Primordial Thoughts In Slavery

My fragile porcelain goddess, oh how I miss her so. I remember sitting and conversing for hours on end learning her soul, while she learn mine as well and understand what I throw at her. The glorious times we shared, the eternal suffering. Even in silence we understood each other. I would watch her in sleep and wander why this is all so real, it can't be real, because nothing is real, nothing is forever.

I slowly shed a tear and arise to my knees looking through the window outward seeing alien machines wander the metal rusted walkways and others conversing with useless new speech that will remain useless. I see other aliens flowing through the halls pushing tables and carts filled with tiny little probes and devices I am unaware of, while others push rotted and deformed corpses never looking at them as if they weren’t actually there. Where they take them to there rightful places within this tomblike craft out of a science fiction story. Various sizes of rodents roam the edges of the hallways scurrying into holes and onto tables. Beyond a corridor I see tubes and wires run from tanks with aliens and creatures hooked up to as if it provides life for them, or to drain them.

Behind I hear a scream; I see tests being done to a man that would shutter the most evil creature. The stench of old machines and rotten flesh with the slightest scent of death and vomit and a sweet unfamiliar smell evade the air.

The dim lights flicker as if about to provide darkness but still give off enough light to see the tiniest details on the walls that attain little vein-like tubes and bars streaming down the walkways and hallways holding nails within to keep from collapsing.

I see a figure in the dark, dank shadowed corner glaring at me with its bulging glowing white eyes, only to look down and shove away a rat trying to find shelter within its leg coverings.

The screaming of the tortured man has silenced and alienated machines gather the remains and do away with. They look to my direction impassively while the closing of the doors separate them from myself. What fate may I have? Will I ever see my destruction and the death of this world? My chamber doors slowly creak open and allow two manchines to be shown, they look at me expressionless. I read their mind and retrieve my orders. As they escort me through the halls I see cages holding men, women and children wearing torn rags and dirty from the rusted floor. Some reach out for me to save or grasp, and others shout and yell useless words and scream. As I walk further down the spiral of metal-barred walls filled with yellow-ish green corrosion and rust I see into a room where a man is curled up deep within his own insanity.

I come to and end where giant massive wooden doors held by black metal hinges stop us. The two manchines open them while they squeak with pleasure. I enter a bigger dimensioned hexagonal room where the walls are covered by blood red drapes and a round table in the middle holding dead flowers and roses and little clamps. A circular window covering half of one wall stops space from entering. A very elegant room for my stature.

The squeaking of the closing doors behind lets me know I am once again alone with my thoughts and puts me into deep comfort.

I seek rest on a scarlet red clad velvet couch, with old Celtic designs imprinted on it where I fall into deep slumber perhaps waiting a new birth.