The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, Poetry

Contemporary war poetry.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Enlistment”

Sean Barnett

I did it because I was a horrible student. I—

Did it for the money. I—

or maybe it was so you wouldn’t have to. I—

did it because I lived in an ’89 suburban

Parked in the alley behind a buddy’s house,

Where I bathed in their pool and

drank keystones in the moonlight. I—

did it because I,

didn’t know what else to do.

Battle of Fredericksburg Anniversary Special:

Ever do men destroy each other.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Fredericksburg”

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed,

And on the churchyard by the road, I know

It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. . . .

‘T was such a night two weary summers fled;

The stars, as now, were waning overhead.

Listen! Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow

Where the swift currents of the river flow

Past Fredericksburg; far off the heavens are red

With sudden conflagration; on yon height,

Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their breath;

A signal rocket pierces the dense night,

Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath:

Hark!–the artillery massing on the right,

Hark!–the black squadrons wheeling down to Death!

If we were immortal — if we did not have death — would we have poetry?

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Scented Herbage of My Breast”

Walt Whitman

Scented herbage of my breast,

Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards,

Tomb-leaves, body-leaves growing up above me above death,

Perennial roots, tall leaves, O the winter shall not freeze you delicate leaves,

Every year shall you bloom again, out from where you retired you shall emerge again;

O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you or inhale your faint odor, but I believe a few will;

O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell in your own way of the heart that is under you,

O I do not know what you mean there underneath yourselves, you are not happiness,

You are often more bitter than I can bear, you burn and sting me,

Yet you are beautiful to me you faint tinged roots, you make me think of death,

Death is beautiful from you, (what indeed is finally beautiful except death and love?)

O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers, I think it must be for death,

For how calm, how solemn it grows to ascend to the atmosphere of lovers,

Death or life I am then indifferent, my soul declines to prefer,

(I am not sure but the high soul of lovers welcomes death most,)

Indeed O death, I think now these leaves mean precisely the same as you mean,

Grow up taller sweet leaves that I may see! grow up out of my breast!

Spring away from the conceal’d heart there!

Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots timid leaves!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

Come I am determin’d to unbare this broad breast of mine, I have long enough stifled and choked;

Emblematic and capricious blades I leave you, now you serve me not,

I will say what I have to say by itself,

I will sound myself and comrades only, I will never again utter a call only their call,

I will raise with it immortal reverberations through the States,

I will give an example to lovers to take permanent shape and will through the States,

Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating,

Give me your tone therefore O death, that I may accord with it,

Give me yourself, for I see that you belong to me now above all, and are folded inseparably together, you love and death are,

Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling life,

For now it is convey’d to me that you are the purports essential,

That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons, and that they are mainly for you,

That you beyond them come forth to remain, the real reality,

That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter how long,

That you will one day perhaps take control of all,

That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance,

That may-be you are what it is all for, but it does not last so very long,

But you will last very long.

Mark Twain’s Birthday Special:

Clemens proffers some criticism of literary criticism.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“A Fable”

Mark Twain

Once upon a time an artist who had painted a small and very beautiful picture placed it so that he could see it in the mirror. He said, “This doubles the distance and softens it, and it is twice as lovely as it was before.”

The animals out in the woods heard of this through the housecat, who was greatly admired by them because he was so learned, and so refined and civilized, and so polite and high-bred, and could tell them so much which they didn’t know before, and were not certain about afterward. They were much excited about this new piece of gossip, and they asked questions, so as to get at a full understanding of it. They asked what a picture was, and the cat explained.

“It is a flat thing,” he said; “wonderfully flat, marvelously flat, enchantingly flat and elegant. And, oh, so beautiful!”

That excited them almost to a frenzy, and they said they would give the world to see it. Then the bear asked:

“What is it that makes it so beautiful?”

“It is the looks of it,” said the cat.

This filled them with admiration and uncertainty, and they were more excited than ever. Then the cow asked:

“What is a mirror?”

“It is a hole in the wall,” said the cat. “You look in it, and there you see the picture, and it is so dainty and charming and ethereal and inspiring in its unimaginable beauty that your head turns round and round, and you almost swoon with ecstasy.”

The ass had not said anything as yet; he now began to throw doubts. He said there had never been anything as beautiful as this before, and probably wasn’t now. He said that when it took a whole basketful of sesquipedalian adjectives to whoop up a thing of beauty, it was time for suspicion.

It was easy to see that these doubts were having an effect upon the animals, so the cat went off offended. The subject was dropped for a couple of days, but in the meantime curiosity was taking a fresh start, and there was a revival of interest perceptible. Then the animals assailed the ass for spoiling what could possibly have been a pleasure to them, on a mere suspicion that the picture was not beautiful, without any evidence that such was the case. The ass was not troubled; he was calm, and said there was one way to find out who was in the right, himself or the cat: he would go and look in that hole, and come back and tell what he found there. The animals felt relieved and grateful, and asked him to go at once—which he did.

But he did not know where he ought to stand; and so, through error, he stood between the picture and the mirror. The result was that the picture had no chance, and didn’t show up. He returned home and said:

“The cat lied. There was nothing in that hole but an ass. There wasn’t a sign of a flat thing visible. It was a handsome ass, and friendly, but just an ass, and nothing more.”

The elephant asked:

“Did you see it good and clear? Were you close to it?”

“I saw it good and clear, O Hathi, King of Beasts. I was so close that I touched noses with it.”

“This is very strange,” said the elephant; “the cat was always truthful before—as far as we could make out. Let another witness try. Go, Baloo, look in the hole, and come and report.”

So the bear went. When he came back, he said:

“Both the cat and the ass have lied; there was nothing in the hole but a bear.”

Great was the surprise and puzzlement of the animals. Each was now anxious to make the test himself and get at the straight truth. The elephant sent them one at a time.

First, the cow.

A glory of the Internet is emergent weird-fiction phenomena such as The SCP Foundation.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“SCP-076”

The SCP Foundation

FROM: Dr. █████ █. █████

TO: Director ██████ ███, Records and Information Security Administration

SUBJECT: Revision of SCP-076 SCP File

███,

I have to go on record as saying that I seriously object to the proposed revisions of the SCP-076 Special Containment Procedures File. I know that Redact All Important Stuff Already claims it’s a security risk, but you and I both know it’s just top brass trying to sweep their biggest and most embarrassing mistake ever under the damn rug. Omega-Seven happened. It existed. Those people died because you screwed up, and you can’t change that, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

For God’s sake, man, those people guarding him deserve to know exactly what he is and what he did. What WE did. How we fucked up, so they’ll know better.

███

Item#: SCP-076

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Containment Area 25b is to be located 200 m below sea level, tunneled out of solid bedrock in a seismologically stable area. Sole access to the containment facility is to be through a vertical elevator shaft separated every fifty (50) meters with a reinforced blast door, constructed of 20 cm thick titanium shielding. Elevator shaft shall be flooded with seawater when not in use.

Containment Area 25b is to be constructed with the following components:

* An Outer Security Perimeter against outside threats, staffed by security personnel trained in close quarters combat and counter-intrusion tactics.

* An Administrative and Support Area consisting of support facilities and living quarters for on-site personnel.

* A Primary Containment Zone, consisting of a 7 m cube encased in 1.5 m of reinforced titanium. Primary Containment Zone is to be designed to be flooded and drained as needed, and should remain filled with seawater unless access to contents is required.

* A 150 m “killing corridor” which is to be the sole access to the Primary Containment Zone from the Administration and Support Area (including water, power, drainage, and ventilation lines). The walls and floor of the corridor are to be reinforced in a similar manner to the Primary Containment Zone, with the addition of an electric deterrence system capable of delivering a 20,000 volt shock.

A security station located at the entrance to the killing corridor is to be staffed with no fewer than three (3) armed security personnel on watch at any one point in time. Armament is to include, but not be limited to, at least one (1) ███████ CIW system on a pintle mount with a clear line of sight down the corridor, with a plexiglass screen to protect the operator from thrown weapons.

In the event of a full breach, all on-site staff are to proceed immediately to the closest security station for weapons and armor distribution. Staff will remain at Alert Condition One until SCP-076-2 is confirmed neutralized. Should 90 minutes pass after declaration of full breach without a Stand Down order being given by Level 4 or higher personnel, Final Contingency Measures will be activated, flooding the entire facility in seawater and sealing off the access shaft for a minimum of 24 hours before retrieval is attempted. This will, by necessity, result in the deaths of all on-site staff.

Description: SCP-076 consists of two components: a stone cube (SCP-076-1) and a humanoid entity contained within (SCP-076-2).

SCP-076-1 is a 3 m cube made of black speckled metamorphic stone. All surfaces outside and within SCP-076-1 are covered in deeply engraved patterns corresponding to no known civilizations. Radioisotope analysis indicates that the object is approximately ten thousand (10,000) years old.

A perfect war poem.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“War Hero”

Sean Barnett

When we got off the plane–

After a year in Iraq,

There were flags and banners,

They read,

Welcome home troops

An elementary school choir sang,

The local news zoomed in,

Mothers, children, girlfriends and wives,

Clustered to greet us.

Everyone was looking our direction.

There was a frail old man,

Standing in the back, alone,

Without a smile. He saw us,

And approached slowly.

Hands in front of him,

Clenched together.

He took a gasping breath,

In an anxious voice he said,

“I’m so … sorry.”

November 11th is the most hopeful date in human history, for it signifies the fact that World War I ended, that even the most horrific tragedies can come to an end. November 11th is the most awful date in human history, for it signifies the fact that World War I happened, that we can enact the most horrific tragedies.

Adapted from the Icelandic Prose Edda, this is cra-zee.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Thor’s Adventures Among the Jötuns”

adapted by Julia Goddard

Once upon a time Thor set out upon his travels, taking Loki with him, for despite Loki’s spirit of mischief he often aided Thor, who doubtless, in the present expedition, felt that Loki might be of use to him.

So they set off together in Thor’s chariot, drawn by its two strong he-goats, and as night drew nigh, stopped at the hut of a peasant, where they asked food and shelter.

“Food I have none to give you,” said the peasant. “I am a poor man and not able even to give supper to my children, but if you like to rest under my roof you are welcome to do so.”

“Never mind the food; I can manage that,” said Thor, dismounting from the chariot and entering the hut.

It was a poor place, and not at all fitted to receive one of the Asi, but Thor was glad enough to meet with it, wretched as it was.

“You can kill the goats,” said he; “they will make us an excellent meal.”

The peasant could not help thinking that it was a pity to kill two such fine animals; but wisely thinking that this was no affair of his, and that the stranger had a right to do as he pleased with his own, he set himself to obey Thor’s orders, and with the help of his daughter Raska soon spread a savory repast before the hungry god and his attendant.

“Sit down, all of you,” said Thor; “there is enough and to spare.”

So they all sat down, and the peasant and his children shared a more plentiful meal than had fallen to their lot lately. Thor and Loki also did ample justice to the food, and when supper was over the thunder-god bade the peasant gather the bones and place them in the goatskins, and making them into a bundle he left them on the floor until the next morning.

When the morning came and the early sun shone in through the crevices, Thor raised his hammer, and instead of the bundle of bones the peasant and his son and daughter saw the two goats standing as fresh and lively as if nothing had happened to them, saving that one of them halted a little in his walk.

When they sought to learn why this should be, it was found that Thialfe, the boy, in getting the marrow out of one of the bones, had broken it, and it was this that caused the goat to go lame.

Thor was very angry, and was very near killing not only Thialfe but also the peasant and his daughter Raska, but they begged so hard for their lives that he consented to spare them on condition that the boy and girl should follow him in his travels.

To this they agreed, and Thor, leaving the chariot and goats in the peasant’s care, went on his journey, giving Thialfe, who was a very swift runner, his wallet to carry.

On and on they journeyed until they came to a great sea.

“How are we to get over this?” asked Loki.

“Swim across it,” replied Thor.

And in they all plunged, for Thialfe and Raska were used to a hardy life, and so were able to swim with scarcely more weariness than Thor and Loki, and were not long in reaching the opposite shore.

“The country does not improve,” said Loki, looking round upon the desolate plain that lay outstretched between them and the borders of a dark forest, which they could just see in the far distance. One or two huge rocks thrust their jagged points high into the air, and great blocks of stone were scattered about, but there was no sign of herbage and not a tree to be seen nearer than the forest belt bounding the horizon. Heavy gray clouds were drawing nearer and nearer to the dreary earth, and twilight was fast approaching. “It looks not well,” answered Thor, “but we must push on and perhaps may find it better as we go onward. Besides,

Always are there gods.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Thunder God”

The Voice before the Void

The thunder must have meaning, for surely

All must have meaning;

The world we live in cannot be meaningless!

Why would the sky roar?

The sky must be angry!

The sky must be angry at something we have done!

We must believe this,

For we cannot acknowledge that the sky takes no notice of us

And roars at nothing, for nothing.

Halloween Special:

The fanciful horror of supernaturalism confronted by the visceral horror of mortality.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“North Dakota, Devils Lake, 2013 October”

The Voice before the Void

I awoke unnaturally, suddenly, opening my eyes, looking straight up. At the left side of my field of vision was a disembodied face.

I had been sleeping on my back on the sofa in the front room, where I usually sleep. I swivelled my eyes to look fully at the face. It was black and white: the planes of the face shone with white light; the lines of the face were dread-black. The pupils of the eyes were black and too large, almost but not quite filling the eye-slits, so that but small triangles of white shone at either side of the pupils. The nose was large and sharp and jutting, almost like a snout. The teeth were black and pointed, and the interior of the throat shone white behind them.

As I looked at the face, it slowly floated backwards, away from me, across the room, towards the doorway to the kitchen, fading as it did so. It floated about a meter and a half above the floor. As it passed into the kitchen doorway, it dissipated entirely.

After several minutes, I got up and began working intensely. It was just before dawn.

Two days later, in the afternoon, as I was working, I heard a loud bang in the kitchen. I looked up from my computer and into the kitchen doorway, but saw nothing. I continued working for several minutes, until I had completed the section I had been working on, then went into the kitchen to investigate. Nothing was out of place.

Three days after that, I was awakened from sleep by falling onto the floor. I struck the floor on my left side and rolled forward onto my elbows. Shocked awake, I looked at the floor between my forearms, then looked up. For an instant, I saw the face above me. Its mouth was opened wide, white light shining from the throat and silhouetting sharply the pointed black teeth. As soon as I looked at it, it began to fade and move backwards, toward the kitchen. It quickly faded from view. I became aware of pain in my left arm and hip, from striking the floor. It was early morning.

I got up, got dressed, put my laptop into my bag already packed, locked the house, and walked the few blocks to the train station. I claimed my ticket from the ticket agent and, after a wait for the train to arrive, boarded the Empire Builder, the passenger line that runs between Chicago and Seattle, and rode it west into Montana, to the mountain town of Whitefish, in the Rockies. The ride took most of the day.

Arriving in Whitefish, I walked from the train station through downtown to the hotel to meet my friend. She had arrived early; I met her in the room.

We meet every October in the hotel in Whitefish, to eat apples and read each other scary stories and enjoy each other’s company.

Two days later, in the hotel room, I logged into my email account. My email account, usually clogged with new messages and spam and hundreds of old messages, was empty, except for one new message, without a subject and from an unknown sender. The text of the message read: “See you when you return.” An image file was attached to the message.

My friend saw the image over my shoulder. “Oh, that’s hideous,” she said.

That night, she wanted me to hold her, and, though the room was warm, she shivered occasionally and violently in my arms, and, though I slept, she told me in the morning that she did not sleep the entire night.

The day after arriving back in Devils Lake, my sister with her two young daughters stopped at my house in the afternoon.

As I greeted them in the vestibule to the side door, my nieces, giggling, ran around me and through the doorway to the kitchen. Almost immediately, before my sister and I had even finished saying our hellos, the girls returned, running to their mother,