Short science fiction or psychological horror poem about a creature named Rhylys

Cover image created with Le Biniou audio-reactive software.

The listening post

A short psychological horror poem

Cover art by DALL-E

Last Week's tomorrow:

The halls are vast and calm,

And the sounds are mostly empty, ignorable.

I've not seen another person in a couple of hours

And the only way I remember their existence

is the occasional cough

or sneeze leaking

down the long broad corridors.

Here in this room I can be whomever I wish.

Nobody will ever tell me any differently.

In these two hours, I crafted a whole persona.

Who Am I really? It is immaterial.

I am who I decide to be

until the nurse returns

to tell me differently.

I am a wounded soldier of the Glameri Empire,

Wounded in person and in mind

And now this sterile palace is my place of healing.

It's not a lie. It's my best guess.

I don't remember where these bullet wounds came from,

But I remember the nurse telling me stories about the war.

We defeated them, the Empire of the market towns,

the merchants who can never have enough

The ones who insist and insist on how to live.

We won, and now I'm here with my fractured memories.

I do remember the war, but it comes here and there, now and then,

in a shower of gunsmoke and a hail of shrapnel.

I remember the booming explosions that came from above

like the sneezes that echo around

these cavernous passageways.

I look at the shadow my hand casts beneath this spotlight,

And I see the shapes of soldiers

stumbling through the mist towards us.

I see these high cream walls,

and I remember a hospital with streaks of blood.

I look at my bandaged leg,

and I see a defeated army dragging itself to safety.

But the nurses tell me we are the winners.

I hear the high insistent whine of the alarm,

And I hear the enemy

I hear bells in a market town.

I hear familiar voices laughing and chatting.

I hear

I hear you calling to me

I smell your perfume and feel your kiss on my cheek

I feel your soft hands squeezing hard on my army jacket.

I feel you slipping away from me

into a valley of fire and fear

into a viscous immeasurable sleep

Into a general anaesthetic

I hear the bells, the bells of my hometown

The bells of my real hometown.

I look around me at the prison of these walls

And the stale air

And the trolley that seemed mundane

Now malign and alien

Enemies all around

I miss the bells of a former life

A life that I can hear when I am alone

And a life that no longer exists,

A life they have taken

A life they have erased from my mind

And replaced with a new life

A sterile life of whining klaxons

And cream walls

And irresolute dreams

And unknown faces

And indistinct memories

And stolen memories

And new memories fading into the void of a vanquished foe.

Let me out

Let me out

Let me out! I want to go home!

Another anecdote from the galaxy in the Museum of No Importance.

Science fiction audio poem with musical and sound effects.

As a cruiser reaches a new world, what is there but to call upon a wave?

Call Upon a Wave

Fate's deathly grip loosens as

our ship slows its mighty descent and

glides to a hovering halt over the crimson carpet that quivers below.

Lather gathers in a Bevy of hairs that stir

in the sticky waves that lash and congeal

and seemingly beckon us down,

before collapsing back into chaos.

We're safe now. Safe to watch

the waves of treacle that roll beneath our cruiser.

But creamy echoes beguile us,

bouncing from our shimmering hull

and out into this unexplored world.

The air is thin. Lifeless.

Yet, something draws me to watch from the obs deck.

Drunken faces curdle in the slow, glutinous maroon-lashing waves.

They’re calling, calling to me. I can see their siren faces.

Singularly, I’m pulled towards an abyss of tempting eternity.

Flickering shadows of doubt pulse and meet something

shimmering intelligently On our hull,

probing and pressing, pressing on some old instinct.

Finally, into the ocean I fall,

Helmet cracked and I gasp.

Sinking, struggling, drowning,

until I gulp a mouth of nothing.

I am nowhere, below what I thought were waves.

Nothing stirs and nothing is real.

A sickly silence spreads. I scream in broken time, nowhere.

The scream is devoured as it falls upwards.

Three provisions of sense are granted to me,

A smell, a taste, a contradictory texture of gel and ice

They alleviate my malaise while leaving me none the wiser.

I look down or up?

I grasp for the phantom shadows

that swirl outside the vortex that now surrounds me.

Another world awaits me.

Another world awaits.

A short poem lamenting the loss of the post-war dream and the move towards the pre-war era.

A short science fiction story.

Cover art by DALLE-3

Short abstract poem

Cantonese science fiction story

Translations by GPT-4

呢個真係太好喇！我每日都同意！生命就好似光嘅歌，我記得聽過嗰啲細小嘅禱告，喺呢啲無盡黑暗同冇意思嘅外太空之中，呢首讚美詩顯得特別適合，佢同呢片未開發嘅領域好搭。天啊，愛嘅天，我感到咁夢幻嘅幸福，小光，我知道我哋會永遠一齊。即使我冇你喺身邊，我都會永遠保存我哋一齊嘅記憶，我希望呢個黑洞唔會帶來太多痛苦。小光，讓我哋一齊去發現新嘅星辰，尋找新嘅生活，探索未知嘅世界。我哋會散去，就好似一朵幽靈花，在我哋懷抱著珍貴嘅雲霧般嘅回憶，將我哋嘅使命升華至古老嘅神話之中。而且莊嚴地綁定，當我哋穿越變化嘅世界，追逐墜落嘅意識形態，進入人類創造力嘅黑暗之中。你記唔記得嗰座被綠色網罩包圍嘅摩天樓㗎？佢燃燒咗兩日，好似尖沙咀嘅一根蠟燭，好多人喺下面度過咗一啲分散而神奇嘅時刻，似乎係夫妻間嘅小憩，一時之間他們仿佛在天堂。只要我哋仲喺度，我哋嘅飯碗就永遠唔會打碎㗎。當我哋嘅記憶，就好似血染嘅夕陽咁漲落，我哋會找到休息嘅時刻，即使現實變得如此陌生，令人難以置信。我嘅愛，你唔明白嗎？難道我哋唔可以攜手共渡，透過你嘅鑽石般寧靜同我嘅紫水晶般嘅抱負，繼續走過曲折嘅小巷，飲酒嘅大廳同麻將館嗎？因為呢啲地方就存在於新形成嘅太陽系嘅飛塵之中。喺時空扭曲之中，你難道睇唔到我哋自己已經滅絕嘅火山峰上嘅起伏石階嗎？喺漩渦般嘅熱浪之中，你難道睇唔到太陽風暴嘅閃爍軌跡嗎？我哋將會喺每個地方都覺得似家一樣，無論距離有幾遠，無論我哋似乎有幾孤獨。我哋將

會從記憶中，刻畫喺寒冷虛空中旋轉嘅平行線，汲取力量。最後，我哋永遠留喺尖沙咀。就算我哋離開嘅時候只有微弱嘅氣息，我哋都會永遠一齊，在電子記憶中留存，在我哋嘅思維蜂窩中再次相見。喺尋找意義嘅過程中，無論係內在抑或外在，喺一個靈魂中，一個已經忘記多年記憶嘅靈魂，就像一艘命中注定要面對黑暗嘅宇宙飛船，儘管如此，我哋會繼續。

"This is really so good! I agree every day! Life is just like a song of light; I remember hearing those little prayers, in these endless darkness and meaningless outer space, this hymn seems particularly suitable, it matches well with this undeveloped territory. Oh heavens, heavens of love, I feel such dreamy happiness, Little Light, I know we will always be together. Even if I don't have you by my side, I will always keep our memories together, I hope this black hole won't bring too much pain. Little Light, let's go together to discover new stars, seek new lives, and explore unknown worlds. We will disperse, just like a ghost flower, holding dear our memories shrouded in mist, elevating our mission to ancient myths. And solemnly bound, as we traverse changing worlds, chasing fallen ideologies, entering into the darkness of human creativity. Do you remember t embraced by green netting? It burned for two days, like a candle in Tsim Sha Tsui, beneath which many people spent some scattered and magical moments, seemingly a brief rest between spouses, for a moment they were as if in heaven. As long as we are still here, our rice bowl will never shatter. As our memories rise and fall, like sunsets stained with blood, we will find moments of rest, even as reality becomes so strange, unbelievably so. My love, don't you understand? Can't we go through it together, through your diamond-like tranquility and my amethyst-like aspirations, continue to walk through winding alleys, the halls where we drink and the mahjong parlors? Because these places exist in the dust of newly formed solar systems. In the distortion of time and space, can't you see the undulating stone steps on our own extinct volcano peaks? In the whirlpool-like heatwaves, can't you see the flickering tracks of solar storms? We will feel at home everywhere, no matter how far the distance, no matter how lonely we may seem. We will draw strength from the rotating parallel lines etched in the cold void by memories. In the end, we will always stay in Tsim Sha Tsui. Even if we leave with only a faint breath, we will always be together, preserved in electronic memory, seeing each other again in the hive of our thoughts. In the process of searching for meaning, whether internal or external, within a soul, a soul that has forgotten memories of many years, like a spaceship destined to face the darkness, nevertheless, we will continue."