Updated: Jan 24
Image credit by https://pixabay.com/users/dp792-3386650/
‘How is our experiment? asked Shalma.
Shalma was a throbbing ebb and flow of beautiful colours. The illuminations were all quite beautiful to observe, a sight to behold when their moods were high. The stresses of several failed experiments on various planets were telling, but the general feeling this day was one of hope as Fanny Blomme was soon to be of age.
‘The girl humanoid approaches her time of independence,’ said the Preceptor, ‘ although there are some concerns about her development.’
The Preceptor’s kaleidoscope colours jittered in anticipation of having to explain the issues that were arising on earth to an increasingly sceptical panel of the Enlightenment.
Shalma echoed in sympathy and the other illuminations went grey for a moment.
‘All is not lost,’ reminded the Preceptor, ‘but there have been incidents that are less favourable to a smooth union of the human hosts and the illuminations.’
Verdin interjected. ‘Pray, explain Perceptor, we are on borrowed time with this experiment. What goes wrong now?’
‘The girl, Fanny Blomme, has been embodied in a problematic form. Too much self will without guidance for the placement. The inception has not been as flawless as we had hoped and it has caused concern.’
The illuminations rumble in unison.
‘What does the Preceptor mean exactly? said one.
‘Pray to stop with this vagueness,’ said another.’
‘Yes, here here,’ mumbled others.
‘Our illumination knows they are to find out something but has no idea what that something is.’ The Preceptor steadied their kaleidoscope of shimmering lights in an attempt to gain confidence in the vicinity.
Shalma was fluxing and was flanked by other swelling illuminations who were listening intently.
‘Ha,’ Ardani laughed in disapproval. ‘Why can’t you just tell this Fanny Blomme and be done with it?’
'The human, in order to be a decent host, must discover their purpose of being for themselves. There is something in their makeup that makes learning, true learning, enlightenment and certainty, impossible without first-hand experience. Only the self-realisation and the experience of it will set faith in stone. What I mean is,...'
'Yes, demanded Verdini, 'what exactly do you mean Preceptor?'
The illuminations groaned, swelling and changing colours. They danced around flowing into one another to share and absorb the information.
The preceptor continued.
‘Although we exist with this knowledge from our own conception, because the humanoids will be hosting us, we must wait to see if such a facility can come naturally. I am not at liberty to explain to the experiment, Fanny Blomme. It must discover enlightenment for itself.’
The illuminations waited for more.
‘We were unable to choose how the experiment would initially manifest and the humans are even more ignorant than we initially thought. Fanny Blomme has been created in a girl form and has been placed in an environment that creates difficult and unsafe scenarios for the experiment to navigate. There has been a lot of violence, she is perceived as a second class gender and a less favoured colour and class. These things have increased the experiment's likelihood to fail.’
‘Is there any good news?’ asked Shalma.
‘Oh indeed,’ said the Preceptor, ‘Fanny Blomme is without doubt on target to achieve the goal of the Enlightenment Panel. Although the experiment is not certain why answers need to be found, it knows that to save humanity, it must succeed in this mission. But it may take some time.'
Suddenly the Preceptor was startled by something. Fanny Blomme lay on the stairs bleeding ferociously from her mouth and nose.
The parent humanoid stood above her with his fists clenched. Fanny was struggling to breathe. She knew her teeth were broken and she felt the warm blanket of blood flow onto her school shirt which stuck to her braless nipples. Blood was in her throat and she began to cough uncontrollably. At this point she welcomed death. She welcomed an end to the constant pain of living as a human being. She was tired of it. She did not belong here on this godforsaken planet.
‘You are as close to death as you will ever be,’ hollered Father.
Fanny breathed the death blood in, She would drown in its thick sweet viscosity. Then she saw the colours, a Kaleidoscope of beautiful colours there on the stairs.
It was the Preceptor.
‘Thank goodness you are here,’ she screamed. ‘But why do you leave me here so long, unaided in terrible circumstances to suffer these horrendous situations. Am I not fit to be aided? I beg you, Preceptor, take me home to where I belong.’
The Preceptor spoke and Fanny was glad at last that she could hear and understand them after fifteen arduous years of suffering.
‘You must be strong, Fanny Blomme, for great hope lies in your future. Do not give up for you are the chosen one.’
And then the Preceptor was gone.
to be continued
© 2020 Tale Teller/Sarnia de la Mare
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