Thursday, November 26, 2009


by G. Alden Davis

Elongated crystals emerged from the cave walls and pointed into the vault. The hum of electromagnetic waves grew strong, as an energetic field grew between the crystals, running through and around the miracles and objects gathered.

The energy hummed along, obeying its natures and flowing through the circuitry of crystals, metals, intention and age. It carried with it the information of each artifact, converted to light and stored in the building signal. As it wound through the vault it grew in intensity, gathering data and strength.

As I watched, each of the objects was seemingly cataloged, and the tone of the energy changed with each addition. The vault began to reveal it’s true nature as the crystalline web in the walls began to glow.

The geology wasn’t lost on me--quartz, iron, silicate--every element was present to create a kind of electromagnetic storage device, and the revolving energy that was sparked by the beings was starting to hum through the vast array of objects. It was reading, and recording, each object. In addition to the direct components, it gained all the memories of the ages stored in each object. One by one the immense picture of history on earth was formed and recorded into this enormous natural databank.

The history of Earth--the true history without political distortion--was all around me. I could feel the ancient tides, the horrible warfare, the spiritual heights. I saw that the energy had wound through me, collecting me into this planetary and galactic history.

Intense, elated, but exceedingly calm, I began retracing my careful steps through the vault. It would not do to tip over a statue or knock over an urn. I simply wished to withdraw from the chamber and allow the recording to go on unimpeded.

Besides, the effect of learning one’s true place in the great scheme, well let’s just say it is humbling and leave it at that.

I made my way back out of the vault, and stopping at the portal, I pulled down the gypsum panel that formed the seal. It must have been electromagnetic, as suddenly the overwhelming hum was reduced to a dull vibration.

I walked back through the winding gut of the slot canyon on legs that threatened mutiny. As I approached the mouth, the warm and familiar glare of dawn was visible on the redrock rims. I quickened my painful stride, limping faster to the opening.

The warmth reached me first, and it was like coming home. It was mother and her homemade bread, all safe and buttery smooth. As I neared the opening my heart swelled, and I shed a tear. Exhausted, amazed, transformed, I emerged from the shadowy slot canyon into the full bright of the morning sun.

But it was not the sun, and it was not the day.

Before me was that sizzling glass and gold sphere, that world in itself of energy and light. It had returned, and positioned itself at the canyon rim so I would walk right to it.

It was close enough to shake my clothing, to vibrate the threads or the atoms in the threads, just from its throbbing force.

As I watched the massive Mer-Ka-Ba spin, I saw an aperture open in the energy shell around it. It sparkled open, dripping out sizzling globs of glass and gold.

It hovered in place, door open, its invitation palpable in the desert, pre-dawn dark.

I know that I could have walked across the flat for days, and the sun would never have fully risen, remaining instead just shy of the horizon. I had slipped somehow just beyond the place where the gears of time get their grip. This was a world where time drifted but never seemed to proceed. It was a land of delirium, tribulation, and waste.

I could have walked forever beneath that sky of fixed stars and frozen time. My limp would soften to a sob and my face would crease from the hours of peaking wince. The planets would remain fixed for days on end, and the haunt of a distant whispering would be all that remained of the wind.

I was in a plane of earth that is untouched by the living, an eternal unspoiled rock apart from time and utterly uninhabited by those of the flesh. It was a realm where spirits met, perhaps. I could fathom little purpose other than that, and of course the massive library of objects and information that was situated to my back.

Was this a part of earth’s future--or distant past? Some uninhabited eon on a rock rich with iron and quartz, that could easily be used as some kind of cosmic memory bank?

The answers stood ensconced in brilliance within the open door before me. I took a step forward. Even as I formulated questions, I could hear answers in a musical, jewel-like voice.

“What is this?” I asked myself.

“Home.” The answer came like a single, sustained note.

“Am I dead? Did that sting--”

“Initiation. Transformation.” Came the double-bell answer.

I stood in an antechamber that seemed to be made of stained glass windows and colored beams of sunlight. To the left a column descended, and a figure stepped from it.

It stepped from the overpowering light and I saw glimmering golden feathers, hammered metal and circuitry-like jewels. Something with the head of a falcon regarded me. It pointed to another crystal column I had not seen before. Where we in the same room? Had we moved?

Within the crystal column I could make out vague shapes; all were dragonfly-metallic green, and gold. Lights winked from complex surfaces. I saw a helmet of sorts, a visor of emerald, a suit of scales and under everything a circuitry humans wouldn’t produce for a thousand years.

It took me weeks to grow comfortable in that radiant suit of wonders. I climbed into it that first day, when Horus assisted, but he isn’t much for explanations. I learned how to move around, and most of all use the helmet, over the following days and weeks.

I say weeks although there are none onboard, of course. I still hold to human time but they assure me that will pass. I’m also certain that I will never forget what happened, I’ll never lose the vision of life in my green New Hampshire. I may have been reborn in that wasteland of redrock wilderness, but my first love was the green of nature as she fought to regain ground in the spring.

I will never forget anything, again, as I am now guardian of the eternal record. The Akashic record--often claimed a myth, is a very real and remarkably tangible thing. It is an organic, perhaps even alive, array of minerals, magnetics, and energy that combine to be the best memory bank in creation--in fact, one so great that it not only records a copy of the information for a true duplicate; it is a hologram of everything that has happened.

Why am I here? Well, it turns out that gods get used up, piloting this sun-machine through the skies of a trillion worlds. They eventually wear out, and need to be swapped like a sparkplug in your Chevy.

That whole thing with the sting and the wild psychedelic ride was a kind of test--an initiation. Even though I suspect it killed me, I guess I did OK.

Nothing here is even close to my former life. Existence is driven primarily by duty.

I am now one with Akashia, the living library. I feed it the latest information collected as we travel the dimensions, locating full artifacts from worlds and adding them to the record. When there are no duties to perform, I sift through the Akashic Array and study the myths of distant, foreign worlds.

Is there a lesson here? A Moral? I doubt it.

I got lost in my life, set adrift in the wasteland, and suffered harm to my body and mind. I found how much our senses define our reality. As everything I knew dissolved, something new was revealed. Only by letting go of my old life could I grasp this new existence. That is the essence of transformation.

So love your lives, readers, but cling not to them overtight. Make them what you will. Allow them to drift on occasion. Walk the halls between memories. Peer into the spaces between dreams. It is there, within those sacred interior spaces, where some of the answers lie.

~ ~ ~

Tune in tomorrow
for the Friday Flash Fiction


by Shae Sveniker

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Archive of Stories
and Authors

Sanford Meschkow's

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
Main Line girl. Sanford has been pub-
lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking's

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking's

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking currently
resides in the high desert of Phoenix,
Arizona where he enjoys campy horror
movies within the comfort of an Insane
Asylum. Search for his science fiction
stories at The Intestinal Fortitude in
the Flesheater's World section.
The Memory Sector is his first
appearance in the Freezine of
Fantasy and Science Fiction.

Owen R. Powell's

Little is known of the mysterious
Owen R. Powell (oftentimes referred
to as Orp online). That is because he
usually keeps moving. The story
Noetic Vacations marks his first
appearance in the Freezine.

Edward Morris's

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
PerhihelionSF, the Red Penny Papers'
SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He lives
and works in Portland as a writer,
editor, spoken word MC and bouncer,
and is also a regular guest author at
the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival.

Gene Stewart
(writing as Art Wester)

Gene Stewart's

Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
He currently lives in the Midwest
American Wilderness where he is
researching tales of mystical realism,
writing ficta mystica, and exploring
the dark by casting a little light into
the shadows. Follow this link to his
website where there are many samples
of his writing and much else; come

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
who has lived in New Orleans and Berkeley,
and currently resides in Portland, Oregon
with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
and has a fondness for hats. His greatest
inspirations include H.P. Lovecraft,
Jack tales and coffee.

David Agranoff's

David Agranoff's

David Agranoff is the author of the
short story collection Screams From
A Dying World, just published by
Afterbirth Books. David is a hardcore
vegan and tireless environmentalist.
His contributions to the punk horror
scene and the planet in general have
already established him as a bright
new writer and activist to watch out
for. The Freezine of Fantasy and
Science Fiction welcomes him and
his defiant vision open-heartedly.

David is a busy man, usually at work
on several different novels or projects
at once. He is sure to leave his mark on
a world teetering over the edge of
ecological imbalance. David's latest
books include the Wuxia -Pan
(martial arts fantasy) horror
novel called Hunting The Moon Tribe,
already out from Afterbirth Books.;
The Vegan Revolution...with Zombies,
[Deadite Press, 2010]; and
[Deadite Press, 2014]

Daniel José Older's

Daniel José Older's

Daniel José Older's spiritually driven,
urban storytelling takes root at the
crossroads of myth and history.
With sardonic, uplifting and often
hilarious prose, Older draws from
his work as an overnight 911 paramedic,
a teaching artist & an antiracist/antisexist
organizer to weave fast-moving, emotionally
engaging plots that speak whispers and
shouts about power and privilege in
modern day New York City. His work
has appeared in the Freezine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction, The ShadowCast
Audio Anthology, The Tide Pool, and
the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
featured in Sheree Renee Thomas'
Black Pot Mojo Reading Series in Harlem.
When he's not writing, teaching or
riding around in an ambulance,
Daniel can be found performing with
his Brooklyn-based soul quartet
Ghost Star. His blog about the
ridiculous and disturbing world
of EMS can be found here.

Paul Stuart's

Paul Stuart is the author of numerous
biographical blurbs written in the third
person. His previously published fiction
appears in The Vault of Punk Horror and
His non-fiction financial pieces can be found
in a shiny, west-coast magazine that features
pictures of expensive homes, as well as images
of women in casual poses and their accessories.
Consider writing him at,
if you'd like some thing from his garage. In fall
2010, look for Grade 12 Trigonometry and
Pre-Calculus -With Zombies.

Rain Grave's

Rain Graves is an award winning
author of horror, science fiction and
poetry. She is best known for the 2002
Poetry Collection, The Gossamer Eye
(along with Mark McLaughlin and
David Niall Wilson). Her most
recent book, Barfodder: Poetry
Written in Dark Bars and Questionable
Cafes, has been hailed by Publisher's
Weekly as "Bukowski meets Lovecraft..."
in January of 2009. She lives and
writes in San Francisco, performing
spoken word at events around the
country. 877-DRK-POEM -

Icy Sedgwick's

Icy Sedgwick is part writer and part
trainee supervillain. She lives in the UK
but dreams of the Old West. Her current
works include a ghost story about a Cavalier
and a Western tale of retribution. Find her
ebooks, free weekly fiction and other
shenanigans at Icy’s Cabinet of Curiosities.

Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth

BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and

G. Alden Davis's

G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.

Shae Sveniker's

Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
resident of the Salt Pit, UT, currently living
in Simi Valley, CA. His short stories are on
Blogger and his poetry is hosted on Livejournal.

Nigel Strange's

Nigel Strange lives with his wife and
daughter, cats, and tiny dog-like thing
in their home in California where he
occasionally experiments recreationally
with lucidity. PLASTIC CHILDREN
is his first publication.

J.R. Torina's

J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
house ('90-'97), runs Sutekh Productions
(an industrial-ambient music label) and
Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
(a metal-gothic-industrial c.d. shop in
SLC, now closed). He is the dark force
behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
IN THE PORT is his first publication.

K.B. Updike, Jr's

K.B. Updike, Jr. is a young virgin
Virginia writer. KB's life work,
published 100% for free:
(We are not certain if K.B. Updike, Jr.
has lost his Virginian virginity yet.)