IllNation

Survivalist.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve H) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 10:21:00 +0000

I'm not sure what it is that compels me to think in such a way; but without dwelling too much upon the motivation I feel that I must announce that we are - quite simply - deep within ruin.

This statement has nothing to do with circumstance or recent happenings - we have seen no downturn in development or profit since the acquisition round of ninety-eight - no, there is something far more guttural, far more innate in my demeanour of late that leads me to believe that sinister movements are afoot.

I understand - of course I do - that the last time such a statement as this was made by myself we unduly set ourselves upon a course of evasive action; which it turns out was far more damaging than the danger from which we fled, but I cannot ignore this most recent of compulsions. Accepting the notional argument that such emotions have no place in modern business matters; but placing that most logical of statements to one side for the moment, it is my opinion and directive that we must now begin the mechanical development of the Plasm for fear of losing all of the good work towards which we have progressed.

I am aware that some of you will not cherish such a task, and to you I say only one thing - we cannot ignore the cloth from which we are cut; the fabric of our corporate soul from where we emerged. I know that a mechanical arrival at such a stage would be a great change in direction from the more fluid, spiritualist progression that we have always sought. But surely now, in the face of great oppression is the time for us to embrace such technological advances?

We are now finally upon the cusp of discovery for the aether. We are nearing our escape. I know this because they have told me so.

The only real task that we now need to perform is simply to listen.

Dirt

noreply@blogger.com (Steve H) — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 08:09:00 +0000

'Have you ever thought about what it would be like to dig upwards George?'

'What?' replied George snappily struggling as he was with the breaking of a peculiarly stubborn rock, 'What in earth are you going on about?', and he crashed the pickaxe down, finally splitting the stone into three more manageable pieces; it was clear that he didn't appreciate the interruption.

'Up there?' Milly replied, pointing up at the vast expanse of brown mud and grit above her head that had been their sky for as long as she could ever remember, 'Have you ever thought about, you know, just digging upwards, up to the sky?'

'Of course I haven't Milly, why would I? And more to the point why would you? It's not worth even thinking about, you know that'.

'Oh I don't know', she said as she moved slowly down to pick up the iron rake used to clear away smaller rocks, 'don't you ever just get bored? With all this digging I mean. Have you never thought about what it's like up there?'

Prologue

noreply@blogger.com (Steve H) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 12:50:00 +0000

The quality of her confines had improved little as the years had passed. The bed in which she spent the most part of her day was still regularly cleaned and laundered, but had not seen any repair since she had last tried hurling it through the tower window some two years previously. And despite the regular company of the birds that visited the eaves of her quarters in the spring, she lacked anything else that would be considered by anyone as comfort. In fact, were it not for the unannounced but welcome visits from her still loyal staff, Delaney would have given up on her measly existence some time ago.

She was especially grateful then, to those very few, human visitors that she received who were often prone to thankful bouts of 'forgetfulness'; the 'mistaken' leaving behind of the odd morsel of food or sundry item. The smuggling of these goods was a risk that she appreciated hugely, as she was very aware that it was hard to sneak even a small piece of fruit past the guards at the foot of the towers staircase, let alone the larger items which had found her way into her quarters – such as hairbrushes and clothing. Which is why Delaney was all the more surprised to find the footstool which had somehow managed to secure its way under her bed at sometime during the latest visit of her Nathaniel.

What was even trickier for her to comprehend however was not the illicit placement of an ornate oak, and gold trimmed item of furniture within her sleeping quarters, but the very fact that something had now begun to slowly peel away the velvet covering of the stool and crawl out from within it.

Not knowing quite what to do, Delaney leapt to her feet and made her way quickly towards the open window at the far side of the room, wrapped herself within the thick, tapestry curtains which draped loosely over the sandstone window sill and stayed there transfixed as a the beginnings of a little child levered itself out from the within footstools cavity and desperately tried to maintain its balance upon the unfamiliar surroundings of the dusty, wooden floor. Once it had gained its composure, the small, frail child edged itself slowly and shakily towards the cowering woman behind the curtain, with his arm outstretched and his hand open, gesturing slowly up and down, requesting her to stay calm.

Steadiness of mind was not a state that Delaney had found much trouble in maintaining in the past, but it was something that she was now finding extremely difficult to preserve. But slowly, regally and with some grace she carefully stepped out from behind the curtain and looked closely at the child who was still stumbling on its way, purposefully towards her.

As the seconds past, and her confidence grew she began to edge forward, placing her fingers gently over the still outstretched hand of the boy, smiling reassuringly as she did so; and then a spark of recognition flashed across her eyes,

'I knew that Nate's visit was special' she whispered to the child softly, 'I could sense that he had mischief in his eyes. But I never expected something as wondrous as you... my glorious little rescuer'.

And she hugged him closely. So close that she could faintly hear the mechanical whirring of his insides.

It is perhaps...

noreply@blogger.com (Steve H) — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 09:59:00 +0000

...with some concern that I write to you now - after these five weeks have passed - with reference to my recent delivery; you understand why I use that word lightly I am sure.

I was assured by your good colleague over seven weeks ago that the cargo would have been contained in excellent condition with ample and sufficient provisions for her to have made the long, but none the less necessary journey. It is fair to say that based upon our more recent correspondence you will agree with me that this is not the case.

Whilst I understand the savage and hostile conditions that the items concerned have been acquired from, I still do not agree with your previous assertions with regards to the bindings required and I do sincerely believe that if you were to witness at first hand the cuts and lesions that greeted me upon that initial unveiling you would be simply flabbergasted and disgusted with what you so laughably refer to as your premium service.

With this in mind, and taking into account the obvious time constraints that the healing of such injuries naturally adhere to, it is with sadness and some regret that I have had to return the package to you; with the sincere hope that you will refund in entirety the deposits made. I am also requesting - via additional legal channels - the full cost of the damages that have arisen from this unfortunate incident; both professionally and financially.

I quite clearly stated to you before we made any movement with this transaction that to not be married by the 22nd of September would result in myself having to forfeit the estate. Because of your constant errors and failures I have now had to settle for a far more gregarious and time-consuming companion; the very reasons for which I made attempts to purchase one from the outer-lands originally.

I await with much anticipation your proposals for settlement.