Spelunca Universi Ocula

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Spelunca Universi Ocula; Yeah, I used the Latin Sounds Awesome rule to title this. :P
Tweet Topic Started: Mar 19 2012, 04:42 PM (117 Views)
Wallace	Mar 19 2012, 04:42 PM Post #1
Break out the L-word. The other L-word. Posts: 1,889 Group: S Rank Hero Member #11,873 Joined: February 24, 2011	Prologue ----- The darkness on the inside of the cave wasn't well illuminated by my failing torchlight. Every now and then, I would give the torch a good smack: this useless thing needed new batteries. It was all I had to light my path. The sounds of dripping were ever constant, growing ever louder as I delved deeper in. It's just water; it has to be just water. Caves have a lot of water, right? Even ones with paths that look almost as if they were carved, but not by anything manmade? Drip, drip. I continued on, wishing it weren't so cold, wishing I had brought a jacket, no, two. If I found her here, she'd need a jacket too. There was a grave stillness in the air in the cave: but that's how caves are supposed to be, right? They're underground, so they're supposed to feel this way, right? Drip, drip. These walls... they had to be carved, I thought as I looked at them, now that I was even deeper in. They had to have been carved by someone... but whom? Some of these walls had writings, something you'd say must be hieroglyphics if you'd never seen them before but had heard of them, but they were the strangest shapes cut into the stone with the strangest precision. Something about the combination of those two things gave me a chill, a rising terror in my mind. Why did they seem to tell a story even though I didn't know what the symbols meant? Drip, drip. There was a breeze in the air around my feet, and I thought with sudden certainty that it must be coming from some larger chamber, some end to the seemingly infinitely stretching tunnels. My pace quickened, exponentially, and before I knew it, for reasons, for fear, for anxiety, for hope, of nature unknown to me, I was running down the unnatural stone corridors, hoping to find what I was searching for at the end of this road... Drip, drip. I found what I was looking for. The chamber seemed almost to be an anteroom, something looking like a vault-door of stone on the far side, odd holes engraved in it which must have led to complex mechanisms that would unlock it. The carvings that had occasionally marked the tunnels seemed to meet their climax here: I couldn't find a square inch of space not written on of the walls and the floor and the ceiling. There were odd... protrusions, of some sort, that seemed to stab through the ceiling and floor and walls, some of them almost seeming like furniture, even though the angles made me question what possible use they could have held. They were not free of the writing. The architecture of the room was not what I was looking for. Drip, drip, went the red liquid as it fell upon the cold, damp stone floor of the chamber. Its source was easily identified, it being the most noticeable thing about the room. A figure hung by her left arm from a rope tied around some sort of bar jutting from the ceiling of the cavern: the only reason I knew it was a female was because of the length of the hair, and the way the body seemed to be--or used to be--more curved than that of a man's. Her eyes had been gouged, leaving bloody craters as their only vestige; her torso had been slashed open violently, her innards, most noticeably what appeared to be her intestines, hanging out of her open cavity; the rope seemed to be stained red around her wrist: it looked as though the wrist had been slit underneath the rope, somehow not cutting that tether and causing her to fall to the ground and merely mangling the flesh and veins. The tool used to accomplish these tasks was nearby, a knife caked in congealed blood lying on the ground in the pool of drying gore. The only other object in the room that wasn't part of its structure was a strange, round object with strange carvings similar to those on the walls. It was completely devoid of the blood that surrounded it, and it seemed almost as if to even entertain the notion that such a substance could possibly stain it would be foolish. I became aware that my mouth was open, screaming something to the stillness of the underground room, either unaware of the futility of screaming so far beneath the earth's surface or unconcerned by it. But I did not hear it. I became aware that tears were running down my face, and that my body was being racked with sobs. But I did not hear it. Only one sound met my ears. Drip, drip. It was not the architecture I saw first, not the pool of blood, not the pool's source, not the knife, not the sphere. The first thing I saw was the necklace she wore, the white string decorated with a few colored beads, but also lettered beads that spelled out, "Alicia" and "Tim", the two words separated by a bead with a heart on it. It seemed as protected from the gore as the sphere. It identified to me who this person was before I saw what had become of her. She was my fianc�e. ----- I awoke with a start. I was shaking, crying, sweating, screaming. I had never desired for anything more in my life than to wish that it were less memory, more dream.
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