Lo: Part One

The judgement has been decided, a miraculous voice commands, “Cast thou this untoward soul into the pit”. A person feels them-self falling confused and defiant, the earthen walls narrow and the deep reaching roots slash at exposed skin as they speed downward. There is a feeling; trails of blood streaming across a lacerated husk to be given to the upward winds. The roots are razor blades. The body is cascading broken down into its constituent parts, all-feeling. Pain disembodied, it feels all of its parts at once; though none are together. The atomic dust drips and settles in blistering agony like sleet and snow on the cold stone ground at the deep dark bottom of the pit.
A noxious liquid spills in. It reacts beyond the senses it stinks, burns, and blinds the bitter scattered gooey ashes of the one coalescing. The dust, mush, and the liquid intertwine and react; they form clay which is painfully scraped by talons unseen into a sort of iron maiden and sealed mayhaps forever.
A million years of restless sleep pass; claustrophobia, suffocation, and bedsores. Thirsty eyes look lidlessly at the front of a coffin. Motionless eons without mercy of death or madness finally give way, the casket opens and forth-ward falls a creature reformed; a clumsy clay-like homunculus tumbles into the abyss.
The body is dropped from great height to splat on the smooth floor of a foggy seemingly endless room.  The thing awakens to a cacophony of sound; waves made of torment, wailing, and sobbing broke mercilessly by laughter, teasing, and moaning. In the most sickening sense of the word it was bloodlust. The deafening madness intruded.
It was on lying on its back. The ground was cold, wet, and smooth. The thing sat up and tried to gently remove the filth from its unprotected eyes with its six dirty fingers. The thing knew nothing of self, nor of individual past, but it knew of language and facts – about events from a world it had never been a part of.
It wanders; occasionally, running into identically shaped homunculi. Some of them attacking each other, tearing at each other’s flesh only to be reformed and torn away anew.
It bumps into another seemingly similarly disoriented
“What is going on?” the question it yelled.
The things lips moved as if to respond but it could not hear over the raging noise. The thing cupped its ear and leaned in toward the other figure and heard “Donde Estas?”
The thing somehow knew this was a different language, Spanish, but did not know what the figure had said; nor did it know why the sound filled it with disgust and contempt to hear.
It was frustrated, it shook its head and yelled “Do you speak English? Do you hablo Ingles?”, grabbing the creature by the shoulders.
The creature in front of the thing brushed its arms away in agitation and stepped menacingly toward it with lips moving, and in the noise it sounded like it said “pinch ten mon see ma”.
The thing held up its hands, and ran into the fog when it saw the creature wasn’t stopping. It felt like it was stronger than it used to be; but it couldn’t remember being anything. It ran faster, al-be-it awkwardly, in its newfangled body. As it ran it was as surreal as if it was running through an art gallery of horrors. The fog would break in patches surrounding conflict; naked clay figures brutalizing each-other with fists, fingers, feet, and teeth. Shadows and silhouettes could be seen fleeting across, or scurrying, around the borders of these clear patches. All manner of depravity expressed, even pantomimed gestures of appendages not present.
It needed a name, an anchor amidst the torrent of floatsam and jetsam. It calls itself Lo.
The streaking screeching of chalkboards and airliners erupted across the night. The low light further faded and the fog dissipated a little. A voice filled the cavernous abyss. It came with the booming of a nuclear blast, which knocked everyone off their feet and sent the fog careening away like a sheet pulled off stage by pulley and sandbag. The manifestation of dripping malevolence sang, screeched, howled, and croaked in every language at once without disruption; the sound of which brought the shudder of cobwebs to the listener.
The disembodied chastisement called across the darkness in that dreadful tongue which all could understand. It was as if the knowledge of meaning was being shoved directly into the mouth of consciousness with kinetic force.
The voice of evil thundered saying more than asking, “Who among you would offer themselves a crown. Step forward you righteous one, come forth herald of individuality” The voice spit the words with the snapping of a whip. A tenth of a trillion eardrums ruptured and reformed sunders and sinews curling and tearing. A crackling ball of stabbing-bright shimmering light snapped into existence above the mass it slowly bobbed and weaved in the direction of Lo.
In a bipolar explosion of gentle caresses punctuated with the snipping words oozing with tempestuous rage the voice said, “Don’t be shy now you miserable worm, you disgusting filthy waste of existence! You pitiable fool, misguided you cannot see that what you fathom a self-serving mercy is an evil most supreme. You strip the essence of the gift I have given you all, my children. You would destroy the single speck of creation wherein lives the form of equality”. The crackling ball drew nearer to Lo

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