c58
"Light illuminated the wet pavement in such a way that one could see every single imperfection in the once smooth black, tarred surface. The fresh taste of dew made the parking lot almost enticing. Still, I hesitated. We, the shadows, are taught to fear empty parking lots at night by the almighty messiah of my generation, cable television. But what looked like the void was so hypnotic in it's utter simplicity and vacancy. I stepped out of the white and yellow marked aural chaos into the lot. It was a feeling quite unlike any other. To feel no other than what you can see. Very few understand the feeling at all. And even fewer still seek the feeling for the doctrine of Hollywood keeps them in line. I could feel the void surging through my veins. The void seemed almost complete. But still, as I looked about, I saw the fading fingerprints of the shadows. The could be seen everywhere From the fresh engine oil stains to the discarded candy wrappers dancing in the wind and emptied bottles smashed on the curb, the stench of shadows could still be found if one looked for it. No, this was not the void. Close, but not quite it. Then, I spotted my salvation. In the distance, I saw what looked like the gateway to the world between worlds, a place where the shadows will never go.  I saw a gateway to the void. Shedding the cable television induced bonds of a mere shadow, I entered. Slowly at first, but I was drawn inexorably towards the gateway. And then I was upon it. Yes, this was the void; the place between places. I entered. I could see on one side the densely packed generic housing, and on the other, an industrial facility. And between them, lay the void. Protected with a fence on either side preventing the shadows from entering the void, or even seeing it. This is just what made it the void: a lack of shadows. Laying about the tall grass and weeds of the void was the jetsam of shadow activity. There was garbage thrown carelessly over each side of the partition. Discarded car parts and empty liquor bottles were strewn about. It didn't matter, though. The fleeting fingerprints of shadows were long erased. Sublimated from the constant influence of the void. The influence created by the fact that only those who searched for the void had been here. Only those who could understand the need to find the holes in the world could ever be enticed to enter. Only those who knew the value of stepping out of reality could ever really enter the void. This is why it hides itself so often. The void fears that it will be found by shadows and infiltrated, destroying its perfection. But it is unwarranted, for the shadows keep largely to themselves. Between the Hollywood doctrine and the cable television, they fear themselves into leaving these places alone. But once in a while, one or two break off from the group, and enter the void. They learn not to leave the fingerprints, and how to avoid the Hollywood doctrine. Such is what was happening to myself. But eventually, the void must come to an end. I reached the other end of the unclaimed lot, knocked the dirt and weeds from my boots and hopped the wire fence, heading for home."
.

0

