Elysium: Book Six of The Liminality

Chapter 9: Flesh

My glowing bubble rises towards the brilliance of what those on beaches call 'the orb' though it's not an orb at all. It's no sphere. It's an orifice at the base of the vast and bulbous outer shell of Elysium. It has a sphincter that opens and closes a slit to gradually increase and diminish the light of a simulated day.

I am not all ecstatic about what I have just gone through or where I am going. Unlike all the souls before me that I had seen get cleaved, I am completely black and I mean completely. Blacker than a basement at midnight.

I am going to stick out in Elysium. They're going to know at a glance that I was prematurely cleaved.

And frankly, Elysium looks too creepy on the outside for me to be thrilled about going there. As I rise beyond the 'orb' my bubble angles closer to a cluster of massive globules that spread from the central mass like an angry thunderhead or a knobby tumor.

The outer surface is mostly dark, but its inner glow leaks out through seams and thin spots in a membranous shell pocked with pits and craters that make it look like some giant sponge.

A slim tentacle uncurls and latches onto my bubble. I ride along this tether straight into one of the smaller craters. I bump the surface and stop moving. The rim of the crater extends all around to create a dome over my head. The bubble shimmers and disintegrates, leaving me sprawled on a cold and mushy surface.

I can feel! I hold up my hand to find the darkness receding. Patches of flesh appear in its place, patchy at first, then coalescing into a lacy network. When the final few blotches of blackness shrink, I am left with a body just like the one I had just cleaved.

This confuses me. Every other soul I have seen come down from Elysium has that see-through deep sea creature look. Maybe that's something that happens only on Lethe's surface to distinguish the have haves from the have-nots?

The chamber I'm in is about the size of a studio apartment. It's shaped like a squashed sphere. There are no doors. There is a gravity of sorts that sticks me down against a slightly flattened base. A faint greenish glow emanates from every surface.

I pinch the floor. It has the consistency of belly fat and appears to be made of the same fleshy stuff that composes Zeke and Fido and Gaia's monstrous house-eating bedroom. As much as I like Zeke, this is not a wonderful discovery. I prefer my walls and floors to be square and solid. This is like living in a bouncy house. I accept this as part of the price for my exit from Lethe.

I get up and feel around for a way out of this space, but there is nothing. Not a seam. No slits. No thin spots. When I thrust the blade of my hand into the side, the stuff stretches and gives way but does not part.

I plop down, defeated and it's like sitting on a water bed. I wait for the waves to calm before it stops undulating. Is this it? Is this all those climbers down below are striving for?

I lay back and ponder what I have just done to myself, but I'm thinking this can't be all there is to Elysium. Guides like Fritz had jobs. They got to go places and see people. I need to be patient. Maybe there's a process here that takes time. And maybe Gaia will figure out I'm here and come find me.

I notice that the cold and mushy floor has gotten warmer and less clammy to the touch. I pat around and it feels fluffier, like one of those high end pillow-top mattresses the department store ladies would chase me off when I was a kid.

It's brighter in here now too, and the glow not quite so sickly a green. I perk up and look around and notice some other changes. It's almost like this place is responding to my discomfort and customizing itself to my preferences.