Pantone 293 U

Bernard moves with relative ease through the converging horizon point of the hallway. Passing meters at a stride;  with controlled breath. He recalls the plan of the whole complex; looking to find its ultimate concentricities. The second hand on his watch courses steadily through its orbit, reminding him with every glance, that time is critical and vastly overestimated. Leaning through acute and obtuse changes of coursing in turn, Bernard checks off the stop-motion flashes of alternate routes as they apparate and vanish from his periphery. Only one stop can be made—at the end. He has displaced his weight and resolve forward at a pace unknown to his experience. Continuously, for what seems to be hours, in fuligin draped nothing, the tread of his shoes continue to leave their crumbs as alien palimpsest, the dust settling around them framing their passage. Bernard knows he can not desist, for anything, anyone, anytime.

Emerging from the gradient passage edge and into the arabesque volume of the complex’s center; Bernard eases a smile across his visage, concurrent with the sharp pang of anxiety and fear that roils through his chest. The lactic acid in his body finally begins it’s silent, creeping, wailing assault on his nervous system. Just focus. Allow the vanishing line to converge on itself. Create your point of departure, he repeats to himself; using the reassurance he has crafted over days of struggle.

Ahead of him now; to the naked eye, only a blank space in time and volume, but Bernard knows he must just get to the singularity; the one-point. My God! I have it in my mind, and now just to see it, move! The last five strides take him from the recollection of the past vector to the immediate reality. 5. How did this begin? 4. I have to be here, and in 3 steps time I must be there. 3. I can leave. 2. Push, breathe, move, push. 1. Jump.

As Bernard unleashes the coiled potential energy in his legs, he forces gravity to release him from oppression. The chasm below him gapes with the unfathomable darkness of a screaming maw, inaudibly lusting for the feast of his mass. Below, the cesium-133 atom does not oscillate at the documented 9,192,631,770 per second. There is no second at all. At the event horizon, time does move; and Bernard stays above the line, continuing the trajectory through the dancing, grasping molecules.

At his path’s apex, Bernard is frozen still; in gesture and expression. Bernard feels the water in his body vibrate. The picture frame of his eyes show blue, a deep, beautiful cerulean blue. He remembers the blue from the painting on his grandfathers wall. Comfort. The pump squeezing in his ribs, beats one last time and halts. Even the eyeless organs in his body freeze in awe, drawing the blue through their own psyche, absorbing it like the struggling legionnaire imbibes water with abandon, marking the end of his trek through the seemingly infinite sea of desert. Every pore on his surface spews the color of sky with laser like unbending precision, bathing the great space in tiny pinholes looking out to the seeming meet of sea and heavens. Noiselessly, the blue morphs to cyan to white to brilliance. The edges of every object, wall, column, and person lose their boundary and prostrate to the flash. Pure white, like a virgin space at the precipice of creation. Painfully brief and long. Now black. Left unsatisfied, the pit’s yawning mouth is again mired in ink darkness. One step closer to farther, Bernard is gone.

 

 

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