Previously on Darklight: a traveller accompanied by a pseudo-bird finally reached Lunar Central Station on the moon. The guard at the gate asked him to talk about himself, and he spoke about his writing, a story he’d written about Selena. The guard was unimpressed, and targeted him with a multifunctional weapon. Episode one is here.
No-one ever wanted me to talk about myself.
What did she expect?
I was always Sunday’s dreary ghost,
wandering the rain-washed streets,
with the ashes of my fantasies
falling in my mind.
Still, I had to try.
I was always Sunday’s dreary ghost, etc.
The guard adjusted a slider on her weapon.
Merely sound effects, she said, but I was unconvinced.
On one such Sunday, I sought shelter
from a downpour in a nearby bookstore,
and there she was:
Despite a vague unease concerning
my imminent vaporization, I paused
to simulate suspense.
The doubly fictitious Selena, born from the imagination
of an imaginary writer, stood beside an artless arrangement
of paperbacks on special, skimming through a copy,
and from every cover, her lustrous likenesses
were looking out at me.
How could she be real?
An incandescent incongruity
in that dark and dusty bookstore,
and in my humdrum life.
Er… um… , I said, by way of introduction.
Use your words, she replied, clichés will be fine.
The impatient guard moved her weapon
in rapid circles. I had to wind it up.
It was all a game for her, but I played along,
and imperceptibly, irreversibly, I changed.
Her steadfast light turned my bitter thoughts
to vapor, ablated all the failures of my dreams,
revealed the undeniable world, its madness and its purity.
In the end, she told me that she’d come
from a stranger’s dream, and he was waiting
in the land of the earthlit moon.
Then, softly, very gently, she said she had to go.
She left a note, Don’t forget to feed the cats,
although I’d never seen any,
and I purchased cat food just in case.
The guard lowered her weapon by a tenth
of a radian.
Is that literally true?
I stroked my chin in contemplation
of her pleonastic question. Might there be
a different kind of truth?
Which part? Her luminosity?
I thought it was expensive makeup.
Although, now I come to think about it…
My mind was wandering to winter nights
with Selena, warm hours before the dawn.
The Ibid Bird, who’d been dozing
on my shoulder, took flight with a flutter.
So you came to the moon, you scatterbrain.
For comic emphasis, he circled my head
a couple of times, tweeting erratically.
The guard nodded.
Her radiance, and the dominance
of earthlight on the moon,
imply reverse luminosity.
The Bird flew over to the guard,
seeking an intelligent discussion.
Better not to perch on my weapon.
You might discharge it prematurely.
He seemed unconcerned.
And the dream, which belonged to the future,
became real in the present.
The Inverse Realms, they chorused.
- Sonhos, composed by Peninha; youtube version performed by Caetano Veloso (Portuguese),
- as well as sunlight, light from the earth illuminates the moon.
A different kind of truth, made with the visual evolution engine.