07-28-2020, 06:21 PM
The water caught him, but Philip’s body sliced through the embrace piercing as an arrow straight to the bottom. The Pope did not need air to live, he told himself, as he folded his arms across his chest like the dead poised in their coffins. Only the water was not his grave.
Above, where the penetrance of fires brightened the liquid ceiling a dappled crimson, he closed his eyes and willed it to dissipate. Moments later, the color snuffed, leaving only the heavy blanket of river overhead.
His knees hit the riverbed, slipping on the slime of ancient algae licking the rocks to his knees. His palms pressed together, and he spoke needs in his mind that no one but God would hear. The stillness was a rapture. Deprivation of the above world was mandatory. Apart from the waking surface, yet buried in its belly, Philip’s demands were laid out before the scope of everything. It was not his grave, but it was a grave as temporary as the tomb of Christ.
Then a voice spoke back.
His eyes opened quickly, but they found only the green, murky atmosphere of the world's souls dredged with sin. He could feel it leeching into his clothes and tainting his skin. Death swirled the underbed of the Tiber River, but in a stirring of silt, an infusion of life burst upward. Philip found the surface free of robots and burning buildings when he returned. It was disturbingly refreshing, and he wasn’t alone.
He just looked at her and breathed heavy with the weight of humanity's burdens dripping from his face.
Above, where the penetrance of fires brightened the liquid ceiling a dappled crimson, he closed his eyes and willed it to dissipate. Moments later, the color snuffed, leaving only the heavy blanket of river overhead.
His knees hit the riverbed, slipping on the slime of ancient algae licking the rocks to his knees. His palms pressed together, and he spoke needs in his mind that no one but God would hear. The stillness was a rapture. Deprivation of the above world was mandatory. Apart from the waking surface, yet buried in its belly, Philip’s demands were laid out before the scope of everything. It was not his grave, but it was a grave as temporary as the tomb of Christ.
Then a voice spoke back.
His eyes opened quickly, but they found only the green, murky atmosphere of the world's souls dredged with sin. He could feel it leeching into his clothes and tainting his skin. Death swirled the underbed of the Tiber River, but in a stirring of silt, an infusion of life burst upward. Philip found the surface free of robots and burning buildings when he returned. It was disturbingly refreshing, and he wasn’t alone.
He just looked at her and breathed heavy with the weight of humanity's burdens dripping from his face.
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