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They say that time may not be a linear progression, but one of many
inter-relating causalities that make up our perception of the universe.
That, much like our perception of the universe, is wrong.
Time is a spiral.
They say that math is the universal language, a set of concepts and structures that provides the latticework that supports the reality in which we exist.
Numbers are powerful. Sacred.
Much ado is made of the sum of all numbers--infinity--but the mind's eye skips over its opposite. Singularity. Terminus. We dream of the night sky and yet we deny entropy until its jaws are upon us.
9999 is the number of my rebirth. The numbers fall away, like the legs of a mindless centipede chittering forward. Steadily, but not uniformly. They sank last summer, sank when the mad, red eye started to watch. I pray that I will never see the entirety of that monstrous face, but I know the truth--
No. I will speak no more of it. I... was not particularly special, before I was turned. I grew up in the suburbs outside Philadelphia. I attended college there with my friend, Leona... she went into physical therapy, and I to computer science. Ask her for the reasons why she dropped out... some of them are her fault, most of them aren't. As for myself, I have my sire to blame.
He called himself La Magistral. He couldn't have been too old, now that I know more... but he is the scariest, most powerful... thing I have ever met. Voices other than his own would issue from his lips (I still don't know if the one I heard the most was "him," to tell the truth) and sometimes a chorus of them would spill forth. He named it the Metatron--the voice of God--and I think that sometimes I can hear a whisper of what must have roared through his skull.
He--they?--took me one night, without warning. I was explained that my birthdate had numerological significance. I can't begin to fathom him or his motives, even now. All I know is that the count started with him, and continues to this night. For five years he instructed me, never leaving my side... though the others could almost never see him. Then, on New Year's Eve, 1998... he left me.
I don't know where La Magistral has gone... perhaps he's still out there somewhere. Once I started running into other Kindred, I learned bit by piece that my "instructional period" was not near as long as that of other fledglings. I don't know whether to feel short-changed or grateful, but I've managed two years on my own. That's gotta count for something, no pun intended.
Why am I here? How could I not be here, with so many gyres whirling out of control? Morgantown is a maelstrom, for those with eyes to see. I've set Leona with a job here. I don't know how long we'll last, she and I... our friendship, I mean. I can't go back and close my eyes again, but I don't want to turn into a blind monster, like the ones I see here. The most I can do is close one eye and pretend.
But then again, you know what they say about the land of the blind.