I Sold My Soul To Make It Bright With Electric Light
by Lake Huron Entrance 77 on LOFTER
translated by LOVEMARGINAL
shamelessly stolen by cerulean to post privately on her website (if youre reading this and youre not cerulean shoo!) (if youre involved in the creation sorry for the steal but im like to read it :))
“Do you dream?” asked Blank. The young man could use much work on his patience and manners, but this might be what Zwist minded least about him. “No, actually, do you even sleep?”
“Occasionally,” replied Zwist.
“This is to both questions?”
“Both questions.”
-
“Is immortality shittier than you imagined?” asked Lillian.
“Yes, much to my chagrin,” replied Zwist.
She moved her lips in a fluid yet imperfect substitution of verbs, causing a nearby stack of paper to combust in reverse. Zwist shook his head, muttering what would make them unfurl again.
“Is it the immortality itself that ires you, or the responsibility with no end in sight?”
She was, as always, blunt.
Zwist sighed, “The amount of time at hand disfavors any minute chitchatted away, Dr. Lillihammer. Mind your vowels and try again.”
It never took Dr. Lillian S. Lillihammer more than three attempts.
-
Memories of the past connected him to Reynders, they could drivel on about the 20th century until the sun set and rose again. Zwist would rather refrain, considering Reynders’ nauseation to being trapped in time. So when he bumped into her in the halls, he left it to a polite nod, with Reynders returning a wide-eyed smile.
Then they would brush past one another.
-
He asked Mcinnis a question.
“What was it like to work with them?”
The site director blinked. The man was more than aware who the other was referring to, yet still he responded in courteous ambivalence:
“Precisely the same way you felt working with them, Mr. Zwist.”
-
He saw the mirror monster flicker on a fire hydrant in a corner, its mouth soundlessly opening and closing like a tear - had Zwist not been notified beforehand, he might have been startled. Though, unfortunately, he had been briefed the first time he received a security badge, so a blind eye he turned, and forward he proceeded.
Only after he gained some distance did he perceive the barely audible echoes in part.
“Is he gone?” “No, it’s not like I wanted to avoid him, I just...” “Ow! Doug, that was really rough.”
-
“Is it raining out there, Vivian? Should’ve told Thilo to bring an umbrella when he came in.”
Refusing Vroom’s offer, he turned to leave before he could see the next message.
-
In all honesty… in fact, he was telling Blank the truth: occasionally he slept, and occasionally he dreamed. But in every dream he could excavate from memory, counting up towards 400 years, for the very first time there was no vermillion flame, not a coil of smog, not a heart-wrenching scream, nothing associable with that hellish night in 1645. Zwist was lucidly aware he was in a dream, being the only patron of a café whereabouts unknown, on the table two mugs of coffee steaming forevermore immune to the heat death of the universe; outside the window, silently falling, was the downy sort of snow blurring every boundary extant; fireplace indoors crackling and wafting. He was waiting for a person, or for the phone to ring, Zwist could not ascertain. He only knew the fact that he felt very still, that he wouldn’t mind waiting here forever, forever - so long as some beat towards the very end, someone would push past the doors and remove his hat…