The Tower of Babel (part 1)

“Eight trillion, four-hundred and fifty-three billion, nine-hundred and twelve million, four-hundred and thirty-one thousand, one-hundred and sixty-five.”

There was nothing around him — quite literally. As if he was the only illustration on an infinitely growing white canvas. No matter how loud he yelled, there was no echo — almost as if the white space were imbibing his vocal vibrations. He couldn’t tell if he was floating mid-air on standing on the ground. It felt quite like an elevator. If he wanted to fall, he would feel himself falling and if he wanted to stay still, the space below his shoes would be concrete. However, the hardest part that kept driving him to the brink of insanity was the absence of sound. He felt as if, the blank space around him were sucking him in through his ears, turning him inside out. He could barely hear himself speak and the only way to remedy it was to hurt himself — like a pinch or a slap to his arms to at least feel some sort of vibrations that would allow himself to realize that he was still there.

“Eight trillion, four-hundred and fifty-three billion, nine-hundred and twelve million, four-hundred and thirty-one thousand, one-hundred and sixty-five.”

Terrace’s entire body was frozen in time since his revolution eight trillion, four-hundred and fifty-three billion, nine-hundred and twelve million, four-hundred and thirty-one thousand, one-hundred and sixty-five years ago. As his retribution for defying the High Order, he was sentenced to nine-hundred and ninety-nine trillion years in solitude. Physically, everything about him would remain the same — even his hygiene would be exactly the same as he was a second before sent to solitude. Terrace was to mentally repent for his sins nine-hundred and ninety-nine trillion years.

Nine hundred ninety trillion, five hundred forty-six billion, eighty-seven million, five hundred sixty-eight thousand, eight hundred thirty-five years later, he would be free. Initially, Terrace would have cried at the very thought of how much longer he would have to stay in solitude. He would cry, plead, and curse targeted towards the High Order Angels. For a millennium, he even tried to find multiple ways to kill himself but no matter what he did, he would still end up looking the same as he was just beforehand. Fortunately, he was given an internal clock towards his freedom by the Angels so at this point, Terrace just gave up on everything and the only thing that was on his mind was how long he had left until his freedom.

To be continued…

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