Pietro_maze
http://wiki.incognitus.net/ppc/index.php/Pietros_maze
http://wiki.incognitus.net/ppc/index.php/Sylvia_Salk
http://forums.unfiction.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=11270
I have not looked in on PerplexCity for a while...only to find a shocking paralell to my own Neurocam narrative...right down to the name and circumstances surrounding this blog.
I was in a coma/dream and I ended up in this MAZE of confusion...
This is a really strange thing...
This is Intellishit!
1 Comments:
Michiko Clark: And of course, we have Cube hunts, the most notable on the Academy grounds, where the Academy staff hide small brightly-colored cubes all around the Great Lawn on the Academy, and then children can come and search for them, it's a lot of fun!
Mike Mendoza: Ah, it does sound like fun. I should come over there sometime and try it myself! Ah, now, let's get on with some of the news you're covering in Perplex City at the moment. Tell us about Pietro Salk.
Michiko Clark: Pietro Salk, actually is, well, he was, a very close colleague of mine, and our best investigative reporter, and I'm afraid I found out just before I came to the Academy this evening that he has passed. It's a strange case though, because, basically he seemed fine when I spoke to him last Monday, and then he fell into a coma later that evening. On Wednesday he came out of it briefly and create a maze, of all things, and then collapsed into the coma again and the doctors said that his condition had significantly deteriorated. Now, these mazes are really interesting because they've led us to a few old items from his files. I just don't think it means anything because he was very diligent about keeping me posted on his work, and especially for someone who clearly wasn't operating with all of his brain, the levels get much harder after the fifth one, and we have, I guess, one person at the Sentinel who's gotten as far as level seven or eight so far, but we don't know how much there is, and we don't really know the significance of all of it. It's really a mystery to us, what all of this was caused by and what it means?
Mike Mendoza: And who is Aiko Entrescore?
Michiko Clark: She actually is a member, it turns out, of a splinter religious group called the Reconstructionists, and she was actually arrested, I think it was last week, I'm afraid my sense of time is getting a little off-kilter, for suspicion of stealing the Cube herself. As it turns out the evidence didn't carry out that particular case, I guess. She's still under heavy suspicion that looks very bad, because she belongs to a religious group that is very happy that the Cube has gone missing. They thought that in the hands of the Academy it was always a kind of heretical state for the Cube to be in.
MAZE 6
In my dreams, I am walking in a maze. I am following someone who is always just a little too far ahead. A moment before I round one corner, she rounds the next. I never see her, not even a glimpse of her cloak.
She. It is a woman, then, my quarry. I follow a woman, walking in this maze. The place is quiet. There is no sound but that of my footsteps on the floor. I cannot see the floor, it is too dark. The walls are blank. It is a maze. I made this maze and now I am caught within it.
The adherents of ancient religions compare the darkness of this life to the
wandering in a maze. Only with the light of eternal truth, they say, will we be set free. But there is no light to follow. Only a woman, whom I know to be ahead of me.
I walk a little faster. I know, without knowing how I know, that she also walks a little faster. Only a little. Only just out of reach.
I try to remember who she is, this woman always ahead of me. I think that I know. I think that this maze is knowledge, that I have pieced it together, like the construction of a complex puzzle. I used to make puzzles. I do so no longer.
She does not tire. She does not hunger. She does not thirst. Her
speed is steady, increasing when mine increases, decreasing when mine does. If I stopped, she too would stop. This pursuit could last forever.
It must not last forever. I have no time left. Moments only. Moments are all we have, of course. I remember something, a fragment, a conversation. A woman pushing a slip of paper toward me across a table. It is gone again. I walk on.
I call out in the darkness: "Who are you?" My voice returns to me. It asks me the same question. I almost know the answer.
In fury, I begin to run. I urge my body forward. Ahead of me, her speed
increases. I strain. My lungs ache. I am no nearer to her. I run faster, as
fast as I possibly can. I will never catch her. I collapse to the floor of the
passage. I sit with my back to the wall, breathing hard. I despair. My time is almost up. If only I could turn the timer over, set the sand flowing in the other direction.
I consider this. Yes. I think I may know how to proceed. I stand up. I turn
around. Yes, this is how it was. I walk away from her. And now she begins to pursue me. I am not afraid. This is how it must be. I have created this maze. I am its author.
Through dimly-lit corridors, she pursues me. She travels at the same pace as me. When I slow, she slows. When I quicken, she does likewise. Nothing appears to have changed. But everything has changed.
I am the author of this maze. I know its every turn and bend, its every blind alley. I know its heart. Now, she is following me. Now I control our
destination.
Counting in the half-light, I pass by one entrance, then another, then another. The passages appear identical. I am looking for the heart of the maze. I choose carefully. This place is larger than one might have expected.
I lead her along the route I have chosen. She is always just a little behind
me, just out of view.
We come at last to the place I have chosen. The heart
of the maze. I know, I think I know, what will happen here.
The centre of the maze is an empty room. This is the secret at the heart of
every maze. She knows it too. Emptiness, a space at the heart.
The room is long. It is unbending. It is as large as the maze itself. This is a mystery beyond explanation.
I walk slowly up the length of the room. Slower than slow. She is behind me. She knows what will happen now.
I reach the far distance. This is impossible, of course.
I turn around.
I see her.
She sees me.
She speaks a series of words. They mean nothing to me. They mean everything. They are this story.
It is time for me to go. "
Salk Logs
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