Mythologists (written for my creative writing class)

The large rock pillars, although crumbling, still stand with majestic height, sometimes towering further than the lilac and lavender of the trees that fight for the warmth of the sun and the sweet embrace of day. The shade these odd structures create are more than most of the plants can handle, but over the years they have come to grips with how to topple the towers and stand dominant over their adversaries. I wonder, sometimes, as I wander through the area, what type of creatures once infested these large carcasses of stone and wood. Beautiful they are, I have since decided, which is why I continue to flit away from the hustle of the city in order to study and learn more of this race that once occupied this region.

I have been in constant communications with one of my dear companions, Master Zephyrcate, on all manners of my findings. We have been searching and researching when the manner of science failed, creating havoc until magic offered its politics once again upon the world. Many civilizations were destroyed during that fateful apocalyptic nightmare, and those that had been roaming the under grounds or better knew how to prepare for the massive destruction came back to rise.

I will never forget Master Zephyrcate's first letter unto me. His words only spurred my desire to learn more. It has been difficult and near impossible for me to make further leeway in the gathered books and readings we have already found deep in the debris. From what I have gathered thus far, these creatures not only represented us in a way, looking much like our own forms, but they also had their own mythologies, and those are us. To we, they seem like nothing more than a fairytale that stirs our curiosity. They had elaborate systems and things that we may never come to full grasps with. The etchings in their books of mythology show how we are what the creatures fantasized about. A world without magic. Who could ever dream of such a thing? Who indeed. To us, to me, they are not of a dream and they are more tangible than a mystery. We will learn more as we are determined to do.

In Master Zephyrcate's last letter unto me, he wrote about how objects have been uncovered in many of the other areas of excavation where thin tubules with even thinner twine of finely crafted metal had mechanisms attached to one end that we have yet to discover the proper use of. From various etchings we have discovered, we have come to believe that these items were directly implanted deep into the creatures through what appear to be large maws with gaping flesh sticking out in all directions. We do not have more than a mere cut of the pictures, though, and we know from other research that these creatures did not differ vastly from our own forms. We have come to think that the gaping maw to be their ear, although without further detail it is difficult to say. We further believe that these tunnels are placed within the ear and connect directly into their brain. Perhaps they are some sort of machine that records their thoughts.

I am a collector. I have been a collector for some time, priding myself in the arts, music, culture. That is what we Lillends are, after all. We protect all of what is good in the world and keep it from harm. Upon my travels I have found many a curious thing which I have hauled back to my keep, placing them tenderly in an assortment until I am able to display them without those that disbelieve forcing them to ruin. No one speaks of the old days, speaks of that terrible tremor that over took and the failure of the secret science and technology. It is a myth, to most, that those days ever existed. A rumor. A fairytale. Most are cut down for merely believing, for thinking, for wondering of its existence. I believe, though, as does Master Zephyrcate and the remaining of those desiring to know more. So we research. And I now collect specimens I believe also linked to this mystery working of science.

I believe, deep down in my heart, that the tyranny of magic is what cut off the last choking breath of science. Of course I will never admit it. Magic swept through the land in a rather glad manner, not even giving a second thought to all the civilizations that perished and disappeared. There was no mourning period. And now, with magic squelching even the thought of science and technology, it brings one to wonder why we are disallowed to learn more. What is it they fear we will learn? Even now I can feel the icy grip of magic along my spine and so I am better off to keep from speaking about such negatives. All hail the dictator magic and may it rule a long and healthy span.

We are a cult, you could say. We are the hunters, the seekers. We are the thinkers, the finders. We are the curious and so we are exiled from our communities in various ways. People do not want to see that there is another way besides the magics. We understand magic, we know it, we can write volumes upon volumes as to its worth. This science, though, that is the real magic and so, hence, it strikes fear and terror into the hearts of so many. I myself have collected a few volumes I have found in various areas of these concrete pillars do to the extraordinary covers and etchings inside that I could never dare replicate. I only wish I knew their language in order to learn more of these strange pictures of hideous beasts of twine and thick boards. I have been reassured by Master Zephyrcate that it is not as simple as that. Most of the things we have unearthed have been made of dense armor like metals protecting the curiosities below.

I live in one of the dug tunnels beneath the expanse of stone and foliage where the walls have been lined in a sort of tile and there are hard rafter-like apparatuses on the floor holding up I dare not guess. They were made, I am guessing, for the creatures, although I know not what they were for as I fear to explore very vastly below when there is so much I could be missing above. To this day pillagers still try to loot the area clean and burn what they find. What does not burn they try to sink to the bottom of the waters to our east. My only luck is most believe the area to be haunted and it takes many days for them to gather the courage to encroach upon my territory. They would never travel these tunnels since the openings for them are only at the very heart of the formations. Someday I hope all this nonsense to be over so I might travel and explore what I feel to be a city beneath the city.

I find words every now and then with words such as Broadway and Manhattan or Brooklyn Bridge. I fear I know not the meanings to such words but many times I enjoy tracing my fingers over their stick-like lettering system as if the mere touching of each portion will provide me a clue or bring me closer to the understanding I so desire.

I have since found what I deem to be a strange contraption in a very strange area. When I stand in this area I can almost feel the technology flow through me and give me a new air to life. I have been long since informed the dangers and terrors at science, though, ever since I was a mere pup, and so I can feel myself needing to resist the delicacies of this room, feel myself waning. I desire to write a letter to Master Zephyrcate and perhaps he can take his travels to this area to see what I am seeing.

A large flat box sits motionless in the corner in all manners accept what it is trying to show me. Much like a looking glass or a crystal ball, I could see the revolving colors that draw me closer in curiosity. But I mustn't touch. Something ticked behind me, still alive, and I whirled around to study what most have found unmoving in their digging. Circular with numbers upon it, there are two whiskers, one longer than the other, that seem to be making their rotations slowly around the inner expanse in a ring. The ticking is rhythmic and it drives me as I can feel it taking over for the pulsing beat of my heart even now.

There is so much more, here. A large bed that seems used not long ago. I couldn't help myself as I reached out to touch it. Still warm. Perhaps there was another assigned to the same area as me and this is their living quarters? I would expect, as well, for the room to be dark, and perhaps I just took for granted the lighting spells that keep torches burning long after the Master or Mistress has gone. But no. They were not torches and they burned my eyes to study them any more than I already have. I wish I could learn more, but the heat upon my face was more than even I could stand.

I can stand it no more. The curiosity reigns supreme in my body and I will not allow myself to merely deliver the letter via dove and wait my time for the Master to recognize me. The waves of color on the flat mirror like box intrigues me. Sat at an angle, the bottom of the open box contains various flat shapes that seem able to be depressed into the box further than they already are. The lettering is strange, like that of the signs I see. Could there still be one of these creatures alive? My hand trembles as I hold it out to a key that draws my attention more than any of the others.

Click.

Whirr.

And the people bowed and prayed to the neon God they made. And the sign flashed out its warning in the words that it was forming. And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls. And whispered in the sounds of silence.


Translated from the original by: Jakaal Zephyrcate