(Or its previous title: ‘Uamak’s Aquatic’)
[Suspense/ reedited 2-2008]
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me…
I saw a shape on a ledge, sitting on a rock, not sure who it was, or for that matter—what it was, it had a human like form, from where I stood, and that is quite a distance; my intuition and sensitivity though, told me something, it always does, and I think it supersedes my logic and simple thinking, and surely my feelings, yes, I was getting a sensation call it, second-sight, for it was and is stronger than a sensation; I’ve heard people say exactly what I am saying, before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but sensitivity with numbness is something to be aware of, the body has a mind of it own, or so it seems at times, and give you messages, danger messages.
I didn’t’ sense any danger for the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking down, and out into the deep sea. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it—from all corners—sucking my pink and red flesh inward, along with my internal organs, stinging their poisonous little fangs into them.
I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its prickly overgrown wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged through the last of the bushes, carefully now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then I got into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now—the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and splashed against the overhang—the sea cliffs, directly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, behind twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an agitated night.
Inscrutability always appears to bring with it a limitless amount of threat, does it not? A rhetorical question at best, sure it does, and that figure on the edge of the cliff, sitting on the rock…as he looked down into the bowels of he sea, the tide was becoming more calm, the longer he looked, the calmer it became.
The around him were mammoth, and the closer I got to the person overlooking the sea, its figure became more jagged, and I noticed it had fangs.
The wind was not gentle over my head, not like it was a few minutes ago, I mean the wind and the mist, just unexpectedly evaporated.
I was about to say, the shape, its silhouette, turned a tinge, it was a huge rock, with a huge figure on it, it now is looking into the sea, for a moment it was looking at me; it is as if he is locking himself into a trance. He pays me no more attention, perhaps I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to bother with. He seems to be talking to himself or perhaps some sea monster (ha...ha) just kidding—but he’s talking to someone, something, and his head is pointed downward, down, down toward the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.
A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, is down there, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it is lit, a light on its deck, I suppose it’s a deck, it is far off in the distance.
I am walking now, a fog has draped over me again, over this area; I am walking aimless I think, can’t see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea or on top of that damn monster looking down into the sea, I am not sure why I said monster, perhaps he just a big dud, and that is that. I can’t see much… some shadows just left the moon everything is a bit more exposed now, but it is only producing a little light. In September it is chilly here. I swear that stature has something to do with this mysterious evening. Here off the coast of … (Iceland) my bones are chilled.
I wonder what that figure is doing out here? ‘…what are you doing out here?’ might be a better question. I couldn’t tell you, I’d not have the answer, ‘doing out here,’ what? Maybe that figure on the rock knows—he must be but a hundred yards from me now, maybe he summoned me, I mean I was in Reykjavik this morning, and here I am, like a drawn zombie to this out of the way location; perchance I’ll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late, dusk was a moment ago, but night is falling quick.
As I was saying, conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this little trip —your guess is as good as mine. I have been to places around the world that seems to draw on a person’s soul, agitate his pulse to the point he has to go—and ends up at, wherever he does—in this case here.
“Aye, good Master,” I heard it mumble “…take the lot as it is….”
This is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind pushed it back into my ears from the spot where that strange creature, or person is, that figure on the huge rock looking, just looking down, and into the–what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, just looking down and into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, it just faded into my senses, my vision, and is now fading away, as fast as it came.
Evidently, something else is down there—thriving.
—The form looks quite proud with a hint of arrogance, reeking from its countenance (cloudy face). I asked myself, now (being some twenty-five feet away from it): ‘does he have an inkling of my presence (he must)?’ I never seen anyone concentrates so hard, who, I say who can, or does concentrates so hard? I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something, or at least it looks that way? Perhaps my intuition is correct, someone, or someone is down there; I get the feeling he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back—death brings out many wishes in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he planning something?
Weird! He is huge, awfully massive. I’ll take a few more steps, a yard now, he should turn around I’d think. I’m sure he can feel my heart beating; I denote his beating, for I can hear it myself.
Again and again I say should he turn around towards me he’d see me, then what? Perhaps he doesn’t want to scare me, or perchance he wants to eat me, and I am almost in his web, his mouse trip—if he eats me, I hope I’m all rat poison to his system.
Now he heard me mumbling my thoughts, he’s starting some incantations as well. A pathway to what I ask myself—, now what, I’m right behind him, three feet (‘mama mea’):
“I’m Uámak, and below me, is the Rector of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate these ways, they are carved into each and every plate, seventy-two plates, and seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate out at a time to me, shows them to me. I am forced to look as he mocks me. Doom has no rest, and I am tired, and doom—believe it or not—
has a funny sense of humor; better put, a sardonic sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages yet. He says I must select one, and knows I can’t, for demons lie, and I’m sure on each plate, he has modified it; what I really fear is wherever I go, it not be to oblivion, and so he plays his game over and over and over. I have this right to select, since I am half of what he is, the other half human. I am as old as Adam was; my father’s father was the last of his kind, beside me, we come from the family Og. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to the villages, and cities, and whoever is sensitive to such things, who have second sight, is drawn here, to assist me. He wants to entertain the folks under the crust of the earth—as they laugh at me, with him. I cannot chose, he has given me a certain time to do this, I accepted this, game in fear my doom which was already cut out for me before hand, could be oblivion, and so having a choice I found myself in this conflicting situation, I am torn. Which way has been chosen for me, I can go back to that, or what does he offer me on these plates? I know you have second sight, perhaps you know, and if you do, I will make my choice?”
I was mortified, he turned around and I almost lost control of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, half demigod, as he said, whom was being tormented by other demigods, thus I learned they do not favor their own kind, especially one that may have a choice in the matter.
Anyhow, he knew I might know, or could find out something, and he wanted me to tell him what has been chosen for his death bed, and what choices were the demonic beast from the sea bringing up to him in comparison. So that’s why I was brought here, didn’t know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death (in the crust of the earth) would not tell him, perhaps for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him, or hell got tired and selected one for him; I was his messenger I suppose, his seer. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, the sea, where he was looking down into or at, and I couldn’t see what he saw, but what I did saw was his death…his death!
“What do you see?” asked the Uamak (the semi demigod).
“A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move.”
“What death is this?” he asked me.
“The living death,” I chokingly said.
“Will I be conscious,” he asked.
“What does Doom offer in its place?” he asked (with a rustic and a choking voice.)
“Repeated Death,” I answered.
“And what exactly is that?” he questioned.
“What he is doing right now, but with every demon in hell.”
It the following day, they found hanging between two branches of a tree, my neck cramped within the fork of the tree, my hands tied behind me, and I was hanging there against the tree, my head green as the grass, my body limp as a noodle. I was found by local police, and they asked me who my assailant’s, I didn’t say a word, they would not have believed me anyhow. It was the inhabiting demonic creatures, small imps, if I recall right. They were upset that I gave insight to the great figure. I hung on the demon tree for several hours, and I can’t blame them, that is what demon do best, they are amused by such activities, and immune to pity, or grace, or anything of such a nature.
I don’t know what he, Uamak, selected, I simply wanted to hightail it out of there, as quick as possible, away from the tree, the sea, and the rocks. Perhaps another time, another day, I may come back, and see if he is still around.
Note: Written 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (Reedited, some words were added for description, but the theme, plot and ending were left untouched. About 700-words were added. 2/2008)