LANDMARK - a 20-minute prose exercise

Here’s my 20-minute prose exercise for today. If you’d like to share yours, you can email me here. I’m working on getting a place to share them publicly (anonymously) on here if that’s something you’d like. If not, I’m happy to provide private feedback via email.

LANDMARK

There She stood, the Siren, the Guidelight, the Landmark.

Despite the fog, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d found her. The men stopped behind me and stood waiting in silence as I removed my helmet and let it drop to the blood-soured dirt beneath me. All those hard-fought years led to that moment.

The wind tussled my oily black hair, blowing it right in my eyes, but I didn’t notice, not really. Not when She stood before me.

“Welcome, traveler,” She said, Her voice a low, soothing alto. “What have you brought me?”

At the sound of Her ethereal voice, the others collapsed to their knees, their heads lowered in reverence. I knelt, but my eyes remained locked on Hers. I couldn’t resist.

“Oh Holiest Landmark,” I cried out, tears welling. “It is with great honor we come before You. We have traveled many millions of miles across space and time to kneel at Your feet.”

She looked at me, through me, although She had no discernible, human-like face. “So have the many who have traveled before you. What makes you unique in your quest?”

I motioned behind me to the crowd. “We bring the rarest gift in the universe, a beautiful gem of Your design, cast out eons ago to the far corner of endless space.”

Two men stepped forward, a heavy container between them. They opened it and revealed the contents inside: a dozen six-inch cannisters nestled in a womb of coolant and haze.

“This,” I continued, “this is the last of your greatest creation, oh Divine One. This is what remains of the human race. These cannisters and the men you see before you.”

For a moment The Landmark was silent as if pondering.

“And why have you brought this here?” She asked.

“What Creator does not wish to see the fruit of their labors? We appeal to Your pride, Your authority, Your eminence.”

“Mmmm,” She cooed, “you have done well to bring this gift to me. Thank you, brave travelers.”

“You are pleased then?”

“Very. It is a pleasure to see your progress.”

The men murmured with excitement. I, too, struggled to contain my elation.

“Then, if I may, we do receive Your blessing in return?”

“Of course.”

Our elation exploded into uproarious joy.

“You will receive the same blessing as all who have come before you, for you are no greater, no wiser and no more void of pride as when the very makeup of your apish husks was enhanced.”

The men grew silent.

“Your Excellence?” I could feel my heart sink, my body tremble.

“Every species I have designed has had the same failings, for I was tasked with assigning the true landmark of intelligence: free will. The error lies in the programming, I’m afraid. For none know what to do with it once its been given to them.”

“Forgive us, Oh Greatest One. Guide us to our salvation.” At last, I bowed my head.

She laughed, a horrible, unsettling guffaw. A tinny whizz shot through the air and my crewmates were turned to bloody, gelatinous heaps on the earth. I could contain my shivering fear no longer. I cried out in terror and, scrambling to my feet, tried to run. My feet slipped in the viscera of my comrades, and I fell with a hard, wet splash.

“And you,” She said. “You will join the other champions in the hall of knowledge so that others will learn from these mistakes.”

Now I sit behind invisible bars in my invisible cell, and the horrors that gaze upon me, day after day, night after night, are an unending barrage of unearthly turmoil to which there is no prescription, no confidant, no embrace of traumatic release.

The human race, population: one, serving as a cautionary landmark at the edge of space.