Topic: Reminiscence

Queen of the Swarm

Date: 2009-02-06 13:33 EST
Eyes Wide Open

During the time of perpetual darkness, all I could do was feel about my strange cylindrical cage. I ran my fingertips across its smooth surface often, if only to map out my immediate surroundings, to check for any changes as time slipped on past. It was the only sensation I had at my disposal, so I utilised it as best as I could giving the confined circumstances. Feeling every inch so that I could feel secure of little change in my home.

When I moved my appendages, I could feel my body shifting through a gentle yet resistant, semi-invisible force where each movement I had inflicted upon it generated some kind of swirling current.

At times I could touch the ground with the tip of my toes, yet found myself impossibly suspended by something so that my feet could not fully connect to cold hard surface at the very bottom of my cage. I couldn't quite grasp as to how or why this was so, but little did I know or understand the basic component properties and features of a liquid.

Each new discovery revealed many questions that filled my curious yet wild imagination, including the wonderment of just what kind of a creature I was, or what this thing was tied around my head, and just as to why I existed in such a state and for what purpose.

For a very long time this was my life. A constant uncertainty filled with confusing layers upon layers of questions upon more questions, where I could produced little to no answers. Yet one day, I summoned enough courage and fought back the fright of the greater unknown beyond the darkness, and opened my eyelids for the very first time.

Never had I seen light before. Given that I had gone through the whole of my life up until that point in perpetual darkness, let me tell you, the first time you open your eyes" The calm gentle light of a distant light bulb that you are so accustomed day to day, can become so explicitly intense that it could singe your brain with the afterimage for hours upon end.

So bright was the luminescence of my surroundings, that my eyes snapped shut immediately upon the first try. I kept them closed for the longest of times afterwards, for fear of experiencing the same pain for the second time. Eventually my courage built up again, but this time around I gradually reopened them bit by bit so that my eyes could adjust until finally' I saw something.

From the brightness of the light, shadowed figures started to blend out into the foreground, bleeding out of the brilliance until I could identify their basic, yet blurry shape. One of them was situated a lot closer to me, while the others were making a variety of odd gestures with their hands, slapping them together in such a way that it appeared rather jubilant.

I could not hear what they were saying, but I could hear through the watery bubbling roar of my environment the distant, inhuman muffle of ovation and other random converse I could not decipher. These strange sounds were something I was quite accustomed too. Such noises before as it happened, had occurred quite often when my world was nothing but a black canvas. But now the situation was clearer, for I have an appearance for the culprits of those indistinct and muttering noises.

Suddenly, a curiosity upon my own appearance for the first time grew. I gingerly looked down, noticing strange blonde tendrils floating like spectres in front of my blurred vision. These strands all seemed to come from my own head, so I assumed that they were nothing more than additional appendages I could use. Later on; a few months in fact, I had learned that those blond spectres were in truth my hair. Not that it stopped me at the time in touching them with an inquisitive nature, to test out their material and softness.

Eventually my gaze returned upon the closest blur, who stood just before the fantasy world an inch or so behind the transparent cylindrical window of my cage. As I stared at him, and as he watched me, he lifted a hand much like mine to press up against the outside of my home.

While I was afraid of this approach, I too, could not help but want to mimic his gesture. I lifted my own hand nervously, and too ultimately pressed it up against the same area. For some reason, I could see the blurred visage of his face creating some kind of? Expression. He looked happy about something.

This man was Doctor Cornelius Maxmilion Durga, once a great genetic scientist and my Father.