Hostile Takeover

From her vantage point, she can see a timeless world unfolding its secrets. Endless hues of color wrestle for attention as she gazes over the terrain spreading out from the mountain spire. Her perch in this panoply of life. With little more than a thought, delicate sprouts shoot from cracks in the sandy rock beneath her, quickly gaining girth. Weaving together to form a soft seat, cushioned in phosphorescent moss. With a smile of satisfaction on tight lips and a twinkle in her ageless, turquoise eyes, she gathers her flowing robes about her misty form and settles into the comfortable chair to enjoy the view.

One sun rises while another sets. A strip of stars divide the competing horizon lines. Spawning deciduous trees fluctuate color, grappling with seasons speeding forward like time-lapse photography. Mystical melodies of metaphysical intuition, harmonizing with the erosion of riverbeds and the crystallizing weather patterns which change with whims of her mood.

Here-for the time being-she is in control. The scenery, her creation. But through the cracks of her conscious mind she feels the intruders. She attempts to sense their intent. The marrow of her bones chilled by their cold-blooded expansion. She is lost in pursuit, so focused on pinpointing their location she doesn't notice she is no longer alone.

"You are wasting your time Lyiana, they will have all of this sooner or later. We can't hold them off forever."

No one should be able to sneak up on her here, something is wrong. She is losing control. A semi-transparent woman stands just behind her, completely identical in appearance. The same long, golden-red hair and determined jaw. The same air of authority. The new arrival continues her words of discouragement.

"We don't stand a chance and you know it. It will be easier if you just let them come."

Her response comes in the form of a menacing growl, "I'll never just give up. I will fight them to my last breath. This place is sacred, it must be defended."

"You heard what happened to the others. They are all powerless now, chained to the bland world these intruders are constructing. Our energy is being drained to fuel their pursuit of pleasure. If you give up now, they will at least allow you a place of prestige in their new kingdom"

She raises her voice, outrage apparent, "I do not believe their false promises. I gave you my answer, now be gone! Haunt me with these foolish propositions no longer!"

Before the words have left her throat, she realizes she is alone once more. Abandoned by the ghostly semblance of her shadow-self. A shiver passes down her spine-she senses the intruders are somehow behind these latest attempts to fragment her will. She will not submit to their strategy of divide and conquer. I must regain my composure.

Once more her mind is focused on the vivid landscape. Her own personal garden in need of some minor maintenance. Her eyes-as powerful as any eagle-see for miles with swift attention to detail. From her mountain-top throne she nourishes the land, exchanging decay for new growth. Coaxing life along with a little nudge. Species take shape, manifesting themselves from the seeds of her imagination.

Here, everything is entwined. Each aspect of creation mutually dependent.

Despite her attempts to become absorbed in the tasks at hand, a maelstrom of malevolence has taken root in the recesses of waking reality. A wrenching deep within, a pinprick of pain suckling at her center of power, forming and feeding without her calculated consent. Her left side goes numb-loses all feeling, dead weight eating at her heart.

They have arrived, confrontation is now unavoidable.

Drawing upon centuries of iron-will (naturally selected) she prepares for the challenge, feeling the link between herself and the surreal surroundings. A psychic in a fluid reality. The sense of numbness fades away, she discards it-an unwanted intrusion. Parasitic entities propelled outward and into the ethereal boundaries reverberating from one point of awareness, perfectly aligned. Attuned to vivid vibrations. With a slow exhale of breath, she rises. Prepared for battle.

Thunder looms on distant dreamscapes. The farthest reaches of her lands, just beyond the fog of perception. Clouds of soot, dirty swabs of cotton, stealthy kidnappers-all steadily approach. A pestilence putridly perpetuating itself indefinitely. The storm rolls closer, sounding like steel on steel. Metallic crashes assimilating and appropriating cannon-fodder collections.

This is no torrential rain; this is something much more ominous.
Fists are clenched at her sides, nails digging into palms.

A pervasive smell reaches her nose-a noxious odor; more potent and offensive than any she's ever imagined. Trying to keep calm, her illusionary identity expands in a sonic burst (sound without sound) feelings disconnect from spinal column, detached from central nervous system, becoming one with all things, she is free of her frail form. Her manufactured manifestation. Now she monitors ruthlessly, taken aback at the abominations accumulating at an accelerated pace.

These calloused creatures she yearns to castigate.
Their reckless abandon aggravates.
Their institutionalized irrationalities irritate.

She sends quenching rains to better the browning earth (now barren) beneath stretching shrouds of presumed purity. Travesty trickery. Servile slaves are strip-mining what she has spent so long preserving. The water droplets so lovingly lathered upon the land pass through the greasy film of filth, turning into black burning acid before impacting with a scorching hiss. Suspended as she is, thought processes are suppressed as instinct takes hold. For every forest destroyed, every river run dry, she is creating two more. For every fertile scrubland reconstituted as desert expanse, entire hillsides of luxuriant green spring into being. Still, she is sure it is not enough. Her strength is waning, her spirit growing dim.

Her presence here will fade into fiction.

She realizes all is lost. Once vibrant gardens wallow in their newly acquired dilapidation. Forcefully applied. Vampiric. The last ounces of her power are slipping away and with every remaining bit of being she manages to condense. Beauty is left to die, the ground rushes towards her, and nothingness replaces all coherence.

(The space of one breath.)

"Lyiana, are you listening? I need those reports."

With a start she snaps to attention, smoothing her satin suit around her thighs. Previous memories are slipping out of grasp. She looks around her dimly-lit cubicle and sees Mr. Globtion staring expectantly. Opening a drawer, she finds the quarterly earning statements.

"Here they are Sir, I apologize"

He grabs them from her outstretched hand and trots off with a muttered reprimand. When he has disappeared from view, her eyes dart to a small window, taking in a view of bland buildings blanketed in smog.

She tries to remember how things used to be. What things were like-before.

Written by Ramla Alethea

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