PRAYERWORLD

Let's go off the beaten path here, yet again.

Another afternoon nap became a very interesting, surreal experience. Run to the PC, type it up FAST!

And this is too short to sell anywhere. I was going to do a post on a Biblical figure, but hey, everyone's doing that, let's be a little more original.

So, without further ado, I give you:

PRAYERWORLD

On Galaath, the unthinkable, the un-understandable had happened.

Galaath the world, Galaath the people, Galaath the language, Galaath, the name of every being on Galaath, all these words distinguishable from one another by the quadrillion harmonic convergences played on the trill of the tongue or in the mind.

And each Galaath, since time out of mind, had in its larvae stage, knelt, and whispered a prayer every night of its sentience, for a million million nights, and from those whispers, building a crystalline world in miniature, until the world itself was encircled by smaller ones, infinite regression from which there seemed to be no starting point, that point itself lost in the shadows of history.

Until Galaath (minor trill on the g, major on the a, harmonic lilt on the l, aaa sweeping down-up note, the th a long ululation) knelt on its knee-bones, intertwined its two webbed fingers and touched double-jointed thumbs and began whispering its prayer from its tiny beak, avian eyes unblinking, and formed the darker crystal.
It was light at first. The wisps of words curled into the air, forming it as so many had formed before. The textures formed multi-faceted surfaces, a jeweled woven tapestry knitted in the air, a sparkler unfolding outwards.
All was well, until the crystal began...flickerings inside itself. Dark swirling motes started to blink in and out of existence as Galaaths jeweled prayer grew. These splotches began to grow in frequency, marring the delicate conformity of all those that had gone before.
This was noticed, first by Galaath, and then by all other Galaaths, and it became quiet discordance, a cognitive dissonance in the hive mind/not-hive mind of Galaath.
Such an event had never stirred the collective/non-collective before. Prior to this, all had proceeded in accordance with tradition, in accordance with memory, in accordance with accordance.
Now the anomaly, the unthinkable, the un-understandable had occurred. Something had to be done, and soon: Galaath the world feared the pollution of prayer jewels: not one Galaath could conceive of Galaath surrounded by marred prayer.
And the supplicate Galaath heard its friends, Galaath all, come to it: and knew of the impending doom to be visited on this warped abomination that had sprang from its lips. It spoke to them, and they spoke back. It pleaded to have this one spared;all the while knowing its pleas fell on deaf minds. And so, after the pleas were dismissed, and it was told to stand away from the bobbing dark gem (for by now it was more than sporadic black wisps, it was now almost entirely obsidian), it watched as many Galaaths began ululating a tone that crept higher, and higher, focused in a conical spiral only a Galaath could see, rising in a painful crescendo that only a Galaath could hear (and every one on that planet clamped golden palms to earholes, all except the weaver), until the dark jewel began to tremble, and shake internally.
And its creator, in that one moment before destruction, before the buckling of whisper-stuff collapsed into itself, a black hole in miniature self engorging, Galaath then saw billions of tiny faces, grotesque little things, two eyes, weird beaks (?), bizarre holes beneath that held many white marbles, all these faces distinct and yet uniform in some wild symmetry, all crying all pleading NNNNOOOOO!!! It saw each and every one of them: knew that it had gone farther than any other Galaath before it, and this would not be done again, somehow.
And felt the pain smoke through three of its five hearts, as it felt the loss: all this, as the dark gem buckled in on itself, fractured, buckled further, angles folding inward that were painful to watch for any who had eyes. And...gone: wisps of dark tendrils floated upwards, and dissipated.
We are sorry, Galaath, they told it. It was not meant to be.
Understand, said Galaath. But its friends had not seen. Had not seen the many, many tiny, weird faces twisted in pain and fear. Nor could it show them. Somehow, in some way, that was blocked to all but it.
And somehow, all Galaath knew without knowing, and Galaath itself, that it would never reach pupae stage.
For tradition made no allowances for discordance. All must be harmonized.
No anomalies allowed.
And so, the first and last heretic, the first and last atheist, on Galaath the Prayerworld, knelt one last final time, as the ululation began again.