep and ominous rumbling sound, and the ground beneath the ruined vehicle tore open with a slow, grinding noise. From beneath the rubble a monstrous contraption sprung, crawling out of the ground like some unseen force was guiding its path. When it reached its destination, firmly planted on the ground, You could finally see what You had summoned to assist: a massive machine, with complex wiring, detailed controls, and on the side what appeared to be a large metal beam. The name for such a weapon appeared suddenly in the Mind: Railgun.

Looking down, You reached out to the side and pulled at the coat. It flew across the Shoulders as You slid the Arms through the sleeves. It was bright red, just like the trousers the Chronicler had gifted you so long ago. The massive machine beckoned for you to rise to its controls.

“What in the twelve chapters is THAT?!” The axle hollered, completely taken aback by its sudden appearance. “With something like that, you could…”

The characters A2-B were written in black on the side of the machine. Upon ascending to the controls, You saw the small screen flash to life.

>>ALL-RANGE TYPE 2 BOMBARDMENT DEVICE
>>READY GO

You took the controls. “The story isn’t over, Chronicler.” You suddenly peered down at the robotic figure. “Who is that?”

“The one who killed you.” The Chronicler growled, staring death into the huddled entity. “I was about to return the favor.”

The machine began to protest. “I had no control, none at all!” He wailed. “I was not my own master. That thing… I went to see The One To Trust, and that thing-!”

“You mean that dumbmbftfgkhblgdeahh what was that for!?” The axle had begun to retort, but was smothered bu several of the Chronicler’s hands. “You know, for a giant worm I was expecting moreeughakablgakcqNgLack! STOP THAT!”

“It seems The One To Trust has some explaining to do.” The latter replied, ignoring the anger of the other. “Let us proceed. There is a mountain in our way. How shall we traverse it?”

You thought for a moment, and then flipped a switch on the machine.

An ear-splitting and equally deafening roar tore through the air all around you, followed by a light so blinding even the mechanical man with his perpetually glowing head had to shield himself from the sight. It took several seconds for the light to dim enough to allow You the ability to see what had happened. In place of a mountain there was now an odd, curved shape, which included the base of the mountain and formed the bottom half of a circle, the ‘circle’ portion of the shape being a massive void where the rest of the mountain had been. The air was thick with dust and powder, filling the vision of everyone present, and the outline of the circle shape was white hot and glowed brilliantly through the cloud.

“What is the next challenge?” You casually glanced down at the Chronicler, reclining in the seat. Something akin to realization sprung up for a moment in the Chronicler’s eyes, and he looked at You with sudden enthusiasm.

“You have to find my chronicler.” The machine spoke suddenly. All eyes turned upon the newcomer. “We were separated long ago, after I went to see The One To Trust. I was confined within that cloth, and he disappeared - I have no idea where he could be.”

“You have a story?” The Chronicler asked, causing the figure to flinch again. He emitted a bitter sigh and extended a hand to help the robotic man to his feet. “Sorry about, uh, trying to kill you and stuff.”

“I am Lesnichiy. My Chronicler is… Agh, I didn’t even learn his name. I’m a horrible subject for a story. How much longer will I have, without a Chronicler to pen my events?”

“If you’re still around, your Chronicler is out there somewhere.” The Chronicler responded. “And if events are happening, he’s writing them down. He knows to start looking. Join us; we’ll help you find him again.”

The mechanical man climbed onto the back of the massive contraption, raising a mechanical fist to You as a gesture of comradery. You returned the mechanical gesture, and the Chronicler ascended into the air, looking through the hole in the mountain. “After you.” His voice implied a massive grin.

You looked down at the screen once more, and felt happy at the message it displayed. The legs of the machine whirred to life and tore through the landscape, heading towards the new opening in the skyline as the message on the screen lit up the thick air.

>>THANK YOU HERO


“When Sun Tzu spoke of victory, this is what he meant—the prevention or quick resolution of conflict, not the conquering of your opponent.”
― Sun Tzu, The Art Of War

11 Likes


I’M A RAILGUN

I liked this chapter

6 Likes

You already showed up in the one before but aight

I cannot describe my excitement with words.
Special thanks for making myself a robot.
A cool chapter all around, not as cool as Chapter 8, but still.

This one is a very nice detail especially.
Didn’t get the reference to Atobe_Brick at first, but it’s clever.
Good to read this again!

3 Likes

ahhhh…

I like that chapter

1 Like

I deserve this.
Probably will come back and edit my comment when I have time to take in all the details better.

3 Likes