Participants:
| Scene Title | Gentiana Autumnalis |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Get up. |
| Date | ??? |
Here.
there was a boy
a very strange enchanted boy
they said he wandered very far
very far
over land and sea
a little shy and sad of eye
but very wise was he
and then one day
a magic day, he passed my way
and while we spoke of many things
fools and kings
this he said to me
the greatest thing
you'll ever learn
is just to love
Seasons change despite everything. Spring always comes. Winds always howl. Rain always pours. The world is always budding.
Even in the blackened countryside, ravished by fire, the skeletal remains of trees stand watch over the loam and reeds, water and rock layered over by a thin mucus of ash and coal as spring rains make their way home.
In the depths, some embers, even still, smolder in the bog. At night the lingering light can be seen as gas escapes, hazy will-o-wisps that vanish nearly as soon as they appear.
In the fields and barrens it is quiet, littered with the signs of an occupation; tire tracks remain in the earth, a tatter of a length of yellow tape, tarp stakes forgotten in the brown grass.
SESA was one of the first on the scene after the flight of Providence and its people, picking up the pieces. The pieces that they could find. At the fire break, the ground is torn as if from a great talon, dragging its way across piney marshland; it will always be there, in some way, in memory and physicality.
At the front line there is a great mass…
At the front line there is a…
At the front line…
…there is…
…mass…
Mass.
Boundless.
Forever.
No, not forever.
Just… open. Above, below, soil, air.
No. Above, air.
Are we sure about that?
Yes, of course.
Prove it. As above, so below.
As within, so without. It's here. It is. Right there. It's cold and it's here.
Good.
Oh.
there was a boy…
A very strange enchanted boy.
This was her favorite song.
And her song for me.
March 6, 2021
The Pine-Barrens, Beyond the Fire Break
And at the front line there is a great mass, outstretched from the decimation of the forest floor towards sky. It spirals, bloated at its base, a conglomerate of roots twisted tightly around portions of debris from a long dead prey. Scorch marks are its entire surface, the flesh warped, a victim to chemical fire. The lines of a face furrowed into the whorls of wood.
Signs of man surround his feet. Only signs.
An aborted effort aches in his side. A chain of knives, broken at a single link, stained and abandoned. It ate away just enough for a taste of the prize inside. Scorched steel glimmers there, in shreds.
they say he wandered very far
"Very far…"
over land and sea
"A little shy… and sad of eye…"
but very wise was he
"…"
and then one day
"A magic day…"
he passed my way
"…Oh."
Boundless.
Fractals on fractals.
The loam underneath of the ash shifts. Nothing rests; everything moves; everything vibrates. Grass and reeds split the topsoil, ferns unfurling in silent, eerie determination. Plants fast forward into growth and death and growth again, a series of small ripples which leaves rings of green amidst the burnt field. At its center, the disfigured spiral, jagged at the edges.
Smoky black skin snips and cracks. What bark remains, flakes apart along a fault line forming across the breadth. Fire emerges.
Not fire.
"Not fire."
Flowers. Orange embers in the shape of buds. Blooming petals of eight.
"Hello…"
He stretches his hand out for one of the brilliant lilies, fingers curling gently around its stem and bringing it closer.
"I can't stay."
"I'm sorry."
The air is chill and the sky is as dark as pitch and charcoal. Night shields green from prying eyes, even though the lilies remain upturned, faces to the reflecting light of the moon and stars.
Plant flesh withers away around them, and the mass begins to decay.
Left behind is the shape of a burial mound, steel and fuel and hate resting underneath the sickly gurgle of swamp and brackish water. Lilies, ferns, and decaying wood remain attached to its crown as he pulls away.
The slap of pooled water and oil under his hands is enough to shed the curtain of drowsiness, sharp little sounds followed by the sucking of mud. Roots and weeds lurch from the earth, rolling dutifully after clawing limbs, tickling ahead.
Dumortier already felt the cold, and now he feels it, crisp and shivering between spaces. Cornsilk hair is matted thick with ash, draped by gravity down angles of face, neck, shoulders, hardened in place. Pieces fall. Barkskin peels in thick rivulets, edges curling as mycopic shapes take its place. Moss crawls, soft and smooth under his weight. Stems rise from the growing grass, trumpeting violet flowers and goldenrod budding sleepily amidst them.
Rene remains aground, legs unfeeling and curled under his frame. On his lap, clasped in hand, the first of the flowers. Ringing in his ears replaces the absorption of much else, abiding only at a rumble that moves through him, vibrating in the life around him.
Yellow lights like eyes bob in the black.
Tentative voices, the thud of doors. "You heard it from all the way out here?"
"Yes! I mean- -" Boots crunch. "I think. It was faint."
"Okay, junior agent, go on then."
"Fuck you, H- -"
"The hell… that thing is gone.."
"…"
They are here for you.
Us.
Me.
Move.
Come on…
"… There was… a boy…" Air moves in, whispering, vibrating along vocal chords. "….a very strange…" Trilling beautifully. Hauntingly.
Light swivels and finds him, blinding and white, burning his vision.
enchanted boy