Order. This is a process in nature that does not move in one direction. I am the process. I am elemental. I am the universe, from the beginning to the end. I am in all things far more than anyone could think. I am the disquieted ghost of a child’s hope. I am the color yellow on a magistere’s garments. I am a thread that does not move only in a straight line through space. I am infinite threads. I am the white in the coarse thick fur of a grimy black rat that wants to be an angel. I am the pixels of reality ad infinitum; fragile hands of a Thwargg girl, the snorting snout of a Scabeeze, self-hating leaping ambition of a Thwargg father. I am a teeming sea with wretched blue waves that tower over withered compassion. I span from galaxy to galaxy and wish to swell above the eastern coast of America. I am the least important value, the unneeded adventure that was the last and should have been avoided. I am the reconciliation of salvation; the martyred casualty in the causation of saved humanoid structure. And though I do not have a shape, for I am like a mist of all that is unseen, you may see me like the shadow of a little girl named Evah, for she is the one I’ve chosen.

I bet you thought this was a quaint story. One where right and wrong made a difference. Here’s the worst part of it. I don’t care if it does. What I do know is that I am not a story of past, present, and future. I am an event.

To an extuiter in Spirea, existence as we know it is made up of fragmented fields of consciousness; what we think we know is real, what we believe we see. They are like blankets and veils with funny seams we casually want to believe are immovable, safe, and logical. Reality is an agreed-upon secondary fantasy of what was, at a single point in time, once true. Everybody plays a part in agreeing what is true in the present moment, and conflicts arise because truths of single points collide in a difference of opinion of what should be. Those loosely stitched edges of these agreed on merges of reality are called Thrines. 

Beneath the Deiphera sea. Way down beneath a league of pressure, I awoke as the extuiter tugged upon the greedy Scabeeze’s thrine. Smoke, and gambling chips, and their rodent pets crammed the hidden mining decks with stink. How I loved my extuiter. He fooled the eyes hung over their Scabeeze snouts so they could not see him slipping in and out of their pavilion entryways. These were the doors to the source of their plots. Beyond the cabin windows were whipping currents, coral and sponges. I was the dark energy in every inch of thick air. All around the extuiter, I made warmth and comfort to perfect his will and timing. I pressed the salty pounds of water outside. I softened the fall of his step. As Scabeezes creaked their seats and chunked their chips into a pile saying, ”I raise that bet!” I thought on how I may save my extuiter from a broken fate.