The Witness (NaPoWriMo Day 26)

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It will be some time before we know if the operation was a success. The bandages on his hands and face enfold him like my gauzy angel wings did before the incident. Gosh… remember back in the 21st Century when people didn’t believe in us, despite the preponderance of evidence? I mean really? What other viable evidence did they have for what they crudely call inspiration? No sentient creature could believe all their greatest inventions were the result of application of human faculties alone. They are newborn mice -sightless – barely capable of perceiving their world in three dimensions. Then again we can’t fault them. Every sub-species has an evolutionary progression they must follow. They’re getting there.

Nikola came closest to our discovery back in the 20th century of their so-called scientific age, but he was a rare human… Gee, I remember when he fell in love with me… though he imagined me a pigeon. I don’t mind telling you it was more than a bit jarring, but I cooed and cooed anyway as he fed me bits of coarse black bread and Serbian poetry. My favorite was this:

The Sunset

The coppery sky is still warm and aglare,
The river is all flooded by an evening glow;
As if the insidious flames still flare
Behind the black wood of old pines below.
A millwheel somewhere far at this hour
Can be heard roaring hoarse and deep;
Smoke and fire the blazing sky now devour,
And on the wave water flowers are asleep.
Yet another eve. And it seems to me all
That far beyond and across three seas,
As the sun sets and silence does fall,
In the gleaming shade of emerald trees,
A woman unknown to me, pale as desire,
With a crown and aglow, sits thinking of me.
Deep and infinite is her eternal sorrow dire,
As night, quiet and darkness nearer may be.
‘Fore the gardens, the ocean is unfurled,
A grey flock of seagulls soars aloft;
Thru a host of roses wilted and curled,
The wind hums a tune, doleful and soft.
As their orbs stare up at the golden sky,
Two gigantic Sphinxes stand guard so,
As she weeps; and the weary sun sets by
The canvass of the sea, steady and slow.
And I, whose face she knows not, now
Fill up all her thoughts and breath.
Her cold lips mutter a fidelity vow.
Hopeless loves are faithful as death!
Alas! Don’t ever say to me: ‘tis not so,
Or that my heart does itself deceive,
For I’d weep, eternally weep, woe!
And with no solace, I’d forever grieve.

Remember? Ahhh… how glorious is that? Even Gabriel could not demur. Give humans an inch and they’ll take a mile, this is what makes them so awful and so incredibly charming. One cannot help but admire their audacity. I am glad you all eventually forgave me for my implanting the idea of what they called wireless electricity in Nikola’s blood-soaked sponge. Not that it did the darling any good. Those poor humans wasted so much energy back then calling themselves enlightened, trying to process information that they should have simply intuited via the heavenly conduits they refused to accept. Honestly, however, I would’ve given Nikola Chamuel’s eyes back then even if it meant ex-communication, could you blame me? He was delightful…

Oh yes, you’re right. So sorry, I digress, back to our patient.

Note, there’s a small aperture where his mouth was, and into it wires and tubing are fed to him, like so much spaghetti (Ohhhh…. Nikola loved spaghetti so… *sigh* it’s a shame about the bees and the death of all the crops and trees, I was especially fond of fields of barley, so lovely at sunset with a soft breeze blowing through the lit flames of their honey gilded tips… ohhh… honey and honeycomb, surely the most romantic construction of a home in all of earth… with its edible walls.. such sweet elixir, and those lovely candles they made from wax.. such soft light….the glow of love )

Oh, there I go again, reminiscing… my apologies…

Anyway, humans still require a bit of hardware, this particular arrangement of wires will keep the neuroreceptors in his vocal cords connected to Broca’s Area which will allow a synaptic neural pathway to Wernicke’s Area in the posterior superior temporal lobe. Wernicke’s area is primarily involved in the comprehension of language. Historically, this area has been associated with language processing, whether it is written or spoken, obviously he won’t be doing any writing, but we are hoping to restimulate speech, though his tongue will remain suppressed for now, thus forcing him to develop and engage in telepathic neuropathways (Funny how they used to call this modest sixth sense “Psychic” it comes from their ancient Greek rom Greek psykhikos “of the soul, spirit, or mind” they had no idea how close they were to the truth of that!)

Ooops, I am terribly sorry. Of course,  please do forgive me…right… this phase will be essentially a transitional one, until we can recover and download his memory onto Cesium-vapor resonance cells for the chip-scale atomic device that will eventually allow us to discard his encasing entirely; here, the filling step itself is done by thin-film deposition and thus integrated monolithically with the rest of the fabrication process, but during this phase his eyes will remain behind what humans quaintly call clouds.

Dreaming. Such a lovely metaphor for remembering all that occurs that they simply do not consciously perceive. *sigh*

Occasionally, when he is conscious and opens his bandaged eyes, he hears his eyelashes scratching against the cotton wrappings, and remembers certain occurrences, but those moments are still too fleeting for him to retain since they do not occur linearly, humans still retain a predisposition for narrative and rhythm as mnemonic aids, hence the need for our interjection. The iThoughts in his cellular communication implant indicates these new attenuations in visible spectrum disturb him. iThoughts says the patient always imagined that blindness was a moonless midnight, a placid dark that offered scope for illimitable possibilities, especially for someone with his disposition and experiences, but this NewVision feels more like his retinas are frying on the surface of the sun – sightless from a white blight, a kind of oblivion that reveals the limitations inherent in human vision. If black is the absence of color, and white its over-abundance, he feels his eyes have become a vehicle for the detonation of rainbows. Naturally it’s painful for the poor boy to perceive this all so suddenly, especially when what humans think of as Nothing is actually the Everything that suddenly bombards them all at once, this causes temporary sensory overload, but his autonomic system is efficient and he quickly closes his mind again to return to a plane of peace. So we’ll have to be patient.

 

 

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. erbiage says:

    gruesome, gripping. it’s amazing how close we get to ideas, revelations, and still manage to miss the boat.

  2. Oh — love this bit — it’s so true . . . “Give humans an inch and they’ll take a mile, this is what makes them so awful and so incredibly charming.”

  3. M says:

    Tesla. What a foil for this piece. ~

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