A spiral is walked. A mind awakens. A need hungers.

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Written and performed by Michael Meinberg @meinberg13

Script editing and logo design by Erin Hawley at geekygimp.com and @geekygimp on twitter

Tracks “Spider’s Web” “Snow Drop” “Moorland” “Blue Feather” and “Awkward Meeting” by Kevin MacLeod of incompetech.com

Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License

SCRIPT

For all of my efforts to forget the strange sights I had seen in the rain, in the end there was no escaping them.

One night, after once again eschewing the comfort of my peers in order to explore the paths of the city, I found myself caught in a sudden downpour. The rain pounded the streets, forming strange geometries as the drops impacted and rose upwards like bizarre fountains before collapsing onto themselves. I gripped the handle of my umbrella all the tighter, not wanting to be exposed to that water, fearful of being made beast-like by the addiction of the chemicals that might be found within.

I traveled off in the bad parts of town, down a path that spiralled in on itself, ducking beneath walkways and weaving over tunnels to form a three-dimensional pattern. The place had developed a reputation for consuming those that entered, with its splintering pathways leading back onto the spiral from unexpected angles, forming a nearly impenetrable maze for any who sought to escape.

But I was walking the street, slowly making my way towards the center as I followed its pattern. However, that spiral also served as a channel for the wind, driving it at my back and making my umbrella flutter in my grasp.

As I fought to seek shelter within the nook of an alleyway, or an alcove to crawl into and achieve a degree of succor from the rain, the houses along the way burst open and thick jacketed folks, from the poorest to the richest, strode forth. Their dark coats like a mass of storm clouds, they moved through the space with the regulated motion of a machine, booted feat tromping on the ground, making the puddles splash around them.

They formed a tapestry of flesh before my eyes, weaving and warping, a mass that pushed me back into an alleyway. I was hemmed in by narrow walls on either side and stairs behind me leading up to another looping street. I stumbled halfway up a set of stairs before collapsing fully onto my backside, the wet stone beginning to seep through my trousers. I attempted to scramble back onto my feet, but I couldn’t find purchase on the slick stone.

And then I felt the umbrella roughly pulled from my fingers. The rain fell upon my face and hands, drenching my clothes, the heavy drops easily saturating the cheap fabric. I rolled towards my side and caught sight of a figure on the steps above me, holding my umbrella while a broad grin rested on their face

They immediately stood out from the rest and wore a dark vest and a white formal shirt, though both were soaked through, but paired with a ankle length skirt. Their light colored hair was cropped short into messy spikes and their soft cheeks and curved jawline were capped with brilliant blue eyes, which contrasted with their deep and warm beige hued flesh. I couldn’t help but stare in those eyes, intense and numb all at once.

Perhaps detecting the sudden attraction behind my gaze, a flush played over their cheeks before they turned and disappeared into the grey haze of the rain. Only after they were gone did I remember where I had seen them before. They were one of the five that I had seen the night that had opened my mind to the strangeness of the city.

There was no escaping the rain, not now that it had marked my flesh. I could practically feel the liquid worming its way deeper and deeper. I had to get out of there, I had to get back to civilization, back to normalcy. The walls pressed in ominously around, bounding me into the space, surrounding me in its claustrophobic grasp.

I descended into a river of people, taking advantage of the cover of umbrellas that they offered, and pushed my way further forward. All around me, voices babbled in my ears, sounds and the concepts of sounds, the very fabric of language poured itself into me. And all I could do was swim through the crowd, slowly unwinding around the spiral.

I looked up to the faces that seemed now to tower over me, like the tops of the spires, and I could see their mouths unmoving, even as those raw sounds seeped through into my skull. I felt myself shiver without even realizing it, the cold and the heat and the sweat and the rain all merging together into my gestalt of sensations. I could do nothing but push forward, clawing and scraping, pushing aside those in front of me.

Finally, I emerged from the spiral just in time for the downpour to fade, leaving me alone in a suddenly empty and silent street.

***

That absence thundered in my skull as I stumbled along the street. My consciousness began to expand, began to fill even more space around me, flooding my senses with new revelations. I could feel the impressions left behind in the stone and the wood, the lingering residue of a thousand stomping feet in the pavement.

But I couldn’t hold onto those scraps. The residue sifted through the fingers of my mind, leaving trails behind in my mental sight. The fingers grasped at substance, tugging and pulling, searching in vain. And then they turned inward, pouring into the substance of my own mind. I shuddered then stilled as if electrocuted and then collapsed against the nearest wall.

My vision shifted, became replaced with a panorama of sights, frozen images that formed the tableaux of my past.

I sat at my father’s side, holding his hand as the life slowly drained from his features. He had fought so long, for himself, for my mother and I, and there was not a jot of strength left in his face. I was but a boy, but despite my youth, I knew full well the weight of what was yet to come. I knew that within the span of a few days, my father would die. He might have stood a chance, if the doctors were authorized to use their more experimental techniques. My father might have survived, if we had the funds or the insurance.

Instead, he died in a hospital bed, and was buried in a pauper’s lot.

I stood behind my mother as her voice rang out over the streets. A crowd had gathered to listen and stared up with rapt faces. Her words and her rhetoric echoed in their heads and in their hearts, and would be returned with a choir of cheers. But in the moment, I could only lurk, my features covered in shadows, knowing that there were consequences for such words.

A week later, my mother lost her job. She did not stop her preaching.

A month later, enforcers from the local Corp beat her black and blue. But she did not stop her preaching.

A few days later, she died in a prison cell, and received no burial.

No members of my extended family wanted anything to do with me after that. And so I was inducted into the ranks of The Orphanage. Considering my age, and my background, I knew I had little to no odds of adoption. But that was alright. I knew my parents well enough, and I had learned first hand of the weakness that family love can bring to the heart of a child.

No wonder I turned myself so heavily into scholastics, no wonder I sought to hone myself into a stronger person, a cog powerful enough to rise from the lowest ranks of the cogs. No wonder I cared little for the passing affairs of humanity, and cared only for the power of the machine.

In the palace of mind, I saw my future as a grand clock tower. I marvelled at the intricacies of the construction, the thousand cogs fashioned from the detritus of human lives. Cogs turned over every inch, over every exposed bit of the tower.

I felt the hands of my awakened self dragging me backwards, trying to pull me into those memories. Perhaps they sought for the connection of minds that occurred in the passage of memory. Perhaps they sought f