Snowcase #1 • 12 August 2007 • The SnowBlog
Snowcase #1
That was quick! Hot off the mark, Richard Wright has sent in an excerpt from his horror novel THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY. Richard is a horror author and occasional playwright living in Glasgow, whose work has appeared in America and the UK.
In Glasgow's west end, an angel and demon fall in love, bringing the apocalyptic wrath of their masters down on the city and the world. Thy Fearful Symmetry - Chapter One
Heaven pulsed around him like a vast, beating heart.
At the very centre of the pulse, he floated in a void of scarlet light. Each silent thump sent ripples of deeper crimson sluicing from him in all directions, man-shaped disturbances in a cosmic pool that had been still before he arrived. There was no question that he was an intruder here. His presence was like grit in a delicate machine. He wondered what had brought him to this place. If he was not welcome, why had he been yanked here?
Though he was aware of the question, it barely floated above his subconscious. Most of his mind was devoted to not shutting down in shock and awe. Eyes bulging, his chest quaking with the exertions of his exhausted heart, he waited and watched as the redness shimmered around him. There was peace here, he knew it immediately, but this was not his time to sink into the blood colours and become part of the whole.
A manic snigger escaped his lips, though no sound reached his ears. Heaven was supposed to be lush fields of flowers and newly cut grass, with choirs of angels singing and every sinless delight on offer. Perhaps this was the other place then, but that made no more sense to him. Hell was fire, branding, and torture, surely? No, even though he could not remember how he had come here, or what he was doing before he arrived, or even what his name had been before this immense vacuum claimed him, his body and soul knew this was Heaven. His cells responded to it, and embraced it. His mind could not. Not my time, he thought. Not my place.
When the voice came, it was directionless, emerging from the surrounding colour, from the fibres of his clothes, from his own flesh and hair. The tone was rich and soft, but powerful, like a giant's caress. He was certain that the voice could sharpen in an instant and tear him apart, though he felt love there too. The name of his Lord refused to appear in his mind, and he was glad. Naming the being who wrapped him up was too close to owning Him, and that would be sacrilege. I am your thing, he thought, knowing that he was heard and understood. I am your servant and tool. For the first time in his life, bathed in the red light of his Lord, he understood exactly what that meant.
Something nagged at his soul, a contradiction that had recently puzzled him, but he could not bring it to the fore. He could do nothing at all but bathe in the voice that came from everywhere, and the light.
At first the words were incomprehensible, just vibration and tone on an immense scale. There was meaning there, but he was too small, too limited, to understand what it was. It was like sitting in a tree and trying to see the forest. Slowly though, as he drifted, the words narrowed, the frequency shaping into something he could comprehend.
------------------------------
Author: Richard Wright
Email: symmetry at richardwright dot org
Website: http://www.richardwright.org
Emma
That was quick! Hot off the mark, Richard Wright has sent in an excerpt from his horror novel THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY. Richard is a horror author and occasional playwright living in Glasgow, whose work has appeared in America and the UK.
In Glasgow's west end, an angel and demon fall in love, bringing the apocalyptic wrath of their masters down on the city and the world. Thy Fearful Symmetry - Chapter One
Heaven pulsed around him like a vast, beating heart.
At the very centre of the pulse, he floated in a void of scarlet light. Each silent thump sent ripples of deeper crimson sluicing from him in all directions, man-shaped disturbances in a cosmic pool that had been still before he arrived. There was no question that he was an intruder here. His presence was like grit in a delicate machine. He wondered what had brought him to this place. If he was not welcome, why had he been yanked here?
Though he was aware of the question, it barely floated above his subconscious. Most of his mind was devoted to not shutting down in shock and awe. Eyes bulging, his chest quaking with the exertions of his exhausted heart, he waited and watched as the redness shimmered around him. There was peace here, he knew it immediately, but this was not his time to sink into the blood colours and become part of the whole.
A manic snigger escaped his lips, though no sound reached his ears. Heaven was supposed to be lush fields of flowers and newly cut grass, with choirs of angels singing and every sinless delight on offer. Perhaps this was the other place then, but that made no more sense to him. Hell was fire, branding, and torture, surely? No, even though he could not remember how he had come here, or what he was doing before he arrived, or even what his name had been before this immense vacuum claimed him, his body and soul knew this was Heaven. His cells responded to it, and embraced it. His mind could not. Not my time, he thought. Not my place.
When the voice came, it was directionless, emerging from the surrounding colour, from the fibres of his clothes, from his own flesh and hair. The tone was rich and soft, but powerful, like a giant's caress. He was certain that the voice could sharpen in an instant and tear him apart, though he felt love there too. The name of his Lord refused to appear in his mind, and he was glad. Naming the being who wrapped him up was too close to owning Him, and that would be sacrilege. I am your thing, he thought, knowing that he was heard and understood. I am your servant and tool. For the first time in his life, bathed in the red light of his Lord, he understood exactly what that meant.
Something nagged at his soul, a contradiction that had recently puzzled him, but he could not bring it to the fore. He could do nothing at all but bathe in the voice that came from everywhere, and the light.
At first the words were incomprehensible, just vibration and tone on an immense scale. There was meaning there, but he was too small, too limited, to understand what it was. It was like sitting in a tree and trying to see the forest. Slowly though, as he drifted, the words narrowed, the frequency shaping into something he could comprehend.
------------------------------
Author: Richard Wright
Email: symmetry at richardwright dot org
Website: http://www.richardwright.org