Terror and Ecstasy

Where does the river begin? The stream that meanders and trickles through the backwoods, downward and converging with its brethren tributaries. Tumultuous rolling white water crashing violently barreling towards the delta drop off, is this the beginning? A speck in the sky up high in the atmosphere falling gently until it merges with another bead of oxygen and hydrogen, it too converges rapidly accelerating by violent winds and crashes down. Does the river begin at 10,000km?

Far out in the ocean that ebbs and flows like a restless child. Gulping the salinated water to quench an infinite thirst. Man has learned to love how it cracks his lips and constricts his skin till it wrinkles and his arteries ripple. His skeleton-like hands can barely hold the waters slipping through. The boat rocks back and forth as he thrust his entire face into the ocean's waters as he embraces the elixir of life. Man has forgotten futility. Pessimism is for children now. Every man believes he's the last. Only shadows in their one-inch dreams and shakey hands. No laughs only sneers and dry wheezing.

Sweets. She mashes the wild berries between her fingers. Old seeds stick beneath her unkempt long dark nails from grinding the molded roughage. She says, "sweets." as she puts her hand in her child's mouth. He's thin like a willow tree, their wispy hair blows gently and the leaves and sticks crack as their walk. A small sound barely audible a few meters off pulls in her full attention. Her heart slows and her breath stops, it's the sound of destiny and salvation. She looks at the heart-shaped locket that dangles off her neck often the muse of her son. Her quivering hands grasp it. Since she was no older than the child she now carries on her back she's known of the stream that carries you to destiny, to the end. It's the Madness.

A low rumble. Like humanity being cracked in half, an ice shelf in the arctic ruptures and shatters into the thawing ocean. Eden. They call it. The Origin.

In a hut built of large leaves, mud, and busted concrete overgrown with vines there's a fire flickering as rain falls in the night. It's time. A birth must begin on the harshest rainfall as a drought is a bad omen. An elderly woman with coarse grey hair is knotted back with a wet cloth in her hand and a bucket by her side. A young woman is wheezing stoically as contractions intensify. Children sit quietly and watch, men stand in the pouring rain staring up at the sky. There is no joy in the damnation of birth.

A small ice cube is given to the child immediately, nearly choking until it melts into his mouth. It has it's first taste of the Madness.

The tribe continues their pilgrimage. The men don't speak. Talk is for children now. A boy says to the girl walking beside him how beautiful the ocean water will taste in his lungs, she nods and smiles back to him. They skip along the river as it winds left and right. They find solace in the glorious fate it provides.

The end of time.

Like a furious god with trembling fists the sound of roaring water at the pinnacle of destiny calling man, woman, and child to damnation. Weary cumulous clouds dark as the soul of a serial killer rumble low in the sky. Aggressive wind and hail pelt the faces of the ragged travelers. The shore is steep and rocky, it cuts their feet but they remain transfixed by the horizon. It's eternity they walk into. Waist-high water rocks their bodies back and forth, a baby is dropped carelessly into its depths and drifts away as the mother's eyes are fixated on the hellish watery grave. Decaying bodies from previous pilgrimages litter the ocean floor. Hollow bones crack. A boy and girl locking just a few fingers together take slow steps behind their parents. His tongue is cracked and parched. Barely taking the time to taste the salinated serum of madness it rushes into every crevice of his body. Weak knees buckle and he falls forward floating like driftwood, the young girl next to him smiles. It's beautiful. It's salvation.

It's terror and ecstasy.