Opening Chapter
We shape what we are, creating ourselves and our world through a series of metaphors bound together. Truth becomes nothing more than mere contingency. It is hollow and empty. What truth will shape our future? What will we take hold of and place over the forge of our minds in order to shape our destinies? What will we open our eyes to?
On a tree he dies…
His mind was shattered into millions of fragments and he scrambled within to grasp at each piece, to hold onto something, anything. Everything faded, a darkness creeping across the edges of his consciousness like the movement of a slick black liquid. Thick and engulfing, it pushed away at any thought that railed against it, slipping around edges, sliding over, under, and around. There was no use fighting, the darkness was everywhere.
Pain shot through his body, bringing his mind back into consciousness. His mid section burned with it, and his shoulders felt an immense pulling pressure. The pain radiated from where two large metal spikes impaled his flesh. They were driven through his shoulders pinning him in place. It was a burning pain, like a million tiny needles were stabbing into his skin. His body convulsed, his stomach heaving, trying to push out the boiling feeling in his gut. Instead bile and blood seeped out over his lip, dripping down his chin onto his naked chest. Snaking down his body it dripped to the dust covered ground, mingling with the already dried blood that had formed a puddle beneath. His mouth gaped open in a soundless scream, and his mind reeled away from the intensity of the feelings, trying to seek out the comfort of unconsciousness.
It wouldn’t come. Instead the pain seemed to be alive. Like something tiny crawling through his skin, moving across his body, down his arms and legs. It was everywhere, burning hot and cold all at the same time. His limbs shook slightly with the shock his body was trying to endure.
The wind struck out like the tip of a whip, lashing at his naked skin. In its grip it carried swirling sand and dust, and the tiny pieces slashed against him in their furry. Any attempt to open his eyes to the world around him was drowned out by the density of the sand, so thick, like falling and blowing snow. He couldn’t see anything, and he scratched around in his head for memories, for anything that might tell him where he was and what had happened.
