Part One: Questions

Cyst, a dimention that intersects earth at the east pole. A world that swaps inhabitants with earth. A place where people never age and wear only what is called a shroud.
Rewritten for Nanowrimo 2012

Author’s Note:

All character names are variations on spelling of English words that refer to the role of the character within the society of Cyst. For example: Guyde- Guide, Monark- Monarch, Skrybe- Scribe.

Prologue

Are there really other worlds?

 Other dimensions?

Other people?

The information isn’t very clear; if you could even call the scraps of memory retained by a new arrival to Cyst, “information”.

It was a most peculiar incident. He mentioned that he had come from a place called Earth. He had little in the way of specifics, but from what I could piece together, when one died on this Earth, they were reborn in Cyst.

The man called us adults. On earth one goes through a process known as “aging.” They start as babies, which are “conceived” and brought to life through what is called “birth.” The babies grow into children which grow into teens. The teens grow into adults and remain adults for the remainder of their lives. However, even as adults, they continue to age. Their bodies begin to degrade and weaken. Eventually, whether by aging or by other unnatural causes, the adults die.

And some of them come here.

This is most intriguing news. Yet it is also quite disturbing. How many of us come from this place called earth?

Why can’t we remember it?

Will another come along who has recollection of this earth? We do not age and therefore place little value in time. But by my reckoning, there has been no other mention of Earth in my existence here on Cyst, a period of around 7000 years. The only person who has been here longer than I, the second citizen, is Monark. He too has heard no mention of this place called earth, but he does appear to be hiding something when we discuss the subject.

This whole situation is a curious one. It is full of questions, and these questions frustrate me. As a scholar, this is a rare thing. We live to ask questions, but only because we seek the answers. It is what helps us to understand our world.

But how does one find answers that no one has?

From the journals of Skrybe
Scholar, and second citizen of Cyst

 

The End

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