art by Charles Carter
I’d come across the word, etched beneath an ancient, undated gravestone. I noticed it by accident, as the stone had tipped while I lowered myself into the grave I’d just dug out. I’d picked this grave specifically, being that of some folkloric-historic mage. The stench of the breath of antiquity had passed as I rummaged through rot-carbon ash remains for any lingering jewels, coins, or parchments I could sell off to any unwitting collectors. But I couldn’t remove my eyes from the word, that word: UNQ’WALLA. It made no sense. It was neither native nor Latin nor Greek nor African, Asian or any other language that I could recall in all my years and travels.
It had a haunting quality, and before long I’d found myself transfixed by it, staring at it, repeating it in a fevered mantra-like repetition. It had burned itself into my mind, glowing outward from the pink jelly of my brain, reflected back into my core by the slick sheen of wet concave cranium it nestled against. It was all I could focus on, whatever its meaning was, filling my mind with involuntary rushed thoughts of sanctimonious fear, something inescapable. UNQ’WALLA.
UNQ’WALLA. It made more sense with each re-pronunciation, rephrasing, each attempt to break the grip it had over every sinew and soul particle of self. It was beyond ego-death, beyond life-death. It was stuck. I was stuck. Before long I’d realized the dirt I’d dug out of the hole had refilled of its own sentience around me. No, not its sentience. The sentience of that horrible word. I am no longer there, but here. I am no longer me.
I lay now six feet below the tipped grave, covered in jewels and parchments. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been here, all is now timeless, or one time. But I can hear someone above, digging. I hear them mumbling, and catch but one word: UNQ’WALLA.
Stay tuned this Devil's Night
only on
the FREEZINE of
Fantasy and Science
Fiction
🖤
ReplyDelete