Wings of a Raven, chapter 4. “branches moving, inside my mind”.

Chapter four from book one in my near future sci-fi book universe, 2028AD.

Mike Koontz
Oct 23, 2018 · 13 min read

Moments later.
Or was it, in reality, months or even years, and decades that had silently passed me by? That I can not truly say, but to me it felt just like any other fleeting moment, like when you look up from the morning paper, having just read a bunch of obscure black ink headlines that suddenly makes you realize that while what could almost be perceived as ‘yesterday’ for you,
in reality, was your entire life swept away in a blur that ended in the blink of an eye as 10 years had already charged you by and before the postman’s hand with a loud clunk dropped the next postcard or whatever meaningless junk they still delivered in your mailbox, just ‘hours’ from now, another 5 years would have been buried alive.

A life never lived was no life at all.

I looked up towards the world beyond, and it was just like when your mind and eye swiftly and uninterrupted changes focus from something up close and personal to that far away object that hides obstructed by sheer distance and out of focus eyes.

Perspective and reality changes as the synapses inside of you sync back together.

And in the singular blink of an eye, you see with clarity what once was out of focus. Colors and transitions changing, light changing shape and hue in a moment of thoughts, blurry obstructions becoming laser sharp and the strangeness of shadows transform to light and clear-cut forms.

A seamless canvas opens in that moment with clarity by nothing more than the will of your mind, and your eyes rapid changing focus.

Autumn Dreams by Mike Koontz

As such, my own eyes came to rest, and I rose back to life, clawing my way through the dimmed and dissipating curtains that had sheltered my disconnected body and mind, and like the shriek from that raven as it soars into the air, leaving the maggots and dead carcasses behind, I rose up too.

My memories of the dark faces, the ravenous woman, and the blind baron pounded my senses as my still dusty, itching eyes opened to the light of what I thought would be day.
And that light was burning brightly now, and so vivid beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes.

Still stuck
[ inside the mist & the bell tower.]

A burst of cold air forced its way down my lungs and throat, and with the chill of midnight air, a scent of mold and urine sprinkled upon the wildflowers and rotting wood assaulted my senses.

The mist and the bell tower finally disintegrated inside my mind and before the cloak of my blurry eyes, and quite soon it was as if they had never existed.

I coughed and stood (I think) upright with dilated pupils and thirsty lips as the pleasantness of what turned out to be a cold and starry night struck my synapses with the strength of a pummelling fist.

‘But the daylight?’, a stray thought of confusion before the pain.

Hammers crashing against the iron anvil, fists of flesh crushing your skin, jaw and teeth’s. My head exploded in pain, raw pulses of explosive pain as life and the blinking light pounded upon my feverish mind, and suddenly my bones and flesh caved, cracking, surrendering, rebuilding.

I laughed, I laughed and I knew that I had lost my mind.
My laughter crackled and with a tinge of madness, it soared like a sudden burst between my dried out lips as my body kept roaring with a starving, hollow intensity.

Each scent making my entire being convulse.
I raged against the wind, I raged against the air that filled my lungs.

I raged against the world, and it was as I had slept for an eternity and my blood boiled, it hated with burning intensity.
Release and start. Release and start. Release and start.
I pulled and pushed against the chains that kept my body locked and chained with the soil.

Again and again, and again.
Until a shriek silenced the world, the shrieks of ravens from afar.

My legs cramped and spasmed as my muscles contracted and jolted my entire body with pain.
I smiled and laughed out into the airy night as I forced myself up on my elbows.

‘you beautiful whore, you fucking lie, do you hear me? life, what life?”.
Are you real? I will kill you if you are still alive.

Mad thoughts bounced and swelled, it burned my insides and boiled my blood.

I could not keep myself from laughing as the words bubbled up from within ‘Fuck You, you hear me!.’
‘I am alive!!, I am awake!’.

I mumbled like a madman, to the veil of empty air, who did I talk to? What the fuck was I saying. Fucking, fucking birds! “Shut the fuck up!!”
“Shut the fuck up!!”

The words tumbled and formed and bubbled through the cracking sound of my laughter in an endless stream. ‘It does not matter, one day. I will find you. Like the fucking puppet and his fucking horde of rats. Fuck me, I am alive. I am alive’.

I laughed, I raged, I bubbled with joyous life and energy as the wind kept ripping the words out of me.

“Why, why, why”, those where the sycophantic words the wind kept whispering to me in a one-word sentence that never seemed to end.

But I knew the truth, I had seen it in the soil deep beneath the surface.
I had seen it hidden deep within the ocean, hunched inside the dark trees and the rotten soil.

I had seen the countless dead.
The sick and old, the young and homeless.
The streets flooded with blood.
The dead that floated in the drowning cities.

I had heard the laughter of the mad oil baron as they murdered ever more workers and children and I knew what I had forgotten. It was hidden in the soil and the trenches. But I remembered the villages too. Far away, out in the pasture of soil and nature that slowly clawed its way back, green meadows and air buzzing with animal life and fresh oxygen that did not kill you in your sleep.

“I would kill you, you fucker”, once I remembered enough, “I would kill you”, tear your fucking face back over your skull and watch you suffocate in your own vomit.

I would watch you drown.
Cargo bay 54, that much I knew, the insight screamed at my face, the ravens dark feathered wings screamed the truth into the night.

You had murdered your way through tens of thousands of people, and I would find you.

My voice, now a low whisper as the rain and wind kept pounding upon me. Tearing into my flesh, the water so cold it made my feverish mind burn with ice, the sound of ravens kept tearing into my flesh and mind.
‘Winding up and down, up and down, the stairs that lead us deep into the earth and the far-reaching stars’.

Like death and nature and the pagan marvels that is life, I knew my resolve.
Unbreakable, but inside the waves of heat and cold, the words I spoke with no rhyme and reason, I somehow knew that I was now a mad man as well.
Somehow I knew I had not always been mad. But I was still trapped inside the dark, I was awake and alive.

But I could still feel that strange mixture of cables and biological veins that latched onto my entire being. I could not see them, but I could feel them. I could feel the reality of my chains.

It was as if a force of life akin to the pulse of a star and the moving oceans, transforming, radiating, evolving inside of me.
Each day a new page to turn and be, to become, to learn and see more of all that is life.

And like the sun and the moon, the stars and the oceans. Every obstacle slowly melted away in the course of time never ending.

On the shores of Autumn by Mike Koontz, as always photographed in Scandinavia

With a deep breath.
I closed my eyes and stilled my mind as I caught a swift scent of fragrance dissipating in the night air.

Assaulting my senses and calling to me, awakening memories and life in my limbs. Out there, she crawled through the mist of time, like a beacon, calling me, to hunt her down and make my claim.

Would I have to climb that tower in my mind I wondered?.
Would I be the one to feast on the carcasses of dead elephants, would I destroy, or save them all.

Ah you marvelous old bastard, you fucking beautiful star-filled ocean of wonders. You haunt my heart and mind, you tease, create, kill and tear them down only to unravel even greater beauty behind every layer of life and death that is peeled away.

I loved life, I absolutely knew that I did.
With every breath and moment of it I loved life with every inch of my being, and I smiled as my mind like a burst of magnetism lashed out and called out to that cloud in the night that kept growing inside my mind, like a cancerous lump of “weight”, I could feel it out there, far away.

I called for them in the night, to herald my answer if they so wished, to come and fetch me. To grant me a ride through the wild road here in the realm of devils and angels, together by my side once again.
Don’t ask me, how I even knew that something was out there, I still don’t know.

I am still not entirely sure that this is not just the wildest, most outrageous dream ever dreamt.

A lump of coal burning inside my mad decaying mind.
That was my reality.

Are we even alive? Is my hand moving as I look down upon my fingers? Or is this your dream and I am just a figment that forever grows helplessly trapped inside the realm of your imagination.

And if I am a being of flesh and bones, if I bleed and breath, then, how can I talk to ravens and air? Who are you that I keep addressing?. Why do you hide inside? Questions that might ponder your brain, they surely have done mine in at times. I can feel you. I can feel your eyes and your mind tasting my words.

Your feverish mind tracing every line of words I type.
Are you reading this or hearing it? Are you real, Am I thinking all of this?

Would you like to know something? an ancient truth revealed between just the two of us.

Those are questions that I do not care for, and I do not need the answers either.
Not now, not ever again.

What I know is that I am.
And that is all that is needed to claim this life as mine.

I feel what I feel, just as you do. It is a shining beacon inside of us all that shines as bright and gloomy as we allow it to do inside the soundless, long night that is our one singular life.

From the garden of trees and our queen of snails by Mike Koontz

From deep inside that vividly burning light, the chill and goose bumps spread, through my every bone to the hair on my body, my skin, filled with thousands of hairs standing up in eager silence.

As if I was really standing under a shower outside at night, caught beneath the cold freezing winds together with a beautiful, naked women.

Kissing and tasting every inch of each others pounding aching skin.
Yes, I know, you can feel that sensation too, against your skin, lips, and fingers, the tip of her tongue as it tastes you, slow and deep it transforms you, can’t you feel that?

Her lips against your naked skin, your fingers tracing her vibrant nakedness.
Can you sense her turn on? The anticipation of the growing adult pleasures you will unlock and conjure from inside of her of growing wet swollen lips and insides as your finger firm but gentle slide inside her growing wetness.

The moist between her legs that is already spreading down her thighs.

The dark call, like a magnet, filled the insides of my mind and I knew that they had already heard me.

Out there, my long lost children spread their wings, and soon we would walk this place together.

We would hunt you down, and as you died, a cloud of dark ravens would descend upon you, tearing your flesh to bits and pieces until nothing more than a speck of dust remained of you.

A speck of dust and wet darkness that was already being sucked up dry by the ravenous Earth until nothing remained at all.

This mist would unravel one day under the wings of time.
I knew this with certainty.
My lips curled into a smile as I tilted my head ever so slightly.
Listening to the coming storm, and in the distant, the falling rain as it fell upon the world.
Ah, the sounds the world made upon their wings.
Dark, beautiful beaks. Rain against feathers.
The cascade of branches moving, the sound of rain against the world — somehow, I could feel the drop of rain against their veiled, black feathers and it was as if we all stood together, beneath a great waterfall, covered in blackest feathers with water flowing all around. Their voices soaring to the skies, pounding this mighty world like a torrent, their voices like branches that moved against the windows of my mind.

I smiled as the thought for a lingering moment caught a bubble in my mind and floated to the surface of my conscious stream.

Perhaps you are wondering if this is really happening, or am I still dreaming, perhaps I am delusional?

Am I lying in bed somewhere, trapped inside the beauty of a mad dream? Is it even my dream or someone else’s entirely?

Perhaps I was right earlier, and I am just the figment of your imagination and no one would ever know that I am actually here, alive in the flesh.

Unanswered questions as insignificant and pointless as the fact that we might seemingly never truly know the ever-changing nature of time, our clocks might claim it was a mere hour, but, perhaps as it sometimes felt, I had been standing here, waiting, for an eternity, or a mere second.

Where did the energy go, the flowers were broken and bent.

The decaying corpses, reclaimed by soul, wind, water, why, why, why.
Perhaps you wonder if mountains and dark horses dream too?

You might, but I do not.

I do not wonder about these petty and meaningless things anymore.
What I do know is this.

Time was always the same and yet, it also changed, like a subtle difference of emotions that changed our perspective of the entire world in the most fundamental ways — perhaps it was our own mind and true needs that altered reality — perhaps it was that sweetest of madness that was life’s beauty and the mad halls of the human mind that defined the hallways of reality.

And that is the true nature of time and space, distance, and life.

It is as defined as the permafrost beneath the oldest, unchanging mountain.
And yet, time is ever-changing and relative, it bends, speed up and slows down, it does all that even as it remains a constant known, permanent, yet in endless flux.

Time is the echoes that bounce around at night, transpires, evolves and forever remains in perpetual transformation and relevance. And perhaps madness allowed you to sleep while reality tried to keep you awake.
Perhaps you will now obsess about this until your dying days.

If so, I will tell you now, it just does not matter.

I turned my face up to the sky as laughter rolled towards the raindrops that came hurling towards me. Standing beneath the rain that would soon bounce against my cheek and hair with even greater force.

I lifted my arms slightly bent as to welcome a long-lost friend that somehow would always be your most important friend no matter how far they had journeyed, no matter time and silence travelled, it would always be like a mere second ago when you saw them again, it was like that moment when you first encounter the love of your life — actually knowing entirely.

Without knowing the semblance of it all.

“Fuck” went through my mind.
A stray strange thought, caught by the autumn wind and given irrelevant place and room inside my being.

‘My feet are itching, and I need to wash my hair, I need to eat and dry up, what the fuck is this’.

As abrupt as it came, my wayward thought hurriedly swept away into the rain and shadows.
While out there, still far away and shielded by that veil of night, the shrieks tore through both distance and the rain, traveling through the darkness to announce the approaching arrival.
Of something old that would join my travels once more.

And so, I waited.

I waited like a sarcophagus that lonesome floated on the endless sea of time, upon which I traversed and drifted for years and decades, centuries too. I watched the rising of the moon as it chased the sun for all eternity, yet I never died, I never grew sick, I never felt old or impatient. I did not even change.
I never fed or even hungered.

I waited in my solitude for their dark feathered arrival, and as I waited, I wondered, was I too, endless perhaps? Could I even die?
Could I perhaps, be a god? And why was it that I floated endlessly on this sea with nothing but strange voices to keep me company.

Buy and own my book ‘wings of a raven’, or wait for chapter five to show up here on ‘Beyond2c’.
ISBN: 9781537855714

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

Mike Koontz

Written by

Author & Photography. PT, health & fitness. Science and sustainability advocate | aNorseView.com , Scandinavian.fitness.

beyond2c

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.