Fin Alternative du Bateau de Thésée [Version 00289]

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Fin Alternative du Bateau de Thésée [Version 00289]

Message par Farlen le Lun 14 Avr - 1:31

Cette fin alternative a été transmise le 4 avril 2014 par M. Crinitus à @CFish6, @SisterTsion et @justingarver.

Ces textes leur ayant été envoyés personnellement, je vous laisse vous rendre sur leurs sites respectifs pour découvrir les images (clique sur les liens ci-dessus).

Voici le texte de cette fin :



Czech/English Translations for EPH-9993 (00289)

destroyed, and it is worth preserving. To write with the black
stuff is to create and, at the same time, to resurrect. We write with
what those who've come before us wrote.
The words that had echoed in his head so long ago came back
to him now Words are a gift to the dead, it says, and a warning to
the living
. And his greatest revelation comes to him. He looks at
his ink stained fingers as thoughts of Pfeifer, Corbeau, and the
others float among the echos in his head. He thinks of all of the
work imprisoned in the barrels.
The stories are all there. Contained. Vévoda only needs to
write using half of a barrel to make it his own. It would be his gift
to those he drew the ink from in the first place. The living would
hear his story.
Sola. He must find her and tell her what he now understands.
He blows one short note on his whistle and hurries through the
junctures in directions that, he hopes, will lead him to her. The
answer sounds close, but the junctures are narrow and dark. He can
not locate the call. He doubles his pace and darts through the near
dark to a sudden drop that sends him falling. Falling.
He lands roughly on the ground at the base of a door. He

remembers Pfeifer's injury in the cave, prays that the same fate will
not befall him. He checks and all parts seem to be in working
order. He notices light, finally light. It flows from the bottom of the
door. Beyond, S. hears papers rustling and tearing – and screams.
His first thought is of Sola and he shoves the door open.
The monkey sits on a shelf and S. watches as he rips at pages
and tosses them to the ground. The shelves that it pulls from
contain thick books detailing different times, events, people, and
places.
The monkey does not break from it's work as S. crosses the room
to a desk. It treats him as if he does not exist.
On the desk sits a typewriter, a phone, and stacks of hand
written notes organized into folders. He picks up a folder. In dark
thick ink the label reads Tangier. He looks at another, B___. S.
knows that what they are folders of half-truths. Vévoda writes with
what those who've come before him wrote, and then adds water.
There is a click as a revolver hammer locks into place and S.
is suddenly aware of pressure on the back of his head. A pull of the
trigger now will erase him, immediately and irrevocably.
“Put down the gun,” S. says. He raises his hands slowly,
“there are others coming.” This is a story of course, and one that
has little to do with the truth other than to manipulate it. Sola is

still out there, but S. hopes that she does not put herself into this
danger. He hopes, for the first time, that they will be unable to find
each other.
“Your son needs you,” S says in an attempt to somehow talk
the man down.
S. is shoved face first into the desk, the pressure on the back
of his head is ever present. The folders and typewriter fall from the
table and S. finds himself tangled in a fallen chair. His cheek lay
flat against the rough wood and his neck suddenly pains him.
He catches sight of a white-bearded man and S. can now feel
the tremors in the shaking hand that holds the gun. S. thinks about
moving, but the tremors are that of a hand that could pull a trigger
in an instant.
There is a pause, when they are both keenly alert to one
another's physical presence at this strange moment, this point in
time where their stories pivot. They both knew everything would
eventually lead to this point.
The pause shatters as the door to the room opens and the
trembling hand fires a pistol.
The noise startles S. and he tries to grasp for something,
anything that will keep him standing but he finds himself unable to
move his arms. He slumps off of the table.

He can sense the space inside of himself darkening,
thickening. Here is where Time collects, collides, all at once. He
can see all of it. Everything that has happened to him all at one
time. A drop of wetness falls from his head and puddles on the
floor.
Finally the monkey notices him.
Somewhere distant there are the sounds of a scuffle and the
pistol fires several more times before the room falls silent. S. has
no vision now, black as ink, but he can feel his head being lifted
from the floor.
A voice, he can barely hear a voice. Is it Sola? He had spent
his entire life looking for her. Now they were finally together, but
S. finds himself unable to say anything. He hopes that he has said
enough.
S. finds himself on the ship. He unties the lines and helps
draw up oars to lead the ship to a star-filled sky, to a warm wind
blowing from the southeast, to open water.
The sailors around him are transparent. They do not say
anything. They do not notice him standing there. S. knows that he
is helping, that he has helped, and that he will continue to help.
Part o' the tradition.
avatar
Farlen

Messages : 152
Date d'inscription : 19/02/2014

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