The Gears of Heaven

I stand on the brink of the world, here in the mountains were I can see the pin pricks of light and the ghostly forms of leviathans I know to be the cities buildings, ribbons of lights show me were the transportation arteries flow. I try not to look at the sky, I know what I shall see there, something others can not, but I can not help it and my eyes shift to the sky and my breath seizes within me once more.

There they are in the sky, partially obscured by the rolling wisps of cloud stained dark with with the night. The sky is the blue of ice beneath the mountain of ice, it is night but there is a translucence and light is flowing from some far away source. I have wondered if it is the world beyond but have to confess to not knowing. There is movement up there, great cogs, glowing faintly and half seen clanking into place. There is writing on some of them, as a child I would try and read it but the words are not my language though the letters are the same if apparently styalised.

I used to be happy about them there in the sky, they are only visible at night but then there came a day when I asked what they were and why they were there. I had not known that others could not see them. My friends melted away as specialist after specialist prodded and poked, then came the medicines which far from making the cogs in the sky go, made other terrors appear. I wept as deamons sat on my chest at night and squids of iridescent colours poured out of the walls, they shock their heads and changed the tablets and for years there was nothing. Oh the cogs were still there but I was too tired to insist on their existence anymore.

I’m off of the medicines now and my energy has some what return – I no longer mention the cogs though nor the light. But the last few nights I have been unable to ignore them there turning in the sky, for they clank around and the smaller ones fit into the bigger ones and there is dance there that is leading towards something. I do not know how I know this but it has been gnawing at me and so I stand here trying not to watch them but time is growing short and I wonder what the fate of those in the city below will be?

Part of me fears that they will regret not listening to me.

Posted: Thursday, August 19th, 2010 @ 2:35 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction.
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