Cosmic Memory
I wrote this piece in 10th grade when I was geometry homework. I stopped, took out a sheet of paper, and began writing. After some editing, I submitted it to my school’s literary magazine, and it ended up being published. The basis for this piece of fiction is based off the D’ni universe and the Art. It is a third-person account of a man linking to another age. I hope Cyan doesn’t get mad at me. I haven’t made any money off of this and I don’t intend to. This is merely a work of fiction from one of their fans.
Cosmic Memory
Peering over his desk at the book, the man sat quietly in thought. Then he drew up his pen, the implement of creation, and started writing furiously in his native tongue. Words began to pour forth from his mind to his hand, escaping their confinement, and spread themselves onto the page one after another. The ink that flowed onto the fine paper provided the blood the words would thrive on. He continued for several minutes endlessly writing, not emitting a single sound, with focus on nothing other than his writing. He was in a mesmerized state driven purely by instinct.
As quickly as his writing had started, it stopped. The man laid back in his chair satisfied with his work. It was completed. The last book he would ever write. An entire world that lay in front of him. The ink, the paper, the words. They were all brought to life by one man, one man who had the power to create entire worlds from nothing.
Flipping through the pages all the way back to the first, he decided to take one last look at his masterpiece. Arriving at the first page, he gazed upon the black image permanently set on the page that lay in front of him. The image came alive with faint dots of light that appeared out of nowhere. The dots grew and grew in number and the quantity soon became indeterminable. The image zoomed out and moved about in a way revealing a whole panaramic view of cosmos and heavens as far as the eye could see. It continued to move gradually through the void which contained it all, slowing down and speeding up, never going back to the same location. Exhaling a deep breath, the man slowly and gracefully put his arm forward toward the book laying his palm directly on the image. Within a matter of seconds, he disappeared, sucked into the gate of space and time.
The book was open flat on the desk, the image still moving in its constant sporadic movement. Slowly it faded and became pitch black. Not caring about what he left behind, the man fell into the night, cradled among an ocean of stars. He wondered where the winds of destiny would take him although he knew that such speculation would be useless. It didn’t matter. His completed masterpiece gave him all the satisfaction he needed. His creation, the work of a lifetime, an infinity of worlds where anything was bound to happen. It was bliss. He had reached his ultimate goal, dream, fantasy, and the final heaven he had always hoped of acheiving.
