Attack the Abstract

It was a mistake to have come to this area, even if I am taking the convenient route to escape from the void. The two sides are both impenetrable barriers that extend beyond their station, and there are overhead droops that feel as if they are charged with such high voltages that lightning might shoot out.

All of them blare the unified symbol of wealth, screams of wanting and desire, the grounds of trade and trust, the origin of power and excess. Together with the solid stepping hold underneath me, they confine me to a straight path, with no space left to maneuver around the void. The saving grace is that I am still faster. But this restrictive tunnel keeps me wondering if there is a way out on the other side, or if a dead end awaits.

If that is the case, it will be the end of me.

To my temporary relief, the cessation of the channel comes with an exit to the ultimate clearing. The holder of wonder, awe, and an incomprehensible enormity. Endless darkness and the height of loneliness. I strain myself to soar up into the nothingness that seems more mesmerizing every moment, fighting the pull back to the root body of the fierce wetness.

The dry pieces of forgotten blooms finally detach from me, drifting back to earth where they will dissolve into another form, becoming something else, unlike my finale of emptiness.

I am burning up more of myself to feel this last hurrah of emotions, the longing that I shouldn’t be able to enjoy. My metaphorical gas is running out, and soon my speed will suffer, and the void will consume me.

All that doesn’t matter to me now. Caring about these trivial details will interrupt this terminal sensation that I treasure in my heart. Ironically, this feeling, my frantic wish to become a real human one more time, in itself is incredibly mundane, something each person possesses and takes for granted, but for me, it is the most valuable jewel one could find.

I’m scared. I’m scared of losing this moment forever.

I have no tear ducts to cry from, but I am sure that I would have bawled my eyes out, and that is enough for me. After the unique bliss overlooked by others comes a fear that plagues every creature. Down to every cell. Everything that has gained something. The fear of failing to preserve. The fear of falling from the top.

And I’m reaching that limit. The void is closing the distance. Even my time to revel in this fear will expire.

Maybe this is fate. The fate of all that lives is death. No exceptions.

I am about to give up, but then, something resonated with my wish; it is from the sanctuary that houses the rogue spark. That place, it retells my desire to me, and accepts my essence into its embrace. The ugly traces of avarice and indulgence give way to generosity. The door to fulfillment has opened for me again.

My destination has changed. Instead of the furthest I can get before I am devoured by the void, I switch direction towards that inviting core of sins and charity. As I fly above the claustrophobic channel, a newfound motivation surges from within me, and only a minor loss of myself is needed to fuel this flame.

Concerns about how far the void trails behind have buried themselves away; my sights are only on the spark and how to get through its defense. There is hope.

With unprecedented speed, I dive into the entrance of the divine mouth, my landing cushioned by the depth of accumulated aspirations. The spark slips away once I’ve entered, and as I expected, it flees outside.

Steadily, I keep a distance from the spark and wait for its next action, while tracking the approach of the void. The startled spark rushes to the treacherous channel, fear and desperation crawling out from its glow. If it leans against the consecrated walls, I won’t be able to reach it anymore.

The void will get to me in less than twenty seconds. I have to take action to separate the spark from its informational shield. Concepts swell inside me, brewing the essence of pure horror and disgust, and once part of me has converted into a presence that only invites repulsion, I toss the product at the spark.

My trip up the wider vastness has reminded me of the centrality of emotions, and what they can do to their hosts. The data hub eats up the information impatiently, and I can instantly feel the foreign concepts bursting out from the shield, infecting the spark. It drops its only protection without another thought, to seek respite from the unpleasant tinge of creeping sentiment.

That is it. That is the moment I need. I pounce on my helpless prey. My essence fuses with its light, absorbing the vitality from its core. Concepts burst out from the heart of its struggle: panic, pain, fear, squirting bleeds, folding internals, scrambling mushes. Ideas that aren’t strong enough to stop me.

But I cannot afford to enjoy the moment. The void is descending upon me. The weight of the corporal baggage hinders my acceleration, but still I have to drag the mass with me through the tunnel for the second time. The safest option should be to return to the embrace of the hope concentrates, but the void has already blocked the way there.

My current speed is far from enough to keep me out of the clutches of the void. Using the sidewalls as protection is also out of the question. The void can’t get near it, but I will also disintegrate. Even when I’m getting stronger just by assimilating the spark, it won’t reach a point where I can survive the apex essence of human culture.

My only choice is to evoke concepts that can help me, and I know exactly which ones would. As I drain the warmth from the spark, its energy migrates inward, meaning the outer mass has become worthless deadweight.

I need only to conjure up fracture and disassembly.

The first pair of mass drops off, and with it the concept of mobility and balance. And the spark explodes in rich agony, speeding up my digestion to empower me for another round of trimming.

The void is still gaining on me, seconds away from catching up. I summon up another round of disjunction and laceration.

The second pair of separations discards with it the trinity of labor, power, and possession. Another round of pain and torment, this time with an intense longing for termination. The absorption is close to complete, but I’m still slower than the void.

Essence of life drifts forth from the opening created by the cuts. It is a bit of a waste, but unavoidable. I make a last definitive incision to the mass, so I can dump half of it, dividing the ideas of centrality and stability; the smaller parts contained within erupt like confetti.

The spark is no more. Not everything has been absorbed, but it is enough for me. I can finally live again.

The remaining lump is still stuck with me, but it is light enough for me to outpace the void. With its hollowness, lacking a spark, it speaks to me regardless; its ideas tell me a story, of boredom and independence, of a grasp for fame and fortune, of a special kind of narcissism and hedonism.

These are more indigestible concepts, revolting to their core, but fragile to a laughable degree, such that I don’t feel any need to swat them away.

I drift back toward the origin point that birthed my existence and all other life, that volume of reflection, fluidity, and flow. The spot where I found the spark is intact, exactly how I left it. Now that the urgency has passed, I can sense a larger variety of ideas roaming about, mainly deviations of loneliness and bitterness.

Originally, I have been reluctant to use any more of myself to remove the hollow reminder of the spark from me, but it is well worth it now, because this is a perfect spot to leave the final piece of the husk behind, overlooking the awe-inspiring manifestation of beauty.