Fylgja

A tall man was walking on a seemingly abandoned path. The sole sign of it being man-made was that it looked too orderly to have been created by nature itself. At least, that was how the man perceived it. He looked at the gravel and the pebbles covering the dirt road that had so clearly been formed by countless people trudging, strolling, or even ambling, and considered how these little creatures, certainly inanimate, animated the path the man was taking. Without these additions provided by nature, this unnatural trail would be dull; lifeless; useless. He lifted his head after growing bored of staring at such irrelevant objects. As he looked around to determine his location on the map, he felt a sense of unease taking over him. He was surrounded by trees that seemed more ancient than Earth itself, and taller than the tallest mountains, from his perspective at that specific moment. Shivers ran down his spine as he realized that, despite his weariness, he felt most comfortable here, where the Sun did not shine and the only sound that he heard was that of silence. Even the voices and the music in his head seemed to have been muffled by this eerie environment. The roots of the trees that the ground pulled down no longer looked as if they were trying to pull him in, in turn. He decided that it was time to carry on.   After some time that felt like a couple of moments to him, his blond hair started to feel damp. He looked up only to see nothing but leaves and branches and twigs, towering over him, both attempting to shield him from any harm, but also to remind him that he was nothing, similar to the pebbles and the gravel he quickly dismissed. He raised his hand to get a feel of the water on his hair. He was staggered by the fact that, after so much time spent being irresponsive to the effects of his surroundings, the thing that woke him up was the tears shed by trees. He kept walking after this brief pause, both of his hands now back in full motion next to his torso, balancing his steps, keeping him right on his path. Eventually, as he ventured deeper into this primeval forest, he happened on a grove where the trees grew tighter together, but as a group stood farther away from the herd. Thinking that this copse was an outcast, just like himself, he resolved that this would be the place where he would do it; this would be the place to carry out his final act. As he came to this realization, his piercing blue eyes locked on two rocks that together formed a natural chair upon which he could sit. He moved closer to study it. Were he not certain that this place had not been visited by humans for decades, possibly centuries, he would think that he could mistake it for a throne, carved out of the stones in its surroundings by ancient peoples who roamed this unforgiving region of the world eons ago.   He took off his large bag that barely covered his back, tossed it next to the throne, and sat next to it. He pulled out dried meat and a piece of bread; he must have been walking for days, trying to find the most suitable spot. During that time, he neither stopped to eat, nor to sleep. His entire body was burning and his heart beat in an odd rhythm. Though he knew exactly why he came here, and while his resolve was unwavering, he felt a strange connection to this forest the moment he took his first step. It felt as if the woods were alive and communicating not only with each other but also with him. He shrugged, finished his last meal, drank a bit of water from his flask, and began digging next to the chair. He wanted to bury his bag deep enough so that he would not be tempted to save himself when the moment came. After a few hours had passed, despite his exhaustion, he decided that the hole would be deep enough. At this point his arms felt numb; nearly all his strength abandoned him. With a last effort, he covered his backpack and made the area look as if nobody had ever been there. He sat on his throne of death and pulled a small stash of peculiar substances out of his right pocket. He studied it from up close for a brief moment; they looked unusual for pills, shaped as triangles. Without hesitation, or any second thought, he lifted his right arm and drove one of them towards his mouth. He placed it on his tongue, then gulped, and finally sat back on his mildly reposeful throne. He awaited, emotionless, his inevitable doom.   One... the drug kicked in almost immediately. He began to see fractals, geometric shapes that looked out of this world. Though he was aware that the forest had been the quietest place he had ever been to, it felt like both his inner voices and his thoughts chose to remain silent at that moment. This overwhelming sensation forced him to close his eyes and let go of everything he had ever experienced in life, whether it be love, hate, pleasure, or grief. All his memories began to fade, and all that made him himself started to become exactly what he was: devastatingly trifling. Two... his limbs now became number than they initially were from exhaustion. He lost control over his physical body, and the sole thing he could attempt to grasp was his mind, but even that felt that it was slipping away at an alarmingly fast rate. Suddenly, he felt the urge to fight it. His last mental barrier awoke before entering the white black hole presented in front of him. Geometric figures multiplied but also became rounder, as if the whole thing that was controlling the phenomenon attempted to calm its host down. As brusquely as his resistance triggered, so quickly did he begin to feel at peace. This sensation was incomparable to anything he had ever experienced in his life. As he accepted his path, his movement sped up and the force that overtook him steered him directly to the event horizon. Three... upon entering and passing the singularity, the spirit that was once the man, now but a drop of water in the vast ocean of the Universe, found itself in a tunnel unlike any it had witnessed before. Stunningly, the tunnel was pitch black. It was darker than the darkest color of black, or anything any human had ever recreated in an attempt to simulate a black hole. The sole reason why the spirit knew that it was in a tunnel was that something inherently told it, without uttering a word, moving, touching, or giving off a scent or taste. This feeling, if it could call it that way, was built inside of it, both being and representing nothing, but also everything. The only thing the spirit felt was that it was finally headed back where it belonged. Four... at this point, the spirit gave up the fight and raced toward the end of the tunnel. It knew that it was there safe for a few moments. However, upon seeing the light growing brighter and larger, it also noticed a peculiar shape. What was it? It approached it, but could not make it out. Only after getting as close as a few inches did this anomaly reveal itself. For a moment, which felt like an eternity to the spirit eagerly desiring to go Home, it regained its senses and opened communications with this gatekeeper.   “Well met, Frelser. I have been looking forward to meeting you, though I was hoping it would happen under different circumstances at a much later date.” The spirit, whose name was Frelser, was at that point stupefied. “Circumstances? Later date? I?” Frelser was at a loss, as if it were learning words as the entity spoke. “Yes, Frelser. You. You are you, a lost and broken soul who used to have a shell to protect you from the four dimensions that made up your world, including any appeal to your senses.” The entity talking to him sounded monotone, yet filled with emotions that overwhelmed Frelser. “I... am.”