Kthaahthikha

One man, a word-processor, and too much free time.

29 June, 2005

Le Coup de Grace.


I sat stock still in absolute awe of what had passed. The Caliph glanced at me carefully between moves, obviously anticipating some out-burst.

'What do you intend?' I asked. He chuckled.

'I intend to win,' he said, ' to beat causality. I shall finally be privy to the ultimate nature of the universe.'

'And what,' I asked, 'is that?'

'I have no idea, but now that you are here I may finally play my gambit.'

'But why wait so long for myself, and not another?'

The Caliph replied:

'Have you not been paying attention? I have not been waiting. I brought you here in my flier on the day that I arrived, and now we are setting to work - a witness of some technical knowledge and an old, old man preparing his experiment. Now watch carefully, and should you be lost, you may return to the material by way of prisms.'

And with that, he checkmated infinity.

A twisting miasm of time and space ran through that palace chamber. I felt myself flickering from epoch to epoch, bearing witness to countless dimensions beyond easy comprehension. Universes of dark matter and living planets that opened jaws to try and drag me down. A rent in reality peeled wide and I was sucked through, tumbling to the heart of an endless chasm of darkness.

'Where are you?' I whispered.

The darkness smiled wryly.

When I awoke, I found myself once more atop the glassed-off disc of sand. The glass was pitted and rutted now, and several strange characters had been chiselled into it - all clearly different tongues. It was night, and overhead the stars shone brilliantly, my bed illuminated by a ring of enormous, silvery moons. The light caught the tips of the waves beautifully, and the sound of the breakers began to knit my shattered nerves.



And there you have the thrilling conclusion of our mysterious traveller's tale. She seems to have come through unscathed, but have you? Irregardless, I don't think we'll be hearing any more from this particular cipher. What's that, Jorge? No, you can't have any royalties.

Greedy bastard.


Tom Meade, 5:26 pm

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