The Death Blossom Chronicles - 3 - The Transformation of Amelia

Resulting from the Fourth Great War, Atman-253 is a drug that fundamentally alters the recipient, revealing their true nature. The death-to-life transformation known as The Death Blossom .

Amelia had arrived promptly on the day of The Beginning. That was very much in her nature, or at least the nature she had developed in the Ward World. She was not the typical Traveler. Hers was not a story of discord and distress, but rather one of harmony within the society. She had been rather successful in leading a comfortable, yet uneventful life. Well cared for within the system of the society and returning to that same benevolent dictator the required labors which were necessary for optimization of the society. She was prompt, dedicated, efficient in her efforts, and totally devoid of any feeling and most independent thought.

 

Travelers tend toward the rebellious, the misfits and the dreamers; those whose minds are not easily constrained or conformed by either social or mental engineering. Often they are either under scrutiny by society or being sought for some discretion that has made their condition known to authorities. Not surprisingly then their transformations tend to be time sensitive, requiring more clandestine modes of operation. Speed and secrecy, while required, did not always lead to a certain or optimal outcome.

 

Amelia however was not the subject of societal scrutiny nor the object of authoritative desire. She was in almost every sense quite unremarkable. She wore the drab grey smock of a laborer, though smartly tailored and well kempt. Everything about her spoke to textbook Wendell Ward craft. A perfect citizen for a perfect society. The only deviation from the standard script was an ever so slight discoloration of her lips, in a hue that no standard issue lip balm would provide.

 

She had developed a ritual of slightly staining her lips with the juice from a cherry. Ever so slight this discretion, ever so monumental its origin and ever so grave, perhaps, now its consequence. It told of the one deeply seeded, overwhelming sense that brought Amelia to set her foot on the path of the Traveler. The sense that there must be something more. Something greater, something beyond the drab existence of the everyday. And for that, the unwavering hope that there was something more, she came to lay down her life at the altar of The Death Blossom.

 

Amelia had passed all of the precautionary screenings. Even we of the world of The Death Blossom must take some measure to determine the level of devotion the individual has to the path of the Traveler. Risking transformation on those that are unmotivated and unwilling was not only costly, but it is foolhardy. The mind of the disinterested does not have the momentum to begin the reconstructive phase of The Beginning and application of The Death Blossom results in almost certain demise. Amelia’s drive and devotion to the concept of something better was measured beyond the devotion of most successful Travelers. Singular purpose had resulted in singular dedication.

 

I gently took Amelia by the arm and escorted her to the barren room I used for the procedure. As it is impossible to determine the progression that will come with The Beginning most objects have been removed from this room for the safety of both the Traveler and the Guide. Only a simple mattress, placed in the very center of the room, provides a modicum of comfort to the Traveler. Amelia walked to the mattress in slow, measured steps. As is my practice I began to connect to her mind as she walked so that I might monitor the progression of her travel. I found it difficult however, as there was little there to grasp beyond a gentle humming of a life in harmony with its place in anonymity. Little there save one singularly bold idea, something more.

 

Amelia took her place on the mattress and lay flat upon it, smoothing the wrinkles from her smock and staring up at the ceiling. I knelt beside her and held up the capsule of The Death Blossom for her to see. Calmly she questioned, “One full measure?” I nodded in the affirmative and she took the capsule from my hand. She placed the capsule gently between her teeth, then again smoothing the wrinkles from her smock she placed her arms at rest along her sides. Looking skyward she carefully swallowed the capsule and gently smiled. Death soon followed. A gentle passing into the darkness, as there was little to prevent life’s passage from her body, save the one singular driving desire, something more.

 

As I probed her mind for signs of The Beginning I steeled myself for the torment that lay ahead. Not knowing where the Traveler will pass I must prepare myself for every option strong enough to produce the “kickstart” of The Beginning. Wearily I probed her consciousness for signs of rebirth, and there were none, at least not at first.

 

I slowly became aware of a growing level of activity in her mind, but the pattern caused me immediate concern. The Beginning usually proceeds by the formation of a single center in the mind and the process of crystallizing of the new mind proceeds from that seed. As a Guide, it is vital to recognize the seed and grasp it firmly, so as to interpret the pattern of formation that might result in disastrous outcomes. There was no seed for crystallization, no single handhold for me to grasp.

 

Panic, a general state of panic clamped down upon my mind as I had not felt since my own Beginning. Almost paralyzed by this cosmic vice that was quickly tightening its own grip on my mind I desperately sought some sign, some ridge of consciousness upon which I could alight, something more. The clarion bell of that simple phrase was the life boat upon the sea of the void, and in a fit of hopeless anguish I grasped it as strongly as I could.

 

Something more, and I began to notice not one, but multiple centers of activity in her mind. Something more, and I recognized these centers as indicating the basic senses, sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell and a sixth center which I did not recognize. The development of senses as the basis for The Beginning was not something I had previously experienced, nor had it passed to me through the exchanges of mind textures I had had with other Guides. For my very survival I must retract from the landscape of her mind, while still trying to monitor as many of the six centers as I could.

 

As I began to retract I sensed the welling of her consciousness, the tsunami of her Beginning moving at breakneck speed and threatening to capture my own mind in the process. Retracting as quickly as I could I did not even have time to grasp her true name, nor even attempt to discern the sixth and unidentified center of rebirth. Exhausted and barely clinging to life myself I returned to reality finding myself staring deeply into her eyes. Eyes of such deep wonder and amazement that I still risked losing my soul in the depths of their beauty. As I was about to become completely enveloped in the wondrous pleasure of those deep blue eyes I heard her softly whisper, “Ella.”

 

I knew at once she had sensed my precipitous position and had provided me with the one bridge that would save me from the complete subjugation of my mind. She had told me her true name, Ella.

 

Ella, the torch, the light, the life of the world. A poet of unequaled verse. A painter of landscape, light and dreams. An artist of truth and lover of life. Ella, the queen of something more, always adorned with rich red lips. She is the inspiration and the passion for many of The Death Blossom world. From such simple beginnings has come the power which inspires those who seek to transform not only themselves, but the entire world.

 

She is my personal goddess, one that I must worship from afar. Having lit briefly within the flame of her passion and barely escaping the loving subjugation of her eyes, I risk losing all that I am to the goddess Ella. So, from afar I observe and wonder at her brilliance and impact. I reflect upon the sixth center of her mind. I am not certain, as I have not witnessed another of its kind, but from the sheer and utter beauty of her actions I can only but surmise that it may be muse. The muse which is her inspiration. The muse which is my desire. The muse which I must never behold, lest I lose my sanity, my mind, and myself.

Author's Note

I realize that this story can still be improved. I will not limit your comments. All comments that would improve the story or my writing are welcome.