My physical descent into purgatory mirrored my souls fall from grace. Euphoric weightlessness within a womb-like cavity followed soon after by crushing gravitational forces beyond my control exemplified the shift into micro-dimensional space. The stasis-field that held me bound did nothing to assuage the intense pain of molecular restructuring brought on by re-entry into normal space.
The space station orbiting Purgatory 7 only served to reinforce the sensation of isolation. Cold, gray walls, Technicians and Administrators clad in silver bodysuits. They gathered around me curiously, studying for themselves both the mental and physical profiles of the most hated man in the galaxy.
In turn, I observed them. In them, I saw myself. Or rather, myself as I used to be. Supposedly objective and clad in the regalia of their stations, imperious in thought and attitude. Physician, heal thyself.
“Are you sure that’s him?” One said, doubtful.
“Of course I’m sure, dolt. Look at his coloration, his eyes, and the size of his head. Hes Black. If you look closely, you can even see the remnants of the Enhancers probes. See?”
The other replied, imperiously knowing.
“I dont know. Doesn’t look like him to me.”
”Nobody ever looks like they do in the holovids, don’t you know that by now?”
“Yes, but I thought he’d be taller.”
When I was younger, I had believed that humanity’s inheritance was the stars, that the only limit to our technological sophistication was the boundless expanse of God’s Creation. The purity of my innocence astounds me in retrospect. My naivete was boundless.
The extremes of outer space can only be explored by the fearless navigation of inner space and to follow that chain of thought too deeply threatens the very foundations of human achievement as well as our individual grasp upon sanitys diaphanous fringes.
In the dark corners of the space station, beyond the inclination of the Technicians and Administrators sight, lay the chaotic vestiges of true reality. I could see clearly from my vantage point beyond their version of reality as they pontificated, irrationally secure in the implicit knowledge of their own willful blindness. While they pronounced judgment, produced documentation and observed stimuli, chaos stole away the foundation of their Truth.
Its quite simple, really. Chaos is the common denominator that underlies the entirety of Creation. In any ordered system, events tend towards disorganization leading to eventual reorganization on a larger, more coherent scale, after a certain indeterminate point.
Black, beady eyes kept me company in my silence. Brown, gray and black bodies whispered through the stainless corridors, attuned to the cleaning cycles, the robot-drones and the occasional stray eye. Somehow, these creatures survived, and in surviving, thrived. Watching them, the full realization of my doom churned and roiled within me, finally heaving forth without apology.
I vomited profusely and tears coursed down my face as the rodents accepted my offering. To my reasoning, the purging of my stomach symbolized my acceptance of personal responsibility for my crimes, while simultaneously representing my denial of ultimate culpability. Society must play some role in the vagaries of human expression, regardless of the extremity of that selfsame expression.
My moment of epiphany was accompanied by the realization that beneath the surface perfection of our their reality lay a heart of darkness, a fetid abomination of death and decay. I reveled in that knowledge and the chorus of my insanity was born aloft by my shrill laughter, which echoed throughout the station in loops of forlorn despair. Let the church say Amen-Ra.
BB Series Interludes