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Wednesday November 21st 2012, 1:38 am

In my ship floating through the orbit, mesmerized by the blinding white, I can’t help but to gaze upon the exquisite details slowly evaporating before me. The twin moons losing substance, losing solidity, as they are slowly awash in the radiance of the trespassing wave effect of The White Out. My heart sickens as the world below me also starts to fizzle and sparkle and gleam in crackling beauty, knowing that this enrapturing visage is truly only a horror with a pretty facade. It is death. No it is worse than that, it is nothingness, as if existence is being swallowed up into a dissipation of remembrance.

My wits regain some clarity. I have a chance still. Not to undue the damage or reverse the loss of my home, but to at the very least attempt to survive. And if I can do so, then seek vengeance against the death bringer, Mister Time. With a rapid surge of adrenaline I frantically hit at the control panel, grab the stick, spin the craft around as quickly as it can. The nose facing out into the stars, they beckon mockingly. And then a force setting me deep within the thickness of my cockpit seat, and I’m thrust at lightning speed out to another destiny.

My ship is reaching maximum velocity, and I can see from the corners of my sight twinges and ebbs of the White Out wave at the edges of my sides. I refuse to look, my eyes wide and unblinking into soreness, tears begin run from them. That if I blink, the very stretches of space before me would no longer be there with the rise of my lids. I refuse to even glance at the whiteness approaching and racing beside me, as if I were to do so I’d instantaneously forget my self, that all of who I am would flash away, that even my ghost could not be left with the vanishing of my body. Then my mind seems to take on a numbness, everything is shaking down to my very bones. A rattling inside my skull wanting break it apart from within, bursting out with brain-matter and blood, before blinking away in cascade of sparkles and that terrible white. The whiteness… has become engulfing, flooding my vision, I am blind. No more ship, no more beckoning stars. No universe to find a dream in. Just unbearable horrible whiteness. Whiteness. White… White… Wh..ii…tt…e…..

…e…..
………………….. ……… …… …

… M… mm… My….My eyes…

…are… heavy… I’m fighting. My eyes are fighting. They struggle like eternity is a struggle. But at last they creak… and crack… opening. And again… all I see is white. But the numbness is dying away now. My head, it rests upon a hard surface. I blink, smears of distortions. I blink again. Now the white has become something else, I feel tilted, and the white runs away from me along a flat plane.

Clarity steps in. The flatness white stops just a foot away giving way warm earthy wood tones all slightly full of discrepancy, scuffs and scratches, stains and grainy textures. I slowly lift my drifting head, my jaw is slack and sore, it cracks and pops with each subtle movement. As I rise up, the flatness of white shifts a little, pulling my attention to it’s surface. Strokes of black shapes and lines dance across, revealing subliminally instant recognition of an epic mythology, there is a story here.

Then I remember again. Yes, I remember, this is me. I’m telling this story, its alive with words and pictures, but as I look down at it I can see its not done, parts of it incomplete. There is an ending somewhere waiting for an illustration to reach it’s conclusion. I slowly glance toward the wall in front of me, where steel grey holds a counting digital screen. The clock is quickly ticking upward. Time is running short. Can I do this? Can I overcome this battle with Time. Is there enough of it? In my heart I hold out hope. But I fear of an unforeseen disaster sweeping in, preventing me from reaching the end of this war unscathed.

Mister Time Is Counting On It
November 20th 2012

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