Andrew Ntim The Void

10/11/12
It came from the library contest
Very loosely based upon H.P. Lovecrafts Commonplace book #37Peculiar odour of a book of childhood induces repetition of childhood fancy.

It came from the library. An odor emanating, wafting, seeping into his very being. Something he could not hope to escape. Something that contained the memories of childhood fantasies mixed with that of foods, the simple night air, flowers, and so many other things he now had not the time to explain. It was lustfully enticing, and his entire being was herded on toward the castle-like building with unceasing certainty. He had always thought the building was odd; medieval, gothic architecture in a city filled with new construction. He always thought it was lost, misplaced in time. But now there was no thought, only desire. His name was Charles Butler, a 37 year old with blond hair, blue eyes and an unassuming personality. He would be utterly average if not for his unfortunate status as a widower. Memories of Suzanne, or as Charles still calls her: my wife who died during childbirth, bringing her new sons life with her, haunted his dreams and reality. Like so many nights before, Charles was taking a walk to clear his head, cigarette in hand and eyes to the sky, which tonight happened to contain a full moon. Until He had reached the entrance; mammoth double doors guarded by gargoyles that, in his younger years, Charles believed followed you with their eyes. They were locked. Obviously, he thought, its nearly 10 in the evening. What happened next startled even Charles himself. His hands, acting as an independent creature rather than a facet of Charles himself, grabbed a nearby rock and bashed it again and again into the windows of the library, leaving a gargantuan hole in the centuries-old glass. Charles, impelled on again, climbed through the hole and found himself in another world. His eyes were now useless, and the pitch-blackness of the sprawling building forced him to navigate solely by feel. The wind whistled through the now open window, rustling the invisible books that lay on the invisible shelves. The smell, now that he was inside, seemed even more pungent in his nostrils, but was now accompanied by a constant otherworldly din contained somewhere within the building. His mind no longer thought, only absorbed these sensations around him, and his body, now released from the bondage of thoughts, carried him towards the source of its lust. Through the unending halls, corridors, and rooms, more than the building Charles had seen from the outside could ever have held, The sensations grew stronger and stronger, leaving Charless brain sprawling to take it all in. and then, in a staircase spiraling towards heaven, he saw, or rather experienced, a light. This light, brighter than the sun yet a cavalcade of colors, was indescribably beautiful and horrendous at the same time. In another world it would have illuminated his way up the staircase, finally revealing to him the destination hes been reaching towards for so long, but now it did nothing but make him feel as though his brain was inflating like a balloon, taking in all there was in the world, and that he was just along for the ride, waiting for it to explode. Later he would think he was having an epileptic fit or a stroke or something, something that could describe what was going on, but he knew there was nothing that could explain it. Yet his body pushed him forward inexorably toward the ever nearing destination. To his eyes it now appeared to have the form of a giant mirrored orb, reflecting the ever present aura of light around it. The closer he came, the stronger the sensations became, and the more released from reality he was. Sights became sounds, visions were heard, and odors were gazed upon, until, in one vital moment, these senses melded and transformed into something more and less, stronger and weaker, present yet somewhere else. With his one remaining sense, touch, he realized his hands were on the orb. And then, simply, they werent. Charles first noticed the burden of his body no longer existed, and that no physical part of him was there anymore. That he was now only his thoughts. This brought him a strange comfort for a short moment. Then came the terrible sense of the void he now resided in. No longer were there the sights, sounds and smells that had confounded his existence so soon before present, but instead they were replaced by a new extreme: pure nothingness. Is this death? he asked, eternity in an endless night!? No one answered; he could do nothing but wait. It could have been seconds or millennia, there was simply no way to know. He occupied his mind with thoughts of the past: his first memories, childhood fantasies, the first day of 4th grade with Suzannes desk right next to his own, the marriage, the pregnancy, the joy, the inevitable agony. Over and over like a movie stuck in a loop, Charles played these images in his mind, always hoping for a different ending to his story but never getting one. Then, a voice. You are no longer in your own universe With blind eyes he looked around, trying to find the source of theThis is the universe of knowledge, of thought

Instinctively, he shouted out, surprised his voice still existed even without lips to form the sounds. Who are you? I am the leader of this world, the God as you would have it Surprised by this response, Charles attempted to go on. Why... why am I here? Purely incidental; we were attempting to amass knowledge your universe through the human data depositories known as libraries. Then you wandered in. We assumed your fortresses of thought to be impenetrable. Libraries? No, no. When I entered, though, there were all these overwhelming sights, smells. Everything imaginable and more Ah yes, our information vectors. These sensations you felt relay the information found in nature, in your librarys case, books, back to our universe through highly concentrated sensations, smells, sights, the like. These high concentrations almost always lead to brain death in humans who encounter them, overstimulating their brains to the point of necrosis. These vectors then filter through The Emissary, the floating orb you touched, rendered into their most basic components, and brought to our planet for research and categorization. But theres nothing here but blackness! That may be true now, but I doubt will be the case in a short while. You see, our universe, unlike yours is constantly changing, and is based not on muons, gluons and bosons, but rather simply on thoughts. Whatever is thought is created, no matter how simple or complex. Think of something for me; attempt to make it appear. Charles thought of the most ridiculous thing he could think of: a pink spotted elephant in a bowtie. His thoughts lingered on this for but a second and then, out of thin air appeared the elephant, bowtie and all, just as detailed as it would be on earth. Shocked, Charles was at a loss for several moments, until he finally responded. Im truly amazed, but I dont want to live in a world of pink elephants and fantasies. I want to return home! Sadly, you cannot. Your body no longer exists, except in theory, and even transfer into a new human vector would surely lead to your death. But how am I supposed to live in a world with without reality? This may all be nice, but its not real. Charles. There is no such thing as reality. And with that puzzling sentence he was gone, leaving Charles with a pink elephant stomping around the void. What did it all mean? How could anything be made real? Suzanne The thought came quickly and such force Charles was again taken aback. He thought of the endless nights he thought about her, how easy it would be to succumb to this fantasy. But its not real! He screamed into the void, no one there to listen. He sobbed, sobbed for the loss of his wife, of his world, and of reality. He sobbed for a long time. Finally, after saying goodbye to the pink elephant, he was ready. Like so many times before, Charles thought of the long brown hair, the piercing brown eyes, the long slender body, everything that made up Suzanne He thought about their old house, the baby they could have had, everything. Suddenly, he felt waves of euphoria crashing over him and drowned in the pleasure Charles Butler woke with a start, sitting up in his bed with great agitation. His wife, Suzanne Barker, did so as well in response to Charles. In the other room a babys cry could be heard. Ill get him this time; you go back to bed sweetie, Suzanne said, sleepy-eyed. No Ill take care of it, Charles said. And then, after a slight pause, I had the craziest dream