Seth Vistin reread and contemplated a small piece of crumpled paper that had been handed down for generations in his family. It was given to him by his uncle on his father’s side, and was to be a secret that he kept from everyone. No one should know what was written on that antique parchment, which he believed to be the only one of its kind. The only people that were allowed to read it, or discuss it, were those of TheRevolutionists. For the paper was the sole source of their doctrines. This was their Testament, so to speak, the scripture that fueled their fire; it was an augmented version of the Text of Prophecy. When it was first examined and interpreted its true meaning further enforced the importance of the Text of Genesis, but over time it came to more represent a treachery, some cursed deed that had been done against all humanity. Their interpretation was that the supposed “warning” referred to the Text of Genesis itself and that that was the “malicious interference.” This notion was always present in the minds of all practicing Revolutionists and was the main reason that Seth wanted to travel. He needed to explore the continent in hopes of somehow proving that his belief was true, was warranted. Some Atlanteans believed in the basic principles of the Genesis Text, to a certain extent, but most just saw them as guidelines to live by and could care less about a Creator or any kind of ultimate force in the universe. The Revolutionists were the extremity of this view; they represented atheism and chaos. What they wanted was anarchy, a natural order to things. But, of course, they knew that in order to maintain such a way of life certain rules must be set and enforced to keep the same fate from happening once again; this was the position where Seth saw his future self.
“How could we sustain thus,” Seth asked aloud to himself. He sat on the edge of his chair at the wooden desk in his chamber inside the Golden Palace. It was nearly time for him to leave for the pier, where his belongings and ship awaited alongside an anxious crew. A couple of days earlier the “lucky fifteen” were chosen. Seth was not to be early for the departure because that would show impatience and eagerness. He was not to be late for that would show carelessness and arrogance. No, he would show up exactly when he said he would—a punctual leader, one who could be emulated by future generations perhaps. Over the past few days he tried his best to hide his own anxiousness, but it was not every day that a man began his lifelong pursuit. It was on the ship that he met with all those in his command a day earlier. They all met with the emperor, as was his updated plan, and the journey was set in good order. Throughout the night before, however, Seth tossed and rolled, went over speeches, points that he needed to make, at what times and how to say them. The satchels under his eyes were further characterizations of his recent persona, a nervous wretch in pretentious makeup. At times, hallucinations of looming court members shook him out of near, catatonic daydreams—delusions that revealed their prying natures.
“This voyage is surely justified,” he continued aloud to himself. “For if it weren’t what would be the purpose of embarking? There will be a change. There must. This is the proof. All those fools haven’t a clue what they’re missing. The emperor—Ha! He knows not of Nature’s true guise.” He shifted positions in his chair and gazed out the window. “Yes, he sets the codes, the standards. He is of the bloodline that created our word, ‘good.’ I call it ‘our’ word only halfly. True, I, of noble birth may hold partial claim, but I know of an enemy and take pity on him. So, I say only by a half…but these insignificant creatures, half gone to the ground that stables them so, if only they had a wide-angled mirror to hold against the backdrop of our present condition. What a situation we live in! Are there borders, regulations, to such a conflict of affairs? If so, we should be able to escape them—at least to see their scope, if not their influence. Who has the authority to tweak our thoughts? Control is a sinister vice, in its jaws we beckon for release but loosen the grip and risk flight for option’s sake. I am sick of this world.
“A curse on the roots of it…yes, a curse on my mother and father for bearing me into this world! Another curse on the fornication that led to my being; she being a pregnant bride gives weight to my words, tinges them with lead. Had I a choice to live? Does any of us, we that breathe and dream, we that occupy matter and turn it into the intangible? Maybe the best life would be a stillbirth; to pass on before you become aware of the lopsided terms of life, to leave as you enter. O to reenter the great abyss from whence you came and sleep in non-existence, into worlds of your own imagining, to drink of the cup, taste of the spring that is all emotions withal; it is too much to swallow and so it swallows you. This vast world, with its limitless chances, snickers at me as a master to its caged mouse. Today I will go beyond the borders. At last, I will have a view of this world’s grandeur. If only for a week, let this change the course of my soul’s sails. I leave the steering to the wind, but my hand will guide the wheel. For what is an island from the land, not more than the land from the water.
