I whisper in stillness
I whisper in the stillness
I was no longer the explorer. The history that had propelled me through the corridor of statues had ultimately brought me to this point, at the heart of the design.
The moss-slicked walls and the smell of ancient rot were gone, replaced by the sterile, oppressive symmetry of this chamber. It was the gallery I had sensed earlier, the true stage behind the proscenium arch of the gully. My matte-black suit, still marked from the descent, felt foreign against the polished dark stone of the room.
My internal narrator remained silent. The "Paraknowing" that had tugged at my limbs like strings had stopped pulling, leaving me standing rigid in the centre of the room. On the walls, dark, indistinct portraits observed me—not with the stone-blind eyes of the fertility idols or the mammoth I held in my palm, but with a gaze that felt disturbingly familiar.
I looked down at the debris scattered around the dais: shards of white, resembling the polymerised glass I had crushed earlier, or perhaps remnants of a script I was expected to read. The silence here wasn't empty; it was expectant. I was no longer just an exhibit; I was now part of the collection.
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I whisper in stillness
I whisper in the stillness
I was no longer the explorer. The history that had propelled me through the corridor of statues had ultimately brought me to this point, at the heart of the design.
The moss-slicked walls and the smell of ancient rot were gone, replaced by the sterile, oppressive symmetry of this chamber. It was the gallery I had sensed earlier, the true stage behind the proscenium arch of the gully. My matte-black suit, still marked from the descent, felt foreign against the polished dark stone of the room.
My internal narrator remained silent. The "Paraknowing" that had tugged at my limbs like strings had stopped pulling, leaving me standing rigid in the centre of the room. On the walls, dark, indistinct portraits observed me—not with the stone-blind eyes of the fertility idols or the mammoth I held in my palm, but with a gaze that felt disturbingly familiar.
I looked down at the debris scattered around the dais: shards of white, resembling the polymerised glass I had crushed earlier, or perhaps remnants of a script I was expected to read. The silence here wasn't empty; it was expectant. I was no longer just an exhibit; I was now part of the collection.
Podcast:
www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLXaHuXMcUMrhIzfjKlj9clJCOf...
Meta TV
www.facebook.com/watch/100063480315046/1020837046583872/
Blogger
www.jjfbbennett.com/2025/10/necropolis-gully.html
FB Subscriber Hub
www.facebook.com/share/g/1AycZvNRzH/
eBook
www.amazon.com/author/jjfbbennett
Tags
#art #Spacestation #scifi #fictionalworld #story #arthouse #futuristic #spaceadventure #Sanctuary #Revitalisation #Retro #art #metaart #videoart #videoartist