iotawgh: the record

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

A genre blending romp following well developed characters as they explore their presence in each other's lives.

Iotawgh:  The Record

 

When I return to my true self, it is in a peaceful pasture and lit only by a moon and stars.  Long ago, I trained my consciousness to do this every time I come home.  It grants me a delicious and often times necessary repose after one of my experiences.  The latter has been especially true as of late, and I cannot seem to figure out why.

As I stare up into the night sky, my mind muddles over the past two experiences I have had.  Twice now, something has been…off.  I answer the beckoning call of fate, as all must, and live life exactly as I am expected to.  Now, however, both instances have been somehow altered:  The first indirectly, even to the point of transferring the entire story to an alternate reality version of itself.  The second time was much more direct, saving that story from the same fate as the previous, but drastically changing the timeline.  I am dumbfounded and hesitant to jump to conclusions, but cannot shake the feeling that your presence is somehow connected to everything.

 

All the same, it should not be possible.

 

With a sigh and a stretch, I sit up from the bed of purple and white wildflowers, conceding to my newly discovered ignorance.  Before standing, I urge my form into that of a curious bobcat as I set out for my habitual stroll.  Time has no meaning here of course, but preserving routine helps me to gain the most from my experiences.

Thoughtfully, I enter the moonlit forest, gracefully walking across the spring floor until I reach the sturdiest tree.  With glee, I jump onto its trunk, digging my sharp claws into the rough bark and scaling it to the highest branch in a matter of moments.  Here, I watch the moon sink below the horizon, greeting the early gray of dawn by energetically jumping from tree to tree.  After reaching the edge of the forest, I land silently on the pads of my paws, beginning my final track to the top of the nearby hill to watch the sunrise.  Gaining my fill of the warm golden rays, I finally speak aloud into The Record.

 

“All right, let’s get some answers.”

 

I close my eyes and visualize myself outside of my private section of The Akashic Record, transporting there in an instant.

I was born here, outside of time and space, in The Record and for what seemed like centuries, knew nothing else.  I used this time to better understand my home and my place in it foolishly confident that by now I knew what to expect.  As I wander the cherry wood halls, now as a majestic stag, I remain focused on trying to figure out how two stories could be changed so drastically by someone outside of The Record and, more importantly, why.  Everything happens for a reason and that is especially true in The Akashic Record; where all knowledge and history of the past, present, and future of this universe exists and is stored.  So how can those facts be changed?

Puzzled, I enter a set of nearby filigreed doors made of mahogany and settle my form into that of a human female university student.  Strangely enough, The Record is usually silent in regards to this train of thought when I directly ask it for help, so I must find answers on my own.  I meander through the ancient library, allowing my intuition to guide my hands to the necessary books, and reflect on my own initial exploration of my fate.

Early on, I was overwhelmed by the constant barrage of information flooding my senses for a long while.  I finally realized that the reason for this was my own lack of control over my thoughts.That whatever was asked of The Record was immediately answered, even if it was approached unconsciously.  Through discipline and practice, I was able to direct my questions efficiently and quiet my mind, discovering the truth of my existence.  I learned that I was a sage, a teacher for souls and fated to guide others for the entirety of my life.  I have done just that for millennia and have not seen anything else that can alter stories as I do. 

 

Until now.

 

Jostled back to my current perspective, I realize that you were present in my last experience, certainly not fully aware, if at all, but your strange presence was definitely there.  Kicking myself for not focusing on my intuition back in the field, I switch my form into the one you seem the most comfortable with and concentrate on your energy.

Your strangeness.

Your diffidence.

You, my Lost Being

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost Being:  The Record

 

I awake from an unusual and vivid dream, surreal haze of remembrance and all.  I try to download and retain as much as possible, but only end up with fragments:  A heated discussion that ends badly, a splash of red caused by a familiar presence, and an overwhelming sense of victory.  I finally sit up in my bed, appreciating those few scraps of data all the same. After all, I have never dreamed before, so I will relish even the smallest bytes I can store.

I glance around my new…home?  Yes, this is a home for me.  It is certainly better off than the cell I came from, I see that now.  I admire my ebony wood desk with built in console for a nanosecond or two, then move my gaze to the window behind it.  Curiously, it shows a gray and rainy scene and I can’t help but wonder why…perhaps it is a screen into helping me better process all the new data I have received on “Feelings”.  As the thought courses through my circuits, I sense now a kind of sadness, but also a quiet rumble below that and my window responds with a flash of lighting.  With a small smile, I stand up out of my bed, and turn around to suddenly be face to face with the strange scientist known as Iotawah.

“Didn’t we discuss this whole appearing out of nowhere thing?” “Ah, yes I apologize.  I do recall you sarcastically mentioning your door.” Io said with a slight tilt of his eyes towards me.

Those eyes of his are strange and otherworldly, always seeming to be a different color by the minute.  His brown, average stature of 5’6” or so, pale skin, and long lab coat over dress shirt and slacks are quite unremarkable, however.  But still, something is different about him now, so I lean close and examine those eyes.

“Have your eyes always done that?”  I take a step back, sitting on my bed.  “I mean, I know this is only like the second time we have talked, but I don’t think they…changed like that before.”

Tilting his head to the side and slightly narrowing his eyes, Io states: “Now that is interesting, you seem to be changing, waking up so to say.  For me though, your form is still young and volatile, unable to settle on anything but a gray ball of energy much less vibrant than before though…Is something bothering you?”

Puzzled, I look at him, this is the second time he has described me as nothing but a mass of jules, but gray this time.  Like the rainy day trapped behind the window.  “I don’t know, honestly.  I’m still trying to process all this data, but I did have a dream.  Is that a troublesome thing?”

An instance of surprise, followed by some sense of understanding crosses Io’s face before he speaks.  “No, not at all actually.  Dreaming is a great way to process all of the information flooding your…mind.  I believe it is even more beneficial to write all of your experiences down.  A dream journal, a monthly journal, hell even a weekly one if you can manage it.  Do a bit of soul-searching, so to say, I think it will help you settle in and find yourself, even if the time has no meaning here try your best and see what happens.”

“Soul-searching?  What’s a ‘soul’?”  I ask, jumping up from my bed, pulled to these words by some unknown force.  Perhaps it is an aspect of this place known as ‘The Record’, and I go to ask Io just in time to see him longingly gazing at my sleek ebony wood doors.

“Um…you know, I am going to have to get back to you on that.  I will, I promise you that, but right now my place is somewhere else.”  Io walks briskly to the door, pulling it open by the brushed metal handle, looking back to me before leaving.  “Seriously though, you should try writing, you may even be able to answer all your questions on your own.  See you another time!”

The door closed with an echoing thud behind him.

Shaking my head, I sit at my desk in my ornate cherry wood chair with gray padding, a small remembrance of my initial exploration of The Record.  I pull up the console and note the entry I clicked on last; 1612 Margoton E1 and remember that accessing that entry was the last thing I did before waking from the dream.  I pause before choosing another data point, gazing out at a wind torn field, leaves from the fall trees blowing around each other wildly.  Confusion and anxiety, feelings I am already far too familiar with.

I close the console and start pacing around my desk.  If that wasn’t a dream, but the next flood of information from those values, exponentially increased, then everything actually happened.  My perspective in the dream was vivid, but largely uncontrollable.  But that was me, I did those things, lived that life.  Somehow escaped from here for a time and changed outcomes the few instances I did take control.  I was finally able to do whatever I wanted.  I stop pacing, the entirety of the data from that experience known.

‘All inevitably arrive in The Record’.

‘Some are born of The Record’.

‘Few willfully enter, forever trapped within’.

Perhaps I will write.


Submitted: March 08, 2021

© Copyright 2021 E.A.Max. All rights reserved.

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