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The Sun Won't Rise, Passage II, The Nightfall
By RaptorHiss
The Sun Won't Rise, Passage II, The Nightfall
Death may be the greatest of all human blessings.
-Socrates, Greek Philosopher
The goal of all life is death.
-Sigmund Freud, Scientist and Philosopher
A RaptorHiss fan fic...
The Sun Won't Rise, Passge II, The Nightfall
A murky darkness clung to the night air of the tropical rainforest. It moved swiftly and silently throughout, covering the jungle in a blanket of desolate emptiness. The once luminous shine of the evening twilight had vanished completely, supplanted by a black coldness. The pink and purples of the sky had long diminished away, shifting into a sullen ebony. The familiar greens and browns of the tropical forest were dissolved and gone, melting away into the shadowy blackness. Above, the numerous stars shone brightly in the sky, sending tiny pinpoints of light onto the earth below. Along side the stars, the white moon made its path around the bleak night sky, casting bright illumination across the dark landscape.
A mass of ominous thunderheads gathered in the far distance, blockading the stars and moon from sight. At once, the entire sky turned into one vast overlay of darkness. The clouds soon gathered in the sky above the rainforest, rolling and accumulating together violently. They sat quietly above momentarily before empting their contests harshly onto the jungle below.
Heavy drops of rain stung the ground and trees. They fell in heavy sheets, ringing loudly as the pumbled the trees and vegetation. White lightning crackled from the clouds, streaking brilliantly across the dark sky. The eruption of booming thunder sounded loudly, shaking the landscape.
Passage: II Night: I Date: September 15th, 1988 11:27 P.M.
Henry Langston sat on the edge of the rise, staring outwards towards the muddy rainforest. Rain splashed noisily on the thick canvas above his head where he sat. He stuck out his hand thoughtfully, and caught the streams of water that washed off the canvas sides into his palm. He rubbed his gray beard pensively as peered into the darkened jungle.
All around him, the group was setting up the final regiments of the campsite. The containers of supplies sat stacked and covered with a heavy green tarp sheet, which was tied down to the damp earth. Numerous nylon tents were scattered around haphazardly, also anchored down with heavy steaks and roping. A small fire sat in the middle of the camp, where everybody seemed to be assembling towards. The camp glowed like a dozen jewels, shining from the top of the hillside to the forest below. Small bowls of dehydrated food were being passed around to each person. The porters attempted to start a light conversation, chuckling loudly with each other, but it was to no avail. The group sat quietly as they ate around the fire.
Jeffery Condales walked to the edge of the hill to where Henry was sitting by himself.
“They’re handing out this food. Do you want any?” He outstretched his lanky arm, and handed him a small bowl.
Henry turned towards him slowly. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“What, the food? It’s just dehydrated muck. I tell you, if they’re gonna drag us out here into this Goddamn jungle, they could of at least brought some-“
“No, I mean the jungle. Isn’t it wonderful?” He motioned to the forest, smiling. “It’s impossible to describe, the jungle. I’d hate to have to write about it, I wouldn’t do it any justice. Although if I get back, I might give it a try. Speaking of which.” He pulled out the small velvet notebook from his breast pocket, and opened it to the bookmark. Smiling, he said, “Thanks for the food.” He grabbed the bowl, sat it down, and then began writing in the journal.
Time passed slowly in the darkened jungle. The dampening rain slowly began to trickle down, until only a few lonely drops fell to the ground from the clouds. The thick clouds parted, and rays of white light fluttered from the moon and stars.
Once dinner was finished with, everybody began settling into their tents. A few porters gave a tired yawn goodnight, and zipped themselves in. A few lingered around the campsite, meandering around the fire and stack of supplies.
Scott Travenski sat motionless as he rested on a log, smiling and staring intensely into the red and blue flames. He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together, holding them towards the fire. His mouth moved to form words, but no sound was heard coming from him.
The massive Misulu emerged from the darkness, and sat down beside Scott. Both men said nothing for a moment, just sitting there silently. Eventually, Misulu broke the silence.
“I’m sending Trurobi and Motembo down to the stream, the one we passed coming up the hill. Better to get it now then during the heat of the day.”
With no sense of dread in his voice, Scott replied, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“No,” he said firmly, with a sense of agitation in his tone,” most animals here aren’t nocturnal. My men can handle it.” With that, he got up, and walked off into the blackness.
As he was leaving, Henry wandered up to the fire, and sat down on a log opposite Scott.
“Good evening, Mr. Travenski,” Henry said pleasantly, putting the journal back into his pocket.
“Please, it’s Scotty. Call me Scotty,” he replied. He pushed back his short black greasy hair. He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small plastic back. He grabbed a pill, and swallowed it whole.
“Are your allergies still bothering you?” Henry said quietly. He looked at him suspiciously.
“Yeah, worse than ever. I’m spose to take them when I eat. If I take them on an empty stomach, I get a little….weird.” He giggled, and put the bag back into his jacket pocket. “And what makes you smile on this, ah, delightful evening?”
Henry sat a moment while he pondered his question. Finally, he answered. “Well, I’m not sure. Considering today's less than fortunate events, that is a very good question. But as my dear teacher use to say ‘Better to be happy for no reason, then unhappy for a reason.’”
“How true, how true. Ahem.” Scott motioned towards Jeff, who was still standing on the edge of the camp. “Your friend looks nervous.”
Henry glanced back. “Yes, I imagine so. Although I wouldn’t know why. After all, we’re perfectly safe…” He trailed off.
“Yes, perfectly safe...”
Henry changed the subject. “If I may probe your physic a moment-“
“Wait, what are you probing?” His bloodshot eyes went wide.
Chuckling uncomfortably, Henry replied,” No, I mean if I may have a philosophical discussion with you. It seems that despite today’s somewhat tragic events, our little excursion seems to still be in good spirits. Look around. Everybody is up and functioning, and the porters are as cheerful as always. It seems the only thing that is getting anybody down is the food. And yet, it seems almost unacceptable to still have a happy demeanor in the face of death. Which brings me to this question: Why are humans uncomfortable with death?”
Scott said softly, “Not everybody is uncomfortable with it.”
“As a generality, all human beings are uncomfortable and uneasy when it comes to the concept of death.”
He paused dramatically.
“And it is this realization of death that separates the human species psychology from all the animals of nature. Sure sure, all animals and plants have natural instincts on death. That’s why a lizard’s tail falls off to distract its predator, and that’s why a lion knows to bite the jugular of the wildebeest in order to kill and eat it. But beyond that, animals don’t have a clean-cut idea of what it actually means to die. Now then, everything else that might separate humans stems from that original concept of death. In the earliest days of human existence, there were actually once two species of humans. One of them eventually made it up to present day France. We generally refer to them as ‘Cavemen.’ Now, in Africa, there was another species of humans, the species that we all eventually came from. Now, the reason they managed to survive was-can you guess it?”
“I haven’t a clue, Mr. Langston.”
“It is because they had a concept of what death is that went beyond their natural instincts of survival. Now, the desert is a pretty harsh environment for anybody to live in, especially our early ancestors. And nobody knew that better than they did. So what did they do? They buried water filled eggs in the sand for the coming dry season. That was the beginning, the beginning when human survival tactics went beyond our instincts, and the future planning to avoid death began. You see, they knew that without water they wouldn’t last long; they were able to foresee death.”
Scott said, “So you said every comes from the idea of death?”
Henry looked at Scott with his brown pensive eyes. “Exactly. Once we realized we could perpetuate our eventual demise, we began exploring the idea of death. Many questions were raised: ‘Where do we go when we die, can we prevent death?’ These questions led to the birth of our spirituality. Our earliest rituals and rights literally revolved around death. When one of our fellow friends died, we buried them in a ritual. Eventually, these rituals evolved into art. Archaeologists have discovered cave paintings in Les Trois Freres, France depicting the celebration of a hunt, and rituals behind the hunt and the feastings. As you can no doubly see, everything that is great in humans stems from something not so great: death. Which begs my original question, why are humans uncomfortable with death?”
“I still haven’t a clue, Henry.”
“Simply put, we’re uncomfortable with it because we’re so aware of it. Look around; our lives are literally filled with death. The constant funerals, the wars, the ten o’clock news. We’ve never had such a realization of death in all of earth’s history. Do you want to know the key to a happy fruitful life? Here’s the trick, imagine this. When a herd of Zebras crosses the river, it knows perfectly well that there is an alligator lurking it the murky depths. Does the herd stop? Of course not, it keeps going. If it makes it, it survives another day. If an alligator snags one of the Zebras, then the Zebra dies. It is neither the Zebra’s nor the Alligator’s decision when it comes to death.”
“So you’re saying we should let fate decide our outcome then?”
Henry said, “Fate is far too strong of a word. Perhaps we should say ‘nature’ instead. After all, nature knows best.” He smiled quaintly.
“Would you say humans are apart of nature then?”
After a bit of thought, Henry replied. “I would hope so. That’s what everybody should strive to be.”
Scott nodded. “Perfect.”
***
The gurgling splash of a small stream was the only sound to be heard in the quiet jungle. Its glossy water flowed smoothly over the rocks and soil, splattering its cool muddy banks. A damp fog clung to the earth around it, casting the soft ground in a glowing aura of whiteness, surrounding the stream. The flickering lights of the camp were barely visible from two hundred yards away.
The clamor of footsteps broke the silence, with the crackling of leaves and foliage following. Branches snapped and twigs broke as the footsteps walked through the dark forest, brushing against the rough bark and trees. Then all was hushed.
“Did you hear that?” Motembo took a few hesitant steps forward and paused to listen. Trurobi crept up from behind him, carrying a water jug under his arm, and a firearm under the other.
“Hear what?” he whispered softly in a heavy accent. Although he had heard it himself, he hoped he wouldn’t receive an answer.
“Shhh”
They stood motionless for a moment and listened tensely. The soft drone of cicadas and the creaking of frogs eventually returned to the air. The sound of a vague wind whistled through the vegetation, and rays of white moonlight streamed in through the forest canopy.
“It was just a rodent.” Motembo finally answered. Motioning to the stream, he said, “Let us get this done with.” He grabbed the water jug at his side and began walking towards the stream. “Safeties off,” he added, clicking the safety off of his own firearm. Trurobi followed suit. They both walked a couple of yards towards the stream. They then bent over and began filling the jugs full of lucid water.
Before they could finish, the consistent hum of the air faded out into the darkness. A dull soundless enveloped the clearing, washing over it in seconds. The porters looked around the area, perplexed by the sudden change. Minutes passed by, and the hush still lingered over. Only the sound of branches creaking in the wind, and leaves crunching and swaying remained. The porters paused from gathering the water, and stood motionless, looking around. A white flash of lightning, succeeded by a clamor of booming thunder erupted, and a small rodent went scurrying by Motembo and Trurobi into the blackened silenced jungle.
Both men swore in Swahili, almost discharging their guns at the small creature. They smiled awkwardly at each other, turned their safeties off, and began to gather more water from the stream.
A soft rustle of leaves broke into the quietness, and then swiftly disappeared. The porters turned apprehensively towards the source of the noise. The trees in front of them, they swayed, ever so slightly, almost barely noticeable. Its leaves fluttered as they swaggered, and then ceased.
Both the porters’ eyes went wide as they watched the developing scene. A series of muffled clicks quickly sounded as they turned off their safeties. Motembo pointed down stream, beckoning towards the source of the rustling. There, in the darkness, barely visible, stood a creature crouched down on its haunches. The men could barely make out the dark outline of it. The creature began sprinting across the clearing. Without hesitation, they opened fire on the blackened silhouette. Then all was silent.
Both men said nothing as they slowly walked towards the downed animal. The silence was still clinging to the air; their footsteps crunched loudly on the leafy forest floor. From a dozen yards away, they could see what the animal they shot was.
“It’s a leopard,” Motembo said quietly, walking towards the dead animal. It lay on its side, bleeding severely.
“It was not even running towards us,” he added. “It looked like it was running towards something else…” he trailed off into the quietness.
“At least we got it,” Trurobi said, walking up beside it. Motembo bent over to examine the dead leopard.
“We didn’t.”
Trurobi glanced over at him. “Didn’t what?”
“We didn’t get it.” He pointed tentatively towards the bloody leopard. There was a deep gash running across its neck, and another gaping cut along its hindquarters. The pale bone beneath was exposed and protruding outward.
“We did not do this,” Motembo said nervously. “Some other creature did.” He looked around the darkened silenced jungle quickly, and then looked at the leopard again. Speaking rapidly in Swahili, he said brief prayer.
“What could have done this? It had to be something…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Inexorably, the foliage began to rustle again as the trees and branches began to sway behind them. A low tone growl arose from the foliage, breaking into the silence. The men turned and pointed their guns towards the jungle, ready to attack.
***
“So what you’re saying, Mr. Langston,” Scott said, bending over to tie his bootlace, “is that all of our art comes from a mistake?” His boots appeared to be several sizes too big for him.
Henry laughed. “A mistake as in we think we have the ability to control nature? If you put it that way then yes, all of our expressions of art are based on the idea that we can control nature. When we all know perfectly well that we can’t.”
Jeff walked up to the men sitting around the campfire and sat down on one of the logs surrounding the fire.
“Ahh, nice to see you,” Henry said, smiling quaintly at him. “You’re missing a great discussion.”
“What discussion is that?” he asked quietly. His green eyes looked tired and exhausted, as if the weight of the world had been put on his shoulders.
“Death.”
“Wonderful.” Jeff got up quickly, and began walking away.
“Wait Jeff, wait. It’s not that bad. Stick around, I think you’ll enjoy it.” He beckoned for him to sit back down.
Jeff let out a heavy sigh and sat down. “Whatever you say.”
“And I do say. Myself and Mr. Trave-I mean Scotty- were just discussing the concept of death, and our misconception about it. One of our biggest fundamental flaws as a human species is that we think if we realize its existence and even understand it, that we can control it. That goes for everything, not just death. Jeff, you’re a Chaotiction, this is your specialty.”
Jeff didn’t say anything; he just stared blankly into the dying fire. Beads of moisture misted down his face. He didn’t know whether the sweat came from the rain, or from his own relentless anxiety.
“Before you begin, Mr. Condales,” Scott said, “there’s something about you that I’ve been wondering ever sense I met you.”
Jeff’s heart skipped a beat, wondering what Scott was thinking about. Was he aware that they knew of his false story and name? Would he say something, would he do something? Dozens of numbing questions flooded into his mind.
“It is Jeff, or Jeffery?” He chuckled loudly, and clapped his hands together.
Jeff was taken aback. He wasn’t sure weather he was serious and didn’t know whether to answer him or not.
Henry thought to himself: Yes, defiantly minds games, there’s no doubt.
“Um, it’s, ah, Jeff,” he mumbled. “Call me Jeff.”
“Jeff it is then. So Jeff, you were going on about Chaos Theory?
He hesitated a moment, and then spoke. “Yeah, we deal with weather a lot in Chaos Theory, mapping out stuff on computers. One of our biggest misconceptions has been about weather. Scientists have spent literally billions of dollars on advanced weather predictions. And it’s all a huge stupid waste.” He waved his hands irritably. “We will never be predict or control the weather, it’s just not possible. That’s…that’s Chaos Theory.”
“The lesson here,” Henry said to them, “Nature is beyond our control, it is beyond every living thing’s control. It doesn’t follow a pattern or a map, it does whatever it needs or wants. This ties into one of the reasons that we are here, in this jungle.”
Scott said anxiously, “How so?”
“Because us, as in the human species, believe that we are above nature, and therefore have the ability to control it. That’s dead wrong. On this expedition, we will either come to this Congo rainforest to control nature, or be apart of nature. One will fail, and one will not. And I’ll give you two guesses, and one observation: We’ve cleared all the bushes and trees on this hillside to make our camp. Man’s greatest folly has been the idea that he is in control. But he’s never been in control, and he will never be in control. Nature is in control. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Behind the group, the moon rose high into the air, with the numerous stars shining brilliantly in the night sky.
Passage: II Day: II 5:27 A.M.
Dawn arrived early to the Congo rainforest. The first rays of soft light touched the ground, basking the dark forest in a warm glow. Droplets of dew clung to the grass and foliage, covering the earth in a damp moist musk. Whispers of white clouds floated lightly across the blue sun filled sky above.
By the time Henry and Jeff awoke, the camp was partially loaded and ready to embark on the day’s new course. They both yawned tensely as they stood up and stepped out of their tents. There was a stiffness in the air, a melancholy mood floated about on an invisible wind.
Henry stood up from his tent and surveyed what remained of their campsite. The supply tent was gone, the porters’ tents and steaks were fully packed. Only a small fire for breakfast offered any sign of human inhabitants. The men were gathered around the fire, with their heads hung low. Henry could hear whispering in Swahili and heavy sighs and mumbling.
Sensing something was strangely amiss, he walked over to where Scott was standing. “What’s going-“
Scott put a finger to his mouth, silencing him, and motioned towards the others assembled around each other. “Group prayer,” was all he said.
A few minutes later, the circle broke apart and the porters resumed getting packed and loaded. Even Misulu’s persistent rage was subsided in the saddened atmosphere.
Henry asked Scott quietly, “What happened?” although he sensed he already knew the answer.
“Motembo…Trorobi,” he said oddly monotone, “They didn’t come back to base last night.” He blinked in the sunlight.
Misulu overheard their conversation, and butted in. “They more than likely got lost in the jungle. It’s very easy, “he said in a gruff voice. “A man can pass within a hundred meters of anything in the jungle, and miss it completely. Yes, very likely they got lost.”
“So what are we going to do?” Jeff asked anxiously, walking up. “Surely, a rescue mission-“
“We wait two hours,” Misulu answered sternly to him. He looked down at his watch on his wrist. “After that, there is little hope. I’ve talked to the men; funerals will be arranged and families will be notified if we return.”
Passage: II Day: II 7:27 A.M.
The two hours were spent in a silenced hope, longing for the two missing porters to return to camp safely and unharmed. The distraught porters sat around quietly, some of them smoking, others taking large drinks of the remaining whiskey. During the two hours, not a sound was echoed from the forest below them.
After two unsettling hours, the men loaded their backpacks and headed east into the rising morning sun.
Passage: II Day: II 3:27 P.M.
At midday, the team ceased from trekking, and set up camp on another grassy rise that ascended high above the forest. The hillside was considerably broader and taller than the night’s previous location. Misulu announced that this would be their permanent base setting, at least for the time being. The news was greeted with relieve; nobody felt like hiking anymore through the shadowy jungle.
Adhering to the prior night’s tragedy, no man would be allowed to leave the hilltop unarmed or alone. As an extra precaution, Misulu set up two guard sentries on the perimeter of the encampment on rotating shifts throughout the night. Also, in case any situation was to arise, they also set up the LED and Night-Vision surveillance technology to capture on film any of the night’s events.
Passage: II Night: II 3:27 A.M.
The night seemingly passed without incident or activity.
Passage: II Day: III 9:27 P.M.
Dawn came later than usual in the Congo rainforest. Breakfast was to be made extra special on the occasion, with none of the dehydrated servings making an appearance. Scott pulled out a bottle of Champagne, popped the cork, and passed it around for everybody to have a drink.
Scott ran to the middle of the circle of people and put his hands in the air. “Wait, wait,” he interrupted. “I want to make sure everybody is awake to celebrate this occasion. After all, we are all about to embark on a life altering journey together.” The smile on his face spread from ear to ear, with his pearl white teeth shining for all to see.
Misulu yelled something in Swahili to one of the porters, asking him to check the tents to make sure everybody was up and accounted for.
“Sure, boss,” he replied happily as he got up to check on the others.
The air was filled with a romantic aura that the jungle emitted, affecting everybody in the camp. Although the group had suffered a dreadful loss the previous night, it seemed to be nothing more than an unfortunate mishappening; nothing to cause panic or alarm over. The men couldn’t help but fill emancipated and free in the open breeze, breathing in the fresh and crisp morning mist. Misulu was even cracking jokes with his fellow porters, although not for long before he resumed his harsh leadership.
Faromobi, one of the sentries that posted guard the night before, came walking into the circle with his head hung low. He beckoned at Misulu, and the two men walked to the edge of the hill, mumbling softly to each other. Faromobi motioned towards the rainforest and camp, while Misulu listened intently, his enormous hands rubbing his temples. After several minutes, the men walked gingerly back towards the campfire.
“I’m afraid our celebration is going to be cut short,” Misulu said bleakly. He paused a moment. “It seems that Jeromu, one the guards, has gone missing.” He said nothing else, just staring blankly.
The porters immediately got up and gathered around in another prayer circle, their second one in less than two days. It seemed far too obvious that there was no coincidence between the two night’s events. Both Scott and Jeff had expressions of shock on their faces, although Scott’s seemed to be one of bewilderment, while Jeff’s was a look of absolute terror.
Henry was the only one to remain calm and collected. He said quietly to Misulu, “What about the surveillance equipment?” He pointed to the half a dozen cameras positioned around the perimeter of the encampment. They were set up on ten-foot high poles, pointing out and down the grassy hillside. “Were they able to capture anything significant?”
“That’s what we do next,” Misulu said to him.
***
It took a half an hour for them to collect the film from the cameras and set up the viewing display. Each motion-activated camera had over ten hours of digital film contained in it. The film was then fed into the portable computer. The computer would then splice out all of the film that didn’t contain any motion activation; that way, they didn’t have to spent time searching through hours of blank film. What they found was inexplicable.
The first piece of footage showed the first guard, Faromobi, sitting down on a log, at approximately nine-thirty P.M., getting ready for the first shift of guard duty. The next piece of footage wasn’t until around three-thirty A.M., when the two porters swapped guard positions. The scene was equally puzzling.
The camera showed Jeromu getting up from the log, and walking down the face of the hill. He paused where the grassy hill met the dense forest. He then walked a few steps towards the jungle, with his gun pointed, and walked a couple yards into the thick foliage. And then he vanished.
That was the last of the footage. Nothing else occurred during the nighttime.
“That’s impossible,” Scott said looking at the display screen. “It’s like he just got up, and…and-“
“And walked away,” Misulu said, staring at the screen. “That’s the strangest damn thing. No struggle, no fight. While we were readying the equipment, I checked the base of the hill for possible trails. No blood, no tattered cloths. It’s like he disappeared into the air.” A look of anger crossed his face, his veins protruded along his temple. Another one of his men had disappeared, with equal strangeness.
They all sat a moment in silence, both out of respect for the death, and from the shock of it all. During which, Henry wrote in his journal, scribbling page after page of notes.
“If I may ask,” Henry said to Misulu as he wrote, “does this equipment have a time lapse feature on it?”
“Yeah, why?” Misulu said looking down on Henry, annoyed. He didn’t have time for this.
“Run it. I think we might have an answer to all of this.”
Misulu sighed and clicked a rapid concession of buttons. Everybody inched closer the monitor to get a better view. What they saw christened the morning’s bizarre events.
Using the time-lapse feature, every second of footage was replaced with a minute of film, thus reducing the time constraint when viewing it. On the screen was a full shot of the trees at the base of the hillside. Very slowly and slightly, the line of vegetation began shifting its shape and color, right before their eyes. There was something bizarrely unreal that was being unrolled before them. The line of foliage seemed to come to life, and breathe and shift in the moonless night.
“What the hell is that?” Jeff yelled.
Nobody answered, they just stared in disbelieve at what they were witnessing. It appeared either that the trees were transforming, or something was transforming the trees.
“That’s the trick,” Henry said, breaking the silence. He snapped his notebook closed. “That’s the perfect strategy. Notice how over a course of a few hours it makes its way in front of the trees. Not even our sophisticated motion sensors were able to sense and film it. Brilliant.”
“Mr. Langston, Mr. Langston,” Scott said, raising his hand, “But what ‘it’ are you talking about?”
“It’s an unknown,” Misulu answered gravely, looking at the screen. “I’ve never seen anything like this, on any of my expeditions. It has to be an unknown discovery.” He pounded his fists together. “Damn!”
Jeff said faintly, “But…. how? I mean, ah, how does something this, ah, scary, go undiscovered? I mean, they discover new bugs and stuff all the time, but this thing is, like, huge.” Sweat dripped down his brow and off of his face.
Henry began ambling away from the monitor screen, and walked towards the comfort of the campfire. The other followed him; they had seen enough to comprehend what was going on.
“It’s quite simple, actually,” he said. “Even Mr. Misulu stated that anybody could come within a hundred feet of something in the jungle, and never know it was there. The Congo rainforest is a million and a half square miles. We’re lucky we’ve encountered it at all.”
“I don’t consider my three men to be lucky, Mr. Langston,” Misulu said. “And what makes you the expert?”
Henry replied, “Only what I read do I rely on.” He didn’t bother to mention that what he read really only amounted to a couple of books: Michael Crichton’s Congo, and The Lost World.
Bright sunlight beamed and glistened Henry’s face as he talked. He wiped the sweat from his face as he continued on.
“If you want my opinion, which maybe you don’t. I feel that this is a rediscovery, a finding of an ancient animal, thought to be extinct. I don’t think that it’s a mutation, because there is no radiation of nuclear fallout to cause such an animal.”
“Tell us, mighty expert,” Misulu barked at him. “What ancient creature is this?” The thick veins in his head and neck protruded out, and his lip quivered in fury.
“Matter of factly?” Henry replied calmly. He paused, not sure how to word was he was about to say. “It’s a dinosaur.”
Nobody spoke a word for several moments, everybody was in a state of disbelieve and alarm. The situation now took a severe dangerous turn, one nobody wanted to accept or face. But as unbelievable and incredulous as it seemed to be, after the night’s events, anything was in the realm of possibility.
“A dinosaur!” Scott yelled exuberantly, breaking the silence. “That’s wonderful! That’s perfect! Who would of guessed that on this little expedition of ours, that we would find a living breathing dinosaur!” He walked away from the group, and began talking to himself, making jubilant gestures with his hands as he paced back and forth.
Jeff mumbled, “Jesus, why couldn’t have been a fish or something…”
Misulu’s temper was nearing the breaking point. “May I remind you, Mr. Travenski, that this creature, be a dinosaur or not, has killed three of our men. I suggest you hold the party till if we get home. Now, Mr. Langston, what kind of dinosaur are we talking about here?”
Henry couldn’t help but smile. In his fifty years of life he never imagined himself being consulted as a dinosaur expert; a paleontologist.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a species called ‘Carnosaur.’ Paleontologists speculate that this species, as well as the possibility of others, used the hunting strategy employed the last two nights. Now, if this doesn’t turn out to be a dinosaur, which I don’t know if I want it to or not, it would still be an amazing find. Never have we seen an animal with such camoflauging capabilities.”
Jeff spoke gingerly, his body twitching. “If this thing turns out to be a, ah, dinosaur, then what should we do about it?” Before anybody could say a word, he answered. “I say we should get the hell out of here.”
Scott ran back from his pacing to the group circle. “No!” he shouted, waving his hands furiously in the air. “The experiment, we must continue on with the experiment. That’s what we’re here for! This is an amazing find, we must film it! More film!” His bloodshot eyes were wide and hysteric as he shouted at them.
“Mr. Travenski,” Misulu yelled back. He went and stood in front of Scott, towering two feet above him. His massive arms swung back and forth, his fists clenched tightly. “I was hired to lead this expedition. If we stay, we will have no expedition left. And that means no experiment. I am going to lead us out here, and I suggest everybody comes with.”
For once, the entire group agreed, even Scott, although quite hesitantly. Misulu pulled out a map and compass, and the men began strategizing a plan. After several minutes, the plan was settled. They would hike swiftly and steadily the remainder of the rest of the daytime. Hopefully, before nightfall, they would reach the large Congo River in the eastern distance. From there, they would raft down its treacherous currents until they would arrive at the outcrops of civilization.
“It was such a lovely dream,” Scott said thoughtfully, as his put his backpack over his shoulders. “And the dream will still live on…” he added, although nobody heard him say it.
As the porters gathered the tents and equipment, Misulu glanced at his wristwatch. It didn’t work. He shook his wrist a couple of times, but it was no use. The heavy humidity had probably clogged and rusted the metal gears. He glanced up at the yellow sun and blue cloudless sky. It was past noon, which meant the sun was beginning its westerly descent into the abysmal darkness.
Passage: II Day: III 3:27 P.M.
The once luminous yellow shine of the sun began drifting into an irradiant redness as it began its westerly plunge towards the horizon. It cast a brilliant orange-red haze onto the rainforest below it. At once, the fertile green earth tones were suspended in the mist of the setting tropical sun. Nighttime was fast approaching, the landscape was slowly vanishing into the perpetual darkness of night.
Below the thick canopy of trees, the group of men gradually trekked through the deep chasms of vegetation and foliage. Dense walls of vines and branches protruded out into the air, blockading an easy path to be taken. Curtains of gray moss, and creepers and liana, hung down in a tangle from the trees, and brightly colored orchids sprouted from the trunks. At ground level, huge ferns, gleaming with moisture, grew higher than a man’s chest, and held the low ground fog. Soft rays of light protruded from the forest canopy, and shone in the interior of the Congo rainforest.
As the team trampled through the jungle, they formed a defensive line. Each man was occupied by an armed porter who stood by their side. They carried a minimal amount of supplies and containers; whatever item was deemed unnecessary was to remain behind at their former base camp. Each person carried a provision, with the porters barring firearms as well. Misulu led their way, barking orders and pointing directions, with one of the porters following close suit. Not far behind, Scott ambled exultantly, jumping boyishly over logs and undergrowth. Although initially disappointed with their plan, a light jaunt through the forest outweighed the bleak circumstances facing them. Two porters trailed in the middle of the group. They swung their guns around wildly at any sight or sound emitted from the echoing forest.
“Strong Dawa here,” one of the whispered to the other. The other nodded in agreement.
Scott stopped walking and turned around towards the porters.
“What’s ‘Daaaawa’?” he asked excitingly.
“Dawa is everywhere,” was all the porter replied. He looked around, eyes wide, sweat dripping down his brow and face. He was referring the forest spirits that he and the other porters believed inhabited the area. Dawa was the life force that could be found in everything, the rocks, the trees, and the creatures that inhabited the jungle.
From the head of the group, Misulu spoke up, yelling angrily, “Of course there is Dawa here. We’re in the middle of the Goddamn jungle.” He snorted and began walking off.
“Ignorant men.”
Coming the rear of the group were the remaining men; Henry, Jeff, and the porter, who guarded the end of the defensive line. Jeff had taken it upon himself to remain as close as he could to Henry, and put as much distance as he could between himself and Scott.
Henry smiled as he walked, and wiped the condensation from his glasses with his shirtsleeve. Jeff’s body was tense and rigid, his face was scowled and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He was constantly looking from side to side, looking and listening for any sound to be heard.
A loud shriek resonated from above them, as a colorful bird took flight from the highest branches. The porters all jumped in alarm, and waved their guns towards the invisible enemy. Seeing it was just a harmless bird, they settled into their walking line once again. A bottle of whiskey was being passed around; apparently it was considered a necessity and wasn’t left behind.
Henry and Jeff walked in step behind everybody. Henry looked around the crowded jungle and smirked complacently. He took off his wire frame glasses, and wiped the dew off with his shirtsleeve once again. The jungle was impossibly humid and moist.
“You seem awfully calm now,” Henry said to Jeff as he put his glasses back on. It was true; for the last couple of minutes, Jeff appeared to become relaxed, his body wasn’t rigid, and occasionally he would stop to observe the tranquil beauty of the forest.
“I know we’re safe in the day.” Streams of light from above gleamed his face and body as he talked. A slight sparkle beamed from his green eyes.
“I’ve been thinking,” he continued on, “about that warning that tribesmen said. About when the sun goes down that life loses his existence. He was right.” His jaw tightened as he spoke the last three words.
Henry patted him on the back. “I believe your right. I’ve been pondering what he said ever sense he said it, and that must be the answer to the puzzle. But let me through this maze at you: Why was he in such an uproar when we found him?”
“What do you mean?” said Jeff.
“What I mean is this: When a society comes in contact with a dangerous element in their environment, they are in absolute terror and dread; much like our elderly friend. But over a period of time, the society adopts a respect towards whatever is hostile towards them. In sense, we learn to worship our enemies. Every culture does it. The Inuit worship the polar bear, the South American tribes worship the anaconda, and the Native Americans honor and worship the wolf. All this begs the question, why was the elder African in absolute terror? Was this…creature…a new element in their environment, or something the tribes have had to live with for centuries?” He scratched his gray beard thoughtfully as he spoke.
“Well…I don’t know,” Jeff answered, shaking slightly. He looked at Henry with tears swelling up in his eyes and his lips quivering. “All I know is, I’m scared. I’m damn scared.” He looked down at the ground, and picked at the threads of his jacket, fighting back tears.
Henry nodded sympathetically. He replied to him, whispering quietly, “I know you are. The truth is, I am too. And the real truth is, we all are, every single one of us. And do you want to know the secret to all this?”
“No,” Jeff said, his voice trembling.
“As simple as it may be, stay calm. I know, I know, I’ve preached to you for years, but this is the ultimate application of what I’ve taught you. We both must remain calm, for our sake and everybody’s sake. There’s no use running around like be-headed chickens. There are things in this jungle, things that I, nor anybody, can fully explain. But the answers will come much more quickly if we keep a cool head and a light foot.”
He smiled earnestly at Jeff, and summed it all up. “Don’t worry.”
Passage: II Night: III 9:27 P.M.
A haunting trepidation hung over in the silent dusk. The last arches of equatorial sun slowly dipped down below the edge of horizon, taking with it the last rays of warmth. As it disappeared, the night began rearing its call, and a dismal and sinister atmosphere filled into the air. A blanket of darkness slowly swallowed the rainforest, as day bowed into the night.
The whistling wind howled through the trees, swaying the landscape back and worth angrily. A moonless sky shone down on the jungle, covering the land in a mantle of desolate shadows. A white fog cradled the forest floor, adding a juxtaposition against the empty blackness.
The group shivered as they walked through the expansive forest; not from the cold, but from the deadness that clung and gripped to the air. Although the constant whip of the wind could be felt, they walked through a silent unearthly world. Even the jungle back noise had vanished, the familiar creaks and buzzes had melted into nothingness.
Henry zipped up his sweater and swatted away the mosquitoes that swarmed around his face. Around him, everybody was talking noisily and making a ruckus as they walked. Each man carried a heavy spotlight and waved it around, illuminated the tress and foliage beside their path. It offered enough lighting that Henry was able to write in his journal as they hiked. All the clamor and light was for what Misulu called, “An attack defensive.”
“Whatever is out there will know we’re out there no matter how quiet we are. If we make enough noise and light, then we run a better chance in the night.”
And everybody knew they needed every chance they could muster. As they watched the dusk come to an end and night take its place, everybody felt an iciness wash over them. The tribesman’s dying words echoed through their ears, his final warning a splinter in the back of their minds.
In time, the impenetrable dense forest floor slowly developed into a well-worn dirt path. It looked as if it were in current use, being walked and trampled on constantly by heavy footsteps. The porter’s were worried that they were on a game trail until Misulu butted in. “Tembo trail,” he yelled back at the men.
That shut the porters up, at least their anxieties that they were on a predator game trail.
Scott asked Misulu, “What’s ‘Teeeembo’?”
“Elephant.”
Henry heard him say they were on an Elephant trail, and disagreed strongly. The trail was much to narrow, much to small, and the vegetation on either side of the path was full and thick; not a place where Elephants had been continuously eating. He was about to mention it to Misulu when the entire group suddenly halted. Misulu hadn’t signaled them, they had just stopped, as if by an imperceptible force.
Ahead of them, the trail ended suddenly. Beyond it, the path dissolved into a wall of darkened vegetation and rock. The barrier before them stretched into the air ten feet until disappearing in the blackness.
“What is it, a cliff? Scott said noisily, walking up besides Misulu. Misulu shined his flashlight on it, and ran his hand across the barrier. It was smooth and hard, made of wood and rock.
“It’s a army fortress?” Scott said incredulous as he watched Misulu examine it. He smiled and licked his lips as he spoke.
“No,” he answered quietly. He pushed heavily against the wall. A soft creaking sound broke into the air, and the wall moved away, revealing its inner contents.
“It’s a village.”
Everybody fell silent. The wall Misulu pushed away was a massive door that swung in, opening the village to the outside world. It was a large area, the far end was hardly visible from the far distance. Clustered around the center of the expanse were several tiny huts. The huts were made from bamboo, with earth and grass for thatched roofs. There were no lights or fires in any of the buildings; the village was a dark, lifeless region.
The group stared in at the village, unsure how to act or respond. It seemed to be a welcomed encounter of civilization, but the village offered no more being than the dark jungle behind them.
Misulu looked down, heavy in thought, weighing their options. After a beat, he announced, “We go in.”
“Go in?” Jeff said walking up from the rear. He voice tremored. “What about the, ah, natives? Won’t they be mad at us, ah, intruders?”
“No, Mr. Condales,” Misulu replied. “Either the village is empty, or they are friendly, seeing as we haven’t gotten an arrow in our back for our troubles. It will offer us shelter for the night. According to the map, we’re only a half a mile from the Congo river.”
“Why don’t we just make it to the river tonight?” Jeff said, pointing into the dense jungle.
“Be my guest.”
Jeff paused, and thought a moment, and decided against it.
“Just as I thought,” Misulu said, taking his backpack off. “Now, leave the boxes here at the entrance, we’ll pick them up in the morning, and-“
“Leave them here?” Henry said. “If I may suggest, we should-“
“Do not question my authority, Mr. Langston,” Misulu yelled loudly, his eyes bulging from his skull. “If there are primitive natives here, walking up with unopened boxes could be considered an attack maneuver. Cannibals don’t take likely to strangers.”
“And if there aren’t natives? We might need them.”
“That’s a chance we must take. And that’s final.” He spoke loudly in Swahili, and motioned towards the village. Immediately, the four porters put down their loads, and followed Misulu through the entrance into the foreboding village.
***
As they reluctantly entered the village, the moon broke through the shadow of the clouds, and shone brightly on the tiny village, flooding it with white light for a brief time, allowing the village to emerge out of the darkness. A half a dozen small huts stood gathered around a central dirt circle. At the head of the village on the far side sat a much taller, more expansive hut. Around the encampment, the high enlacement of the wooden walls could be seen surrounding the village, protecting it from the unearthly forest. As with the jungle, a light mist clung to the ground and the walls, casting white shadows across the village.
“There,” Misulu whispering to the group, pointing to the larger building at the head of the village.
“Why are we whispering now?” Jeff said softly to Misulu.
“When we are in the jungle, we want whatever is out there to know we’re there, and hopefully avoid us. In here, we want to go unnoticed. Turn your flashlight off”
Jeff nodded, and quickly put his light out. The rest followed suit.
As they approached the building on the far side, Misulu motioned for everybody to stop and be quiet. He whispered to one of the porters in Swahili, and both men slowly crept there way towards the open doorway, while the rest stood back motionlessly, watching tensely. The two men said nothing as they moved toward the hut, only gesturing signals to one another. The porter pointed his gun at the dark entranceway as Misulu got skulked nearer to it. In a bright flash, he switched on his spotlight and ran into the open doorway.
“Nothing,” he said, shining his light into the hut. “It’s deserted.”
The remaining men sighed a breath of relief, and ambled into the hut. It was completely abandoned, other than a few pieces of furnishings. A straw mattress sat in the corner, and a wooden altar was positioned in the middle of the room, facing west.
Henry said quietly, looking around, “This must be the medicine man’s hut.” He walked to the window and looked outside. “And it looks like he didn’t do a very good job.”
They didn’t have to check the other buildings to know the village was completely desolate and abandoned. A ghost town.
“Which begs my next question. Where is everybody?”
The consequences that surrounded the question sent a shiver through the air.
“You answered that yourself, “ Misulu answered, as he walked around, examining the room with his flashlight.
“The medicine man did a bad job. Disease is very common in Africa. Tuberculosis and Malaria run rapid. Wipes out entire villages. Yes, very common.”
“I would agree with you one hundred percent except for one thing. Where are the bodies? Flesh decomposes quickly, especially in the jungle, but bone remains for many years afterwards. Did you see any skeletons while we were coming in?”
Misulu started to grow impatient. “They buried the bodies.”
“And the gravesites? Where are they?”
“Listen, I don’t know the answers to everything. But I know the answer to somethings. I’ve seen village after village, wiped out by disease. This village is no different.”
Scott said, “Do you think that elderly man was from this village?”
“I highly doubt that Mr. Travenski. We’re over twenty kilometers away from where we found him. Not likely he made it that far on his own.”
“Fear can be a powerful drive,” said Henry.
Misulu snorted in disgust.
Scott said, “Maybe the people are the kind of people who, ahh, what’s the word, move around?”
“Nomadic?” said Henry. “A strong possibility…although look around. Their belongings are still here, unmoved and still intact. Its almost as if…” he struggled with the words. “It’s almost as if they were swallowed by the blackness.”
His metaphor left almost too many possibilities to consider.
“And I suppose that fog we passed through were the ghosts of the villagers, “ Misulu yelled loudly at Henry. His voice echoed off of the room, and shook the dust off the walls into the air. “I deal with facts, Mr. Langston. Cold, hard facts. I’m aware you’re a philosopher. You’re very good at your pie in the sky thinking, fantasizing a world that you can understand and create.” His voice boomed as he shouted and swung his massive arms around. “As far as I’m concerned, its all a bunch of hocus pocus, adding nothing to the world except-“
A loud creak sounded loudly from the far end of the village. Everybody wielded around and faced the open doorway, looking across the dark expanse. The creaking lingered in the air for several minutes before ceasing.
“What in the hell was that?” Jeff whispered loudly. He sat down and curled up into a ball, ducking his head into his lap.
“Kill the lights,” Henry waved at Misulu. He quickly shut off his flashlight, which had been shining directly outside the doorway.
Everybody hastily moved away from the open entrance towards the back of the hut. They waited in the hush, not daring to move or breathe or speak. Both Scott and Jeff had scooted to the corners of the hut, and were curled up on to the floor.
After several minutes of antagonizing silence, nothing else was heard from the outside. Misulu slowly inched his way towards the doorway, and peered from around the corner to look at the darkened village. He gazed into a silent, ebony world. The moon and stars had faded away behind blackened clouds, shrouding the village in an invisible envelope.
“I don’t see anything,” he whispered back to them.
Henry frowned, “That’s what I was afraid of.” He crept towards the entranceway and stood by Misulu, looking out into the dark expanse.
Misulu said, “What do you mean-“
“Shhh,” Henry put a finger to his mouth. Whispering very softly he said, “That’s how they found us here.” He motioned for them to return to the back of the hut.
“You think something’s in here,” Scott asked. He was curled up, swaying back and forth, staring blankly into the air.
“I know something’s in here.”
“What we heard was the door swinging in the wind. Nothing more.”
“You had to push pretty hard to open that. I’d say that’s a strong wind.”
“What do you suggest then, almighty fearless leader?” Misulu barked at Henry.
“I believe I suggested it when we first arrived. But your authority let us leave the containers at the entranceway. The containers filled with our guns and ammunition.”
Misulu’s face went rigid as he realized his error.
“What we must do is get to those containers. These walls are made of wood and grass, we’ll never survive all night here.” He rapped his fingers on the walls of the hut.
Jeff looked up at Henry. Tears were streaming down his face. He wiped them away, and curled up tighter.
Henry looked at Jeff, and smiled. “Don’t worry.” He turned towards Misulu. “Send the four porters and our remaining ammo with them to the entrance way. Tell them to keep out in the open, away from the walls and trees. If we’ve learned anything, these creatures don’t take the offense, they wait, in hiding, in the shadows. If they stay in the middle, they won’t attack.”
Misulu said, “If they won’t attack, why don’t we remain in here.”
“We’d be far too easy a prize to pass up. This is our best plan we have.”
Although Misulu strongly disagreed with it, he knew there was no other alternative. He whispered in foreign tongue to the four men in the back of the hut. After several minutes of talk, they all nodded warily. They then walked to the middle of the hut, and gathered in a circle, holding hands gingerly. They whispered softly and warily with one another for several minutes.
“Group prayer,” Scott spoke up from the back of the room. “Group prayer, group prayer, group prayer.” He repeated it quietly over and over again, swaying back and forth.
The porters then stepped outside, into the abysmal blackness.
***
The group remained in the rear of the hut, waiting, watching. Both Jeff and Scott were still curled up in a ball on the floor. Jeff was still, his face buried in his lap, not daring to look or listen. Scott waved back and forth, mumbling inaudibly, running his hands through his greasy hair. Henry stood silently and vigilantly, staring intently out the window into the nightness. Misulu stayed by the door, careful not to show himself and remain concealed.
Not uttering a sound, they waited silently for nearly a half an hour for the men to return back to the safety of the hut. From the far distance across the expanse, the entrance wasn’t visible through the cloud of black. Nor were the porters or the creatures that stalked them. The anxiety in the hut was building up as each minute passed that the porters didn’t return.
Looking back at the men, Misulu whispered, “We should go out there. They might be waiting for us at the door.”
“No,” Henry replied. “Something is wrong.” He frowned and shook his head, shaking the thoughts of dread.
“Nothing is wrong. They are perfectly fine. We haven’t heard anything or heard from anybody.”
“Just as we didn’t hear Trurobi or Motembo, or Jeromu.”
Suddenly, Jeff stood up from the ground. His eyes were red with bloodshot, and his face was glistened with the moisture of tears.
“I’ve had enough!” He screamed deafeningly. He ran to the entrance of the hut and turned around, waving his arms frantically in the air.
“We’re in the middle of the Goddamn forest, in the middle of a Goddamn medicine hut! And we’re waiting here in the dark. And we’re waiting for what? For theses animals to slowly stalk us like a sitting ducks.” He shook his head furiously, and waved his hands around, hitting the walls.
“Listen to me. We’re only a half a mile away. Why don’t we just run for it? We’ve gotta lot better chance out there, then sitting here waiting to die.” He started backing towards the open entrance way.
“Jeffery,” Henry said, putting his hand out towards him. “Don’t worry, back away from the door.”
“Don’t worry! Don’t worry! Goddamn it Henry, how am I spose to not worry? I’m being hunted by a dinosaur. A dinosaur, Henry! A dinosaur!”
He turned around, and ran through the entranceway into the ghostly village. As he ran, he cried back at them.
“I’m running, for the river! Nothing is going to-“
A piercing scream tore through the air. Henry and Misulu spun around, facing the back of the hut. Scott was up on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs, pointing hysterically towards the door. They wheeled around to see the source of Scott’s distress.
Just feet from the hut, the dark silhouettes of four creatures stood huddled over a dark mass on the ground. They towered ten feet into the air, with dark scaly peppled skin, and two small horns above each eye. Rows of red dagger like teeth protruded from their massive jaws as they bit into the darkened heap below them.
The men watched for only seconds before running out of the hut into the village. No order was given by Misulu, no words were spoken. The only sound that was perceptible was the frenetic scream that Scott emitted madly. As they sprinted out of the hut, they glanced towards the four serpentine creatures devouring Jeff’s remaining carcass. In the pale moonlight, their bodies glowed like white demons.
***
The three men ran madly deliriously across the blackened village, not daring to glance back behind them. Misulu led them, with Henry and Scott gasping for breath as they followed him. They could see the dusty footprints of the creatures in the dirt as they ran towards the far entrance way.
When they reached the wooden gate, the three men ran through it and into the steamy foreboding jungle. The stack of supplies sat exactly as they had left them, undisturbed. The bodies of the porters were nowhere to be found, they had disappeared into the obscurity of the night tide.
Without breaking stride, Misulu reached down with one immense arm and picked up one of the containers. His tucked it under his arm, and began running on down the darkened path.
“To the river!” he yelled back at them.
Behind them, Scott ran with his tiny pitiful strides and was quickly losing ground. He tripped over a loose vine, and fell hard down onto the wet grassy floor. He shrieked in anguish and unrelentless terror. Misulu and Henry turned around to help the fallen Scott.
“Leave me be!” He cried, rolling on the ground. “I’m a downed soldier!” He screamed a hysterical shriek, an almost insane laugh and crackle.
“Ohhhhhh!” He sang loudly, as he kicked and punched the air.
Misulu stopped and ran back towards Scott. With his free hand, he reached down to help him off the ground.
“What are you doing?” He yelled, “Leave me! Heaven awaits me!” He folded his arms in prayer and pointed them towards the ebony night sky.
“The hell it does,” bellowed Misulu. He reached down and scooped Scott under his arm, picking him up under his shoulder. All while, Scott kicked frantically, and laughed furiously, still pointing and looking up to the murky heavens.
Fear can be a powerful drive.
Henry’s own spoken words rang a thousand times over in his head as he ran aimlessly through the lightless jungle. Every muscle burned with exertion and exhaustion; his legs churned with a rate he didn’t know possible at his age. His breath came out in ragged gasps, straining to supply the air to his fleeting muscles.
The haunting scene played in front of him as he sprinted along the pass. The expediency of the kill, the speed, the quietness.
The quietness.
The quietness of the entire hunt was the most disturbing aspect of it. Not a sound was heard from the stalking predators; no footsteps, no breathing, and no screaming from their killing of the porters.
That’s the perfect strategy.
His statement the previous day was all too apparent to him. The speed of it was all wrong, it was too slow, too pronounced. The creature simply waited until its prey made a wrong move, until it stepped out of hiding.
Its prey. Jeff was its prey.
Henry’s mind was warped too much by shock and adrenaline to feel any thing towards Jeff’s death. Fight or flight. His body had chosen flight. It was armed to get away; his senses were aroused, his muscles were operating at a horrendous rate, and his brain whirled back and forth through a thousand thoughts and dreams.
Passage: II Night: III 11:27 P.M.
As they ran along the forest path away from the village, the canopy overhead began parting, and the path began gradually widening. Above them, they could make out the tiny pint points of light reaching from the stars through the trees, guiding their way. The loud murmur of a river could be heard ahead of them in the distance. A dense cloud of mosquitoes clung to the air, signifying that they were nearing the water. A silent world engulfed them; they could hear no sounds behind them as they ran
In a blur, the jungle ended, and the three men burst onto the banks of a raging river. They stopped immediately, and collapsed onto the muddy ground. Misulu still had a hold of Scott under his arms.
“Unhand me, you fiend,” said Scott, tugging on the grass and sticks beside him. Misulu unfolded his arm from around Scott, and lay on his back, gasping for breath.
In the glowing darkness, they could make out the waves and rapids of the river. Sharp rocks and boulders protruded from the surface, and logs and debris floated aimlessly down along its currents. A cool mist splashed up on them, spraying their bodies with vapor.
Misulu stood up quickly, still panting, and began opening the wooden crate at his side. He pried open the lid, spilling the contents out onto the ground. He picked up a machine gun that fell out of the crate.
“Ohhh, what’s that?” Scott asked, his anger vanishing on the spot.
“This, Mr. Travenski,” Misulu said between breaths, spreading a blanket of material out across the damp grass. “This is our ticket out of here. Help with the pump, now.” He handed Scott a large foot pump with a lanky hose attached to one end.
“Our ticket out of here!” Scott screamed, throwing the pump aside in disgust. “Why would we want to get out of here! We’re in the middle of the jungle, where on earth would you rather want to me? It’s perfect!” He giggled a girlish laugh.
“God damn it, Mr. Travenski!” yelled Misulu. He grabbed Scott by the shirt collar, and hoisted him straight up into the air. Scott’s feet dangled and kicked furiously. “I swear on my life if you do not shut up I will kill you.” He gritted his teeth and stared into Scott with red unblinking eyes.
“Enough,” Henry butted in, walking up to them. “Keep yelling, and they’ll kill us. Now, I’ll help with the pump. Try to be quiet.”
Misulu sighed and let go of Scott, letting him fall to the ground. Scott coughed and spat at Misulu.
Misulu reached down to punch Scott, but Henry put a restraining arm around him.
“The pump,” he said again, picking the small device up off the ground and handing it to Misulu.
Eyeing Scott the entire time, he took it from him tentatively, and attached it to the mass of fabric lying on the grass.
“Remember, quietly,” Henry whispered, motioning to the trees that surrounded them.
Misulu clenched his jaw, fighting back the anger dwelling up inside him. He pressed his foot down heavily on the pump, and a loud hiss sounded. Methodically, he pressed and again and again, and the shape of a raft slowly began to rise from the ground. They waited in tension and anticipation, as the steady hissing of the air pump cut through the air. All around them, the jungle waited silently, not moving or breathing at all.
After several apprehensive minutes of waiting on the shore, the small Zodiac raft was fully inflated. Henry and Scott jumped in the boat as Misulu waded in the murky water, pushing it out away from the riverbank. He climbed in, and the three remaining men floated slowly down the dark river, towards an unknown destination. In the night sky, Henry could almost see the moon as it fought its way through the occult of ebony clouds.
Passage: II Night: III 1:27 A.M.
Time passed slowly along the invisible flowing river. Not a wave broke the surface, the river sat as still and smooth as a pane of flawless glass. Only the faint trickle of the water swimming against the banks could be heard. Overhead, the moon and stars fought valiantly against the blanket of clouds, but it was to no avail. The rainforest remained covered within the shadows.
The hull of the boat broke into the smooth façade of water as it gently glided down the river. It made no sound, and couldn’t be seen through the fog of night. It rode aimlessly at the mercy of the nature that surrounded them. In the far away distance, they could see the edge of great canyon forming in front of them.
The three men said nothing as they drifted in the boat. Misulu sat on the edge controlling the rudder and watching the banks beside them. Scott lay in the middle of the raft, staring up at the sky blankly. He trailed in hand in the water, splashing the boat. Henry sat at the front, watching the darkness pensively, rubbing his beard.
Misulu looked back at Scott and his hand in the water. He said in a loud whisper,” Mamba. “Crocodiles.”
“Crocodiles?” Scott said, quickly sitting up. “Crickey!” He then reached into his jacket pocket, and turned it inside out.
“My pills!” He yelled, padding down his other pockets. “My allergies! Crickey! Bloody crickey!” He laid back down in the boat and closed his eyes, mumbling to himself.
Both men shook there heads and ignored him. Henry looked down at the water, and saw a hint of glimmer bounce off the surface. He glanced up in the sky; the moon peaking through the clouds for a brief moment, casting the land below in a white aura. As if my magic, the whiteness flooding Henry’s face seem to illuminate both his body and his mind.
Jeff is gone.
In the quietness, the realization came to Henry painfully, biting at his mind. He rubbed his beard, fighting back the wave of emotion and distraught that was coming. He took a deep breath, and attempted to clear his thoughts. As always, he tried to think things through, without letting emotion cloud his intelligence.
“Don’t let emotion cloud your intelligence.”
As he gazed up at the angelic moon, his life sermon appeared before him. He then closed his eyes. He was convinced, absolutely convinced, that this was the key to life.
The key to life. The key to Jeff’s life.
If only Jeff would have listened to him more closely, he would still be alive. If only he’d sat quietly, and waited without worrying. Henry had preached it all his life, and yet it was so clear to him that this had to be the means to a healthy life. Literally, Henry thought, as he thought of the darkened creatures huddling over Jeff’s body.
He opened his eyes, and looked down at the water, the moon’s reflection shining brilliantly off its surface.
Life is a river, Henry thought, starting at it with stone brown eyes.
Once you climb on there are no guidelines telling where you will go, or how fast you’ll go getting there. It might be a rough ride with daunting rapids and haunting canyons, or it might be a smooth tranquil trip with little bumps or bruises along the way. Regardless of what happens, you must realize two important ideas. The river guides you, you don’t guide the river. And enjoy it while you ride it, because either it is a terrorizing jaunt towards and unknown end, or it is a monotonous ride through an equally droning journey . Either way guides you towards a fruitless and baseless life.
Henry wiped the mist off his glasses and looked back at Scott, who was still trailing his hand in the water, despite Misulu’s stern warning. And he was still staring blankly in the air, licking his lips. He ran his hands through his hair, and picked his at his jacket
Henry sighed and turned away from him. In the immensity and chaos of the situation, Scott still plagued him, still splintered his curiosity and apprehension. Since the first instance Henry met Scott, he knew there was something out of place, something off beam with him. And he’d progressively gotten worse sense the trip commenced. What hadn’t resolved yet is weather Scott is continuing to play mind games with the others or if his mind has truly floated away.
“What did I say, Mr. Travenski?” Misulu barked at Scott, interrupting Henry’s thoughts. Scott didn’t say anything, he just laid there unmoving.
“Well?” said Misulu irritably.
Suddenly, Scott bounced up rapidly and stared out into the open water. His eyes looked hypnotized and transfixed on something in the distance.
All around the boat, they could barely pick out the sound of rocks and dirt falling off the banks into the water, splashing noisily. A series of plut pluts filled the air, and then all was quiet and desolate. They rode on, past the source of the sound.
“Crickey, what was that? An alli-“
“Shh,” said Henry, putting a finger to his mouth. He pointed at his eyes and then to the shore, beckoning him to look without being heard.
They floated for several moments without the splashing coming again. The soundlessness was almost as hard to bare as the falling rocks. The three men sat back in the boat, signing both in relief and trepidation. In the silence, they continued floating down the darkened path of the river.
***
Several minutes later, the splashing inexorably returned from the shore, only it was heard coming from closer upstream, ahead of them. Nothing was visible around them, as the plut pluts surrounded their boat. As before, as quickly at it started, it vanished, and a soundlessness washed over the ravine, leaving the raft in a valley of calm.
The men stood up in the boat, straining to get a glance at the cause of the sound. They squinted and stared, trying to catch a glimpse of the enigma. Deep within themselves, they all knew what was stalking them.
“Hippopotamus,” Misulu whispered to them. “It can’t be anything else. They come ashore during the night to feed. It’s just too dark to see them, that’s all.” He sat down and breathed a heavy sigh, wiping the beads of sweat away from his face.
“Possibly,” said Henry, still staring outwards. “But I’m going to have to disagree with you once again.”
Misulu looked up angrily, and was about to yell when Henry spoke softly again.
“If you look, you can see the shore perfectly. Whatever is making the noise isn’t concealed by the darkness. It’s concealing itself.” He paused, and put his head down.
“Do you know any animals that can do that?”
Misulu and Scott didn’t say a word, they knew the answer. Scott began shaking uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around his body, ducking his head into his chest.
“Now then, the bad news,” said Henry, trying to be as quiet and calm as possible. “They’re surrounding us. Right now, as we speak. We heard the splashing behind us only minutes ago, and now it’s in front of us. If we continue, we will fall right into their snare. What we must do is-“
Misulu stood up, his head towering over the other two men. He looked down on them, with fire in his eyes and madness in his voice. Thick veins protruded out of his neck and skull, and his muscles tensed and twitched with rage.
“Mr. Langston, I am the expedition leader. That means you listen to me, and that means I don’t listen to you. Do you understand me, or do I have to make it clearer for you?”
“I understand you want to get us killed by yelling so loud. What do you suggest we do?”
“I don’t suggest, I order. And I’m ordering us to lie down, and float by them, if there is anything. If they are there, they won’t see us.”
“I don’t think we know anything about these creatures. And yes, they are there, waiting for us, waiting for us to float right up onto their dinner plates. Not to invade your authority, but my plan doesn’t lead us to a stomach.” He looked directly up at Misulu, staring him down. Misulu didn’t say anything.
“Quickly, we must slip into the water, quietly. We’ll float past them, unnoticed. We must hurry.” He took off his jacket and sweater, and began unlacing his boots.
“Into the water!” Misulu yelled suddenly at the top of his lungs. The canyons and rocks around them seemed to shake as he screamed. “Into the water, says our fearless leader. Yes, of course! That’s the plan, says our fearless leader. Into the water! Into the Goddamn water.” He jumped out of the boat, into the river. The water was only up to his waist in depth.
“What are you doing?” Scott shrieked. He tried to grab Misulu as he jumped, almost falling into the water. Henry pulled him back into the boat, and they both fell back into the raft.
“I’m doing what we should of done long ago.” He clicked the safety off of his gun, and waded in the water, walking upstream away from the boat.
“I’m taking the offense. I’ve had enough of these God damn dinosaurs!” He fired his gun into the air, and yelled, “Come and get me you sons of bitches!” He shot his gun again, and waded farther upstream.
Henry and Scott remained in the boat, helpless, floating away. As they drifted downstream, the silhouette of Misulu disappeared into the murky fog and night, away from their vision. They could still hear him yhooping and hollering madly, firing his gun. They sat motionless in the boat, watching as they slowly glided away from him.
Then, they heard it. The sounds of rocks falling and splattering the water returned from the shore, packing the air. There was no doubt in their minds what was making the sound. Then a new noise was heard. A heavy splash, and then another, and then another. Dozens and dozens of them. It was if the entire cliff side was falling into the river.
They could barely pick out Misulu yelling, “There you are, you sons of bitches. Come and get me!” A loud clamor of gunfire erupted; they could see the red discharge of his gun through the obscurity. After several moments, the gunfire let up, and nothing else was heard.
For a moment, Henry’s heart jumped and skipped a beat. Had he done it? Had he killed them? They drifted away, waiting for a sign.
Then, the splashing continued, as more creatures entered the water from the shore. They could hear a deep resonating roar and breathing from behind them, upstream, and a low tone growl arose from the river.
“Haven’t had enough yet?” Misulu screamed through the darkness. “That’s what I thought, then come and-“ A piercing cry erupted from behind the boat, followed by an unearthly roar and shriek. More and more splashing came from the shore towards the screaming.
Henry and Scott turned away, holding their eyes and ears.
“My God.” said Scott. “They got him, they got him, they got him.” He kept repeating it over and over. “They got him, they got him.”
“Enough!” Henry screamed at him.
Abruptly, the roaring and growling behind them stopped. They then heard splashing and roaring coming down stream, towards the boat.
“See what happens when we scream?” Henry said. “Would you rather paddle, or swim to shore? Think quick.”
Scott pointed upstream. “Misulu! They got him. We have to save him, right now. They got him, we have to save him, leader.” His whole body shook and trembled.
“Then we swim. Quickly, get out, and swim quietly.”
Henry took off his sweater, and slipped into the water. Scott looked at the river, and said, “Leader, I don’t know how to swim.”
“Good, neither do I.” He pointed to the water.
Scott scowled and jumped into the water.
“My God, it’s cold. It’s like a death cold. I-“
Henry clapped his hand over his mouth, and steered him towards the banks. The two men waded towards the shore, while the splashing got closer and closer to the boat. They could hear their breathing and their nostrils flaring as they slowly approached.
Once they reached the banks of the river, they began running towards the jungle. As they ran, they found a huge cliff blocking their path.
“What the hell is this? It’s like a death cliff,” Scott said, feeling the cliff in the dark. He looked up towards the top of it. The moon shone through the clouds, revealing the towering precipice above them.
“No time to go around,” Henry said, looking behind them. “Up we go.”
He grabbed the face of the wall, and began pulling himself up inch by inch. The rock was crumbly and brittle, breaking apart easily as he climbed.
“I can’t do that,” Scott whispered loudly. “There’s no way, it’s impossible, it’s improbable, it’s imclimable, it’s…it’s,” He put his head down, wiping the tears from his face. “It’s…imbeatable. I can’t do this, leader.”
“I’m afraid there’s no alternative.” Henry said, nodding towards the river.
Scott hesitated, looking up and then back at the water, and then began to climb up below Henry.
The splashing grew louder and louder as it approached them. From the shore, it was only yards away. There was a sizzling sound as the animals bit into the raft, tearing it apart. They couldn’t see anything, they could only hear the unearthly sounds coming from every direction.
Henry and Scott continued to climb at an unsafe pace. Every foothold threatened to crumble and fall away with each step. Below them, they could see the ground growing farther and farther away from them.
“Once to the top, we run to the trees,” Henry said calmly.
“Why on earth are you so calm? You’re a calm freak. ” Scott said, his voice shaking.
From the river, the splashing turned courses, and began making its way towards the shore and to the cliff. The army of serpentines slowly approached the men stranded on the cliffside.
“That’s why,” said Henry.
They scaled up the wall towards the top of the cliff. The wind tugged at their bodies, trying to pull them way. The splashing had stopped, the creatures now stood at the base of the cliff, directly underneath them.
Henry looked down. Shockingly, he couldn’t see a single thing. Only a faint outline of the group of creatures could be seen, other than that they were entirely invisible and concealed. Henry didn’t know weather to be amazed or terrified.
No emotion, Henry told himself as he climbed. He looked up in time to see the stars gaze down at him, illuminating his way to the summit of the precipice.
***
Both men reached the top of the cliff, and toppled over it onto the soft grass. They stood up quickly, and looked around. They were standing on the edge of a tree line, where the foliage met the overhang. Beyond that, they could only see the monotonous mass of vegetation.
They turned around, and gazed down towards the river. The animals no longer were at the base of the cliff. They could see nothing and hear nothing; the snorting and breathing had melted away with them.
“What do we do now, leader,” Scott said, looking around, his eyes like saucers. He shivered, and pulled his jacket around him.
“Run,” Henry said, looking up at the ebony sky.
Passage: II Night: III 3:27 A.M.
In the eternal quietness of the nighttime jungle, the men ran through the dense foliage, running from their invisible stalkers that trailed behind them. There was no wind, there was no drone of cicadas, and the forest sat in an inanimate stance. Their boots splashed through the mud, and their bodies were scratched and scraped by the outstretched branches and sticks hanging down around them. They could see nothing; the thick canopy of trees blockaded the stars and moon from sight.
Then it was light. The forest ended, and men found themselves in a grassy valley, surrounded by the entanglement of the jungle. Above them, the full pale moon burned down on the area, casting the grass in a white radiance. The stars had never blinked brighter then when they shone down upon them. Around them, the jungle remained dark and murky, hiding in the shadows. It was as if the sky only illuminated the grass valley, and nothing else.
A new wind whipped through their hair, tugging at their bodies. The grass was knee high and waving back and forth by a breeze that hadn’t been present in the dark jungle enclosing the green valley. The fertile valley breathed life, breathed illumination.
Henry stopped, and looked around in amazement. In the massive region of the jungle, they had stumbled upon a new world unlike anything they’d seen. It was primordial valley, untouched and unscathed. It was the most special place that existed on earth. It gave him a peace and calmness that he had never felt before in his entire life.
Scott ran up behind him, gasping for a breath. He bent over, trying to catch his breath.
“Where…are…we?” He glanced around, his eyes wide with fear.
“Heaven,” Henry whispered.
“What? Are we dead? Where are we?” He giggled and laughed, slapping his knee.
“Heaven. Or, Valhalla. Or the Garden of Eden. In every culture, there is an archetype of a place where one finds spiritual perfection and rejuvenation. We’ve reached it, Scott.”
Henry walked forward slowly, into the valley. He looked around, his soft eyes soaking in the mood and energy. He looked up at the sky, holding his arms out, and began spinning in a circle.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scott yelled, running up to him. “Are you rain dancing?” He laughed again, “Haha, rain dancing!” He turned around, and began running around the valley, laughing hysterically.
“This is it,” Henry whispered to himself, as he stopped spinning. He walked through the tall grass, pushing it aside. As he reached the middle of the valley, he stopped and looked back.
Scott was running around, crying madly, flaring his arms around. He laughed and cried a continuous insane shriek.
“They’re coming!” He yelled as they galloped towards Henry. He pointed in all directions towards the blackened jungle that surrounded them.
“I can hear them coming, from the darkness. Can’t you hear them coming? They’re coming fast.”
Henry didn’t say anything. He stood there motionless, staring into nothingness. He closed his eyes.
“Did you hear what I said? They’re coming. My God, they’re coming!” He dashed madly through the grass, singing and laughing, running in circles.
Henry opened his eyes, gaping up at the moon. It was full. Fuller than it had ever been. He could see the infamous face of the man on the moon, gazing down upon him. It was if the moon was whispering him, telling him what to do.
“Scott,” Henry said.
Scott was running circles around the enlacement, whooping and hollering. He had stripped off all of his clothes expect his underpants, which he ran around in.
“Scott,” Henry said calmly again. “What have you done to yourself? What has the world done to you?”
He heard Henry, and came running at him in full sprint. He stopped in front of him, panting and breathing loudly. He eyes were wide with horror and lunacy as he gaped at Henry.
“What have you done to yourself?”
“They’re coming. They know my scent. I took off my clothes so they can’t smell me. It won’t work though, because they’re coming. Ahahaha!” He turned away, and began running away again.
“Wait, Scott,” Henry said placidly. “Before they come, answer me this one question. Have you always been mad, or were just playing mind games with us all along?”
Scott squinted his eyes, and paused, thinking. After several minutes, he answered. “How dare you, I’m not mad! I’ve never been mad, and never will be mad! My mind’s never been clearer.” He took off in a gallop.
That makes two of us, Henry thought.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Henry said, reaching out to grab Scott. Scott turned around, holding out his hands. He was holding clumps of hair in his palms.
“All your questions are making my hair fall out,” He snickered. “I did answer your question. I’m perfectly sane, and I always have been.” He looked at the jungle around him. “My God, they’re here, I can hear them! Can’t you hear them?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it out.
Henry sighed and turned away from Scott, towards the ebony forest. He walked slowly to the edge of the forest, and sat down on a rotting log on the ground.
Henry would never truly know if Scott had been insane since the beginning, or if he’d gone mad in the chaos of the situation. Had he suppressed his insanity this entire time, letting it leak out in short bursts, or had his mind floated away as they sat here, waiting for their silent stalkers to find them. He knew that he would never uncover the answer.
Sighing, he looked up at the night sky, clearing his thoughts, making his mind a void. He didn’t hear anything; he didn’t hear the wind whipping through the grass, he didn’t hear Scott running around him madly, and he didn’t hear the creatures slowly surrounding and enclosing them from all around.
Above, the last of the storm clouds departed, and the full majesty of the sky shone down in complete view. The thousands of stars danced happily as they twinkled their way to earth. Not to earth, but to their grassy valley, and nothing else. The moon shone so vibrantly and luminously, it was if night had transformed into day. Henry could see everything around him as clearly as he ever had, both in body and in mind.
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his red velvet journal. He opened it to his last entry, and dated it, “September 17h, 1988.” After several minutes of writing, he put the journal down, open. It read:
Dear World,
This will be the last entry of this journal, and the last entry of Henry Alexander Langston.
As I sit here, in this juxtaposition of light within darkness, I find myself reaching the end. The end of an expedition, a journey, the end of the fabled spirit quest of myths. As with everything, there is always a beginning when the end is reached. I have reached the beginning of my revelations to this expedition.
This jungle voyage has played out exactly as a story of sorts. There are a large number of human archetypes present. The characters, myself included, have pitied battle against the environment, against each other, and against each other’s characters. We all posses a weakness, and tragic hero flaw, that has led to our inevitable demise and destruction. With each person, their fault held the promise of strength, but was eventually their tragic error.
Jeff. Throughout our expedition, Jeff’s flaw became more apparent and perceptible. “ Worrying is the absence of thinking”. Worrying, like everything else in existence, is useful only in moderation, only long enough to become involved in the situation. After that, it is a crutch, a very dangerous crutch. There is no better illustration of this then the death of Jeffery Condales. In every situation that we faced, Jeff was left with a choice weather to counter it with intelligence and conscious, or to dive into the abyss of worrying. With each instance, it was clearly demonstrated the power of clear thinking without worrying, or that worrying will literally lead to a lifeless void. To the memory of Jeffery Condales, may he never worry again.
Misulu. In the opening of the voyage, Akari Misulu’s relentless pit of anger seemed to be the spark that would ignite our team into greatness. Used properly, Misulu could have driven our team out of danger, and out of the perilous events. Instead, his rage surfaced at every wrong moment, pitting the men against impossible odds, odds we would all eventually lose to. As with Jeff, Misulu’s uncontrollable fury and anger set the wheels of our destruction in motion. To the memory of Akari Misulu, may he never get angry again.
Scott. The father of this expedition, the leader, the play caller. He was the enigma that plagued our minds and splintered our thoughts. From our first encounter, I knew that Scott Eugene Trevenski was special, in a mad way. He either possessed the genius that a mad man attains, or his aloft mind would threaten us all. It has turned out to be the latter. His childish antics have caused us to be where we are presently. My only regret is that I will never know the impetus Scott had for this expedition, and rather he was mad from the start, or if he became insane in these last few minutes, as we wait here for the inevitable coming of the creatures. To the memory of Scott Eugene Travinsky, may he mind return to him in the future.
Henry put his pen down, and looked out across the valley. Scott had stopped running and was standing still in front of the row of trees. The trees in front of him, they swayed, ever so slightly, almost barely noticeable. Its leaves fluttered as they swayed, and then ceased.
Scott let out a high-pitched scream, and took off across the valley, to where Henry was sitting. Henry said nothing, did nothing, as Scott came racing towards him.
“They’re here, I can see them! My God, we’re going to die here, right here in the jungle, right now.”
“Yes, we are,” Henry said to him.
“You’re crazy! You’re just sitting there, waiting to die. That’s insane, you’re insane! Aren’t you scared?”
“No.”
Scott looked at him blankly, and took off again, still running around in his underpants. All around them, the trees began shaking and rattling, and the breathing of the creatures slowly filled the air.
Yet Henry did nothing. He looked up at the full moon and stars, and then picked up his journal. He wrote again for several more minutes. He put it down again, open. It read:
Dear World,
I lied. This now will be the last entry of Henry Alexander Langston.
The Sun Won’t Rise
As I look up at the sky, seeing the brilliant moon and twinkling stars, I realize now, the sun won’t rise. I will not live to see the morning light, nor the early dawn of day. These invisible creatures have tracked us to this place, this place of destiny and enlightenment. They will hunt us, and kill us both, tonight, in the eternal darkness of the Congo rainforest.
Looking now, I see the truth that has arisen from our voyage. When I die here tonight, a piece of humanity will vanish along with it. I have found an ideal, a truth, that will aid man and aid society. However, these creatures of the shadows have found us, and these truths will not escape death.
The light is the truth, it is the illuminating entity that feeds our lives and world. Without it, we are stuck in a globe of perpetual night and ebony despair. The day is an absolute homogeneous enlightenment.
The blackness is the enemy of truth, of explanation. It covers up, conceals, and occults what is real, what is relevant. Blackness is ignorance.
There are creatures that stalk the night, preventing anybody from escaping the black of night. These creatures are those who perpetuate ignorance, who hunt those of seek the light, who kill those who have found the truth. They have been here since the beginning of time, and will always be in existence, crawling along the black shadows and dimness that engulfs us.
A hope shines in the sky, breaking into eternal hours of darkness. The stars, twinkling like thousands of unsung heroes, and the moon, shining almost as brilliantly as the sun. The moon and stars are those who go against the tide, who shine truth in an otherwise desolate and helpless world of black.
The storm clouds attempt to hinder the sky’s ability to shine. They come in, bringing storms and waves, casting the world once again into the shadows. They strike violently against those who hold the truth in their palms.
The wind breathes vitality and life hood. Without it, the world is washed over in a dead soundless, where life is stifled and choked. Without the wind and background noise, those who perpetuate ignorance and blackness will live in stride and control.
Life is a river. You will ride on it uncontrollably, going wherever the current decides to take you. You are at the mercy of nature and the river. When the live river gets too dangerous, and the night creatures began stalking you, you must leave your raft, and journey outside the river. You will come to a cliff, and cliff you must overcome to reach the next level of spiritual rejuvenation. If you are unable to climb this wall, you will be left with the creatures that stalk the night, that will devour you. If you successfully ascend the cliff, you will reach the next level. You will reach the pinnacle of life, in the valley of white and wind.
The Sun Won’t Rise
The human race will never see the sun, or the light of day. We will never be fully enlightened. The blackness is too overwhelming, the night creatures too powerful and too deadly. However, the moon and stars will shine down vibrantly, casting you an aura of spirit and life. With this, it is possible to lead a fruitful life in an otherwise fruitless void.
There is a little bit of light in any darkness. There is order in any kind of chaos. There is wind in any type of weather.
Signed,
Henry Alexander Langston
Henry signed the journal, closed the book, and put it in pocket. He looked up, and breathed heavily. His entire body was relaxed, and he felt no emotion, only calmness and tranquility. His mind felt a sense of ease and finality. He was finished.
Across the green valley, Scott came running, laughing and screaming as madly as ever. Behind him, four serpentine creatures emerged from the trees in full view. Henry could see them clearly for the first time, yet he felt no terror. He looked into their pebbly eyes, seeing their yellow lenses stare lifelessly back at him.
Then, from the sides of the valley, four more creatures arose from the darkness into the light. Their bodies were white and pale, adapting to the glow of the moon and stars. They came slowly, moving quietly through the thick grass. They roared softly as they approached Henry and Scott.
Scott ran up to Henry, crying and screaming.
“We’re going to die! My God, they’re here, right behind us.” He turned around, facing the creatures.
“I’m going to die!” He looked up at the sky, folding his hands, and shrieked madly.
“Beam me up Scotty! Ahah!” Beam me up now, Scotty! Yes, that’s perfect!” He collapsed on the ground shaking, as the creatures surrounded and engulfed his body. Then it was silent.
Behind Henry, four more creatures surfaced from the forest. He remained completely motionless as the creatures gradually grew nearer to him. He didn’t speak a word or utter a scream as they stared down into his eyes and breathed heavily on his body. He didn’t think a thought as they bent over to close around him. All he did was smile, as he was shrouded in darkness.
As always, comments are very appreciated.
Passage I
10/8/2005 7:42:02 PM
(Updated: 10/8/2005 7:45:32 PM)
(Updated: 10/8/2005 7:47:14 PM)
(Updated: 10/8/2005 7:47:45 PM)
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