Crack the Spine - Issue 47

Chad Lowther The Immutable I moved to the window in order to gather a greater perception of what was happening. A vacant rumbling was transforming my world. I could not count the number of explosions that bombarded the earth. I knew that these violent disruptions were subject to the system that they slowly dismantled; each gust of power was defined by its failure to abolish some cognizable degree of truth. I was very confused. The room had rearranged itself thoroughly, into nonsense. Objects that were normally so conventional that I should dismiss them had mutated into flickering vestiges of their former significance.

They had begun to mean nothing that I could perceive categorically. Yet, that was not what they were precisely. They were, in some way that I could not explain, different from how I had once known them.

My house was set close to a proud cliff that jutted out from a dark mountain. I had known a languid stream to spill over the cliff into the rivulet below. The cliff seemed relatively desiccated, and the water lapped patiently against the base of the mountain. The day rose over the cliff, and a ray of sun passed through the window. It fell onto my chest then cast my image back through the glass. The image mimicked every one of my movements. I lowered my head, and it bowed to me. As I raised my arm, and stretched my hand, it waved, sheepishly. I marveled at this likeness, and together we played. An explosion erupted near the image, causing a void where, previously, the ground was solid, and nearly level. It severed the ears from my image, and destroyed its tongue. The window was partially shattered.

I heard what I thought was the sound of my voice. My image began speaking with its fingers. I could not interpret what was said. There was another awful crash, and its fingers were amputated. The monster looked at its hands; then it stumbled into a deep hole, and disappeared. I mulled over these bizarre circumstances, weighing them, one against the other, in order to gather some idea of what was happening. I could only perceive the suffering of chaos. I realized that I had been screaming.

Every house was a near replication of my own. My neighbors were shouting from their windows, when the bombardment finally ended. Their jumbled antiphony gasped and shrieked like a choir of startled pheasants. I called out to the others: What is‌ Their voices collided with one another. Could they not understand me? The explosions ceased, and for a brief moment, every voice was silenced. I could hear an unruly noise slapping at the foot of the dark mountain. The waterfall! We all stepped outside of our houses, and began speaking in different directions. There were, it seemed, many