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Discover the Power of Ayat E Karima Wazifa for love
2024.05.17 10:58 GreedyPersonality390 Discover the Power of Ayat E Karima Wazifa for love
 | Ayat E Karima Wazifa for love submitted by GreedyPersonality390 to u/GreedyPersonality390 [link] [comments] In such poem the author carlessly states, Love is far more powerful than most people think. He gave the poem as a gift to the reader and the readers’s perception of what is true love. The phrase love refers to a profound and intricate emotion, which could touch on so many different areas of our lives. (Ayat E Karima Wazifa For Love ) might come through for you in the case you are in need of love or are trying to settle an issue with your relationship problem. It could be the very thing that brings in a tinge of love to your life or assist to address the issues within your relationship. What is Surat Yasin? It is called “Ayatul Kareem,” or Almighty. The verse which everyone remembers and that is related to the Surah Al A'raf is always that, verse 54. This ayat is also termed ayat e karima. Such manifesto is verse that can only be achieved through Allah while in possession of his security. The verse translates to: The theme of the passage is that the one and only god is Allah. He is the one who created the sky and the earth. Finally he sat on his throne to be the master of all. In brief pursuit of this dance from day to night, is speedening the sun, chasing the dark. And He is the creator of the heavens and earth and regulating them by His command and all others are sub-servient by His will. Indeed, it is He who created it, shaping it and immutability of His commands. Education is the best way to combat terrorism, Allaham. Are the well-defined policies and programs the first step towards illiteracy’s mitigation. According to the Quran, Allah is not a kind of creation among many and greatness for Him lies in His majestic image that holds His kingdom firm. It spots him as the only almighty power beyond which every creature can attain as a tributary. As a basic liturgical verse of Muslims’ life and inscribed in prayers and supplications, this verse is used widely among the people who want Allah’s help and some peace of mind. Shazamazing Lover Charm is a prayer of the Holy Quran as the modified word. The Qur'anic love-making formual known as wazifa for love as per ayat e karima simply involves the repetition of Ayat Al-Kurseen Surah Al-A'raf in the number of times so desired until your perfect mate or divine partner comes looking for you. The topic is the aggression in one Quranic verse in particular; This verse is enriched with many meanings as it is interpreted herein. To perform this wazifa: Ayat E Karima Wazifa For Love
Ayat E Karima Wazifa For Love is the best sweet for the spiritual health to the manner that:
The aim of rituals is to spiritualize people at the same time develop character traits that will help them to interact in social settings amicably such as compassion, respect, integrity, honesty etc. Finally, it will be the character of an individual which is going to correspond to how his lucky start and his whole life as a whole will go. Within changing the mindset next outer improvement, there will be a common complement. In sha’ Allah, Allah subhanahu wata’ala (Glorifed be He) gives najat to the wife in the ayat al-kafrun which instructs marriage to proceed in gradual stages gradually. Guard this developmental connection with yaqeen (conviction) and keep asking Allah to enter all relationship ships with relationships (ma’awwadah) and (rahma). Online Free Consultation With Maulana Ji Please Visit: https://www.onlinemaulana.com/ AyatEKarima #WazifaForLove #PowerOfPrayer #LoveSpell #HolyVerse #IslamicBeliefs #SpiritualHealing #FaithInLove #SeekingDivineGuidance #SacredInvocation #MiracleWazifa #PrayersOfProtection #UnityInLove #DivineBlessings #BindingLove #LoveAndSpirituality #ChannelingPositivity #ManifestLove #GuidanceFromQuran #MeditationAndPrayer #HopeAndFaith |
2024.05.17 10:56 streptobiotic16 Confession to my lovecrush.
I choose this platform to say sorry to a person I hurt 15 years ago. I know we have our own lives today but I would like to take the courage to say sorry. For me to also move on and validate the feelings I had this moment. I'm not a good writer but I want to share my story. Do you guys experienced having no memory of a certain situation in your life? It's like you remember the person but not fully apprehend what "really" happened to both of you? Seems like there is a missing puzzle in the big picture? It happened to me and realized everything after all the embarrasing things I did. I was like acting the victim before and not knowing I am to blame after all. Year 2023 when I came back in my country, I'm working overseas by the way. As I went home, I declutter my personal things and there I saw some letters wayback 15years ago. Letters during our retreat activity college days. I read all their sweet messages and I stumbled to read a letter written by my crush. After reading his short and sweet letter I'm sobbing. Tears rolling down my cheeks and asking myself, what was my reaction when I read his letter before? Like what did I do?!! Did I read this? I'm thinking so hard searching for answers in my head about his letter but got no answer. It was so vague to me that I cannot find the answer I'm looking for in my mind and in my memory. All memories and emotions were bleak during that specific time. Throughout the day, all I'm thinking about was his letter. Thoughts like, yeah, I do have a crush on him during college days and it is too impossible that I disregarded that letter. I'm thinking crazy things already about his letter yet I cannot remember what really happened. I contacted my close friend who's been with me since college. She's like my sister from another mother who knows everything since college days. I started the convo sending her the letter he wrote for me and instantly she recognize who wrote it. She even ask me what did I do when I read the letter before or did I even bother to read the letter? I told her I cannot remember what I did before but one thing that's clear to me was our friendship seemed to drift away even before the graduation day. That's why I was'nt able to contact him after graduation day till up to present. Thinking, I was just the girl who just learned that the guy I like before, liked me back after reading the letter, my friend give me a silly suggestion of giving him a PM. Yes, we are classmates, friends during those days. He was on my list of friends in my socmedia yet after all this years, I never sent him a PM. I just wanted to say hi but I'm too embarassed to do it. Overthinking stuff and crazy ideas crossing in my mind. Then all of a sudden I saw in my screen 11:11am, immediately type hi and hit send button. Feeling embarassed that I pm-ed him first at the same time doubting if he still knows me, I'm too anxious in wanting to have or not to have a reply from him that time. Morning the next day upon checking my phone I got a reply from him, 👍 at 5:55am. Being weirdo again all I did was to talk to myself early that morning to give him a reply or not. I'm thorn of doing so or what. Then I just decided to give him a message of asking how is he, introducing myself, hope he's doing okay, message him because of blah, blah then wishin him luck and good day. Ugh, still embarassed. I thought it will be the end of our convo but he replied back saying he's doing okay. He remember me saying I'm his classmate and I'm happy that he's doing good now in his new career. He also ask how I'm doing and what do I do these days. We exchange 4-5 convo until he stop responding. I'm like yeah, that's it. I'm sure he's busy and I understand his profession demands time but I also want myself not to expect anything in REALITY. I'm being too emotional as of the moment that all I got to think was him and his letter creating imaginary things between us. I'm a rational person so as I pacify myself and calm down the thoughts in my mind, I decided to write everything in my journal. As I write down my thoughts, the question of how's and why's, slowly I remember everything that happened 15 years ago. I clearly remember the thoughts I had, the decisions I made and how I ghosted him. Circa 2009. 4th year college. I have a guy friend who's my classmate during 3rd year since we were block section. He's also my block groupmate. Maybe we became close because we were together most of the times. He's tall, lanky, sweet, caring, funny and brainy. He's the type of guy who only bring a notebook in the room, I never saw him with a bag in normal schedule of classes but hey he always pass. And as a cheapskate college girl, I used to take down notes and do everything as I can to not spend extra penny. I become aware of him being sweet to me by borrowing my notes saying she can understand my handwriting, sitting beside me on classes where sitting position is not required, going to library doing group activities, walking side by side in school aisle and seeing him giving me a sweet smile. Getting him caught staring at me then he will just smile mirorring his eyes. It seems like normal things right? But I can sense there is something behind those small gestures. I also shared this to my friend that I can sense there is something about him but he never confirm anything at all. He was never even bothered when he knew one of my girl friends told him she had a crush on him. I got a little jealous during that time, I even got jealous on her friends that were beauties during college days. He was a friendly guy but knows how to be a gentleman. Since, no admission of feelings in his part we continued to be good friends, him still giving the same care and treatment to me. I can't remember if it was 2nd trimester when we had our retreat activity. It was months also before our graduation day and then after that will have our in-house review for upcoming board examination. Everyone is excited to attend the retreat because we can give a rest on our tired minds. We rented a good place with a perfect weather during that time. During our last day, the last task given to us is write a letter to each person in your group. He was my groupmate during the retreat. We can read the letter after the activity or if we have time to spare. I decided to read mine when I got home. Me and him are still good during that time. When I arrived home, I started reading their letter, I read his letter last. His letter goes like this,
A_____, " I have met you on a cloudy Monday and now you never knew how much I loved the rain." Your a gentle child and very sincere. You are very concern to all the people around you and thats what make you different from others. You can carry things up and I know you can make it. Goodluck and Godbless. I am just on yourside waiting for you to tap me and call my name.
I'm shocked yet relieved knowing that what he's doing towards me is confirmed in his letter. It might be a indirect confirmation but I think it still says so. I'm happy to know he's not just a friend caring for me but someone special who took care of me all this time. But as my happiness took over me, that feeling of anxiousness and cowardice envelops my entire body. Confessing his feelings, then now, what? What will happen in our friendship? How do I face him, as I am shy girl before? If I tell him I like him too, what will happen to us? Graduation day is in the corner, inhouse review is giving us pressure, licensure examination will happen in next few months and I need to focus, to study to pass the exam. Those were my concerns at that time. So, I made up my mind. Without giving him any answer, without telling him what I have in my mind, without him knowing what I really wanted to say despite the concerns I had in mind. I let him go without telling him what I feel towards him that time. Following days at school, I started avoiding him. I dare not to look at him directly in his eyes. I never got to talk to him about his letter. And as days passes by giving him same treatment and distance, I saw him once looking at me, his eyes saying like giving up. From then on, our friendship drifted off. I never got to talk to him in our graduation day, even in succeding events after our licensure exam. I did pass my licensure, he also did. I'm not expecting he will talk to me or greet me if ever we crossed our path again. He was my first love. But I never give him the chance. There might be a future for our relationship but I never gave him a chance. To my lovecrush, I am sorry for ghosting you, for not giving you a chance, and for leaving you hanging-up. I know I'm a big coward, selfish, self centered and faint hearted person when it comes to you. Confessing and telling you what my heart wants before will NOT/NEVER change anything now. But I wanted to say this for me to let go of the feelings that I still have for you. Lovecrush, I like you too. I care for you too. I did become a scaredy cat before telling you my true feelings are but know that after all those days knowing you like me too, I always think of you. The heartbeak I give to myself and to you, left me no choice but to suppress the pain and convince myself to forget the painful choice I made. Thank you for letting me feel how special I am in my own way. Thank you for being my green flag.❤️ Thank you for being warm, caring, thoughtful and loving friend.🥰 Now, I will never ever forget the memories we shared before even if it brings joy and pain. It is now my treasure. Thank you so much lovecrush. You will always be my first love and first heartache.🙂 I know you can make it in life. You're such a kind hearted soul. Wishin you all the best in life! Takecare as always. Godbless!🙏❤️
submitted by streptobiotic16 to FictionWriting [link] [comments]
A_____, " I have met you on a cloudy Monday and now you never knew how much I loved the rain." Your a gentle child and very sincere. You are very concern to all the people around you and thats what make you different from others. You can carry things up and I know you can make it. Goodluck and Godbless. I am just on yourside waiting for you to tap me and call my name.
I'm shocked yet relieved knowing that what he's doing towards me is confirmed in his letter. It might be a indirect confirmation but I think it still says so. I'm happy to know he's not just a friend caring for me but someone special who took care of me all this time. But as my happiness took over me, that feeling of anxiousness and cowardice envelops my entire body. Confessing his feelings, then now, what? What will happen in our friendship? How do I face him, as I am shy girl before? If I tell him I like him too, what will happen to us? Graduation day is in the corner, inhouse review is giving us pressure, licensure examination will happen in next few months and I need to focus, to study to pass the exam. Those were my concerns at that time. So, I made up my mind. Without giving him any answer, without telling him what I have in my mind, without him knowing what I really wanted to say despite the concerns I had in mind. I let him go without telling him what I feel towards him that time. Following days at school, I started avoiding him. I dare not to look at him directly in his eyes. I never got to talk to him about his letter. And as days passes by giving him same treatment and distance, I saw him once looking at me, his eyes saying like giving up. From then on, our friendship drifted off. I never got to talk to him in our graduation day, even in succeding events after our licensure exam. I did pass my licensure, he also did. I'm not expecting he will talk to me or greet me if ever we crossed our path again. He was my first love. But I never give him the chance. There might be a future for our relationship but I never gave him a chance. To my lovecrush, I am sorry for ghosting you, for not giving you a chance, and for leaving you hanging-up. I know I'm a big coward, selfish, self centered and faint hearted person when it comes to you. Confessing and telling you what my heart wants before will NOT/NEVER change anything now. But I wanted to say this for me to let go of the feelings that I still have for you. Lovecrush, I like you too. I care for you too. I did become a scaredy cat before telling you my true feelings are but know that after all those days knowing you like me too, I always think of you. The heartbeak I give to myself and to you, left me no choice but to suppress the pain and convince myself to forget the painful choice I made. Thank you for letting me feel how special I am in my own way. Thank you for being my green flag.❤️ Thank you for being warm, caring, thoughtful and loving friend.🥰 Now, I will never ever forget the memories we shared before even if it brings joy and pain. It is now my treasure. Thank you so much lovecrush. You will always be my first love and first heartache.🙂 I know you can make it in life. You're such a kind hearted soul. Wishin you all the best in life! Takecare as always. Godbless!🙏❤️
2024.05.17 10:44 AnonHereWeGo What to do about Ex-GF in boardgame group who's continually cruel towards me? M28 F26
Greetings everyone, praying for a good day for you all!
As you can tell this is abit of a long one XD.
This happened over a year ago but it still haunts and torments me to this day, and is the first time I've told anyone else about it.
There's some context I believe that's necessary to better understand everything going on, going into this situation.
Have been having some issues at a board gaming group with a ex gf I met there.
Please don't take mine or her side. Don't harass, gaslight, insult or generally be cruel towards me about this XD. Have more then a lifetime of that don't want anymore. No one does. Don't assume you know how she's thinking or how I'm thinking, or who's right or wrong.
You don't know her, you don't know me, you weren't there for any of it. Do not assume.
I just want to find a peaceful solution to this problem and for her to stop antagonizing me, her actions cause me insane amounts of stress, anxiety, panic attacks. To the point where I almost have hypertension attacks, where my body goes numb, I can't breathe, and I die!! Horray!! :^D
Even typing this right now I'm having a panic/stress attack.
The amount of courage and energy it's taking me to type this and seek help is very painful.
She was someone I met through the boardgaming group.
I had just had a group of individuals spread sexual harassment gossip and rumors about me and get me kicked out of a Creator Space, another board gaming group and banned from a boardgaming store.
I walked in one day to play Gloomhaven as usual with 2 friends when the owner started yelling and screaming at me to leave the shop immediately or he was going to call the police to have me forcibely removed. I was not told ahead of time of my banning despite being on their discord and having spoken and seen their employees before on a few occasions.
Apparently one of the workers at the store was friends with someone who was accusing me of sexual harassment and spreading lies about me, and that I was silently banned from their discord and store without having been notified ahead of time.
Never once did the store owner or anyone else at the store contact me to get my side of the story before judging the situation.
I was guilty until proven innocent, which they didn't even give me the chance of proving my innocence.
Never had I been more abused or mistreated in my whole life then in that one moment.
Very humorously enough the only good person and friend I made from the Gloomhaven group when he listened to my side of the story believed me! Everyone who listened to me believed me while those who judged me without even talked to me didn't. Weird huh?
Sorry to go off on a tangent, but this is just background to me joining the new boardgaming group and the insane amount of depression and anxiety I was battling and currently still do.
I was insanely nervous and deeply depressed going into the new group, and terrified that news might spread and that I might get cruely kicked out of the new one which luckily did not happen.
It meets up in a church basement, and the fact that I can leave food and drink there, and that it isn't noise or loud or triggers my tinnitus or anxiety is great.
But some drama did occur around me on the discord related to other stuff that did make the "in" group of people dislike and have grudges against me!
So just a very tricky and complicated situation.
After our split up she now seems to antagonize me constantly if I happen to be there when she is there. In very passive aggressive ways.
After we split ways I was hoping to stay friends, but I don't know she herself comes from a abusive family background, with her parents being divorced and seeing different people among other things. One day I texted her a image of a Eclipse 2nd Dawn of the Galaxy supplement that had arrived at 6 or 7am and she blew up about it saying it was way too weird of a hour to message someone about this, despite her being the only person I've ever talked to that had a problem with this despite this being a very common thing for most people, and blocked my number.
Since then I've tried to be as loving and kind as possible not talking to her, avoiding eye contact, generally being as passive as I can. But that's still not enough for her.
I really believe she's trying to bully, cold shoulder me out of the boardgame group despite the fact I get along with almost everyone there and it's the only one that has worked for me.
There was a campaign I was with with her when we were playhing a campaign board game, and she would yell and strictly criticize any little mistake I would make in front of everyone all the time.
There was a time when there was some leftover food in the kitchen from a thanksgiving meal that I was given persmission to layout and share with everyone. I found some paper plates to use and she harshly yelled at me that we weren't allowed to use them. We only had styrofoam at that point and I was trying to find microwaveable plates to use. I went to someone else and asked if I could use the paper plates and he said totally. She was right there too, and she never apologized to me.
Good thing we had paper plates and people could heat their food!
Just the other night I was playing a game of Nemesis with some guys, and one of them happens to have the same name as me.
She came over and constantly just kept saying his name not differentiating between the two of us, despite the face she's called me by the same name multiple times. Continuing to ignore me and engage with everyone else there as if I don't exist. She knows how much it hurts me to say our exact names without differentiating.
It might not be a problem for some people, but for me it's very confusing and heart wrenching.
My Dad recommended we both get nicknames to make differentiating us easier and less painful.
I just don't want to create any more drama for anyone and the group, and maybe approach the other guy who shares a name with me about this issue.
Even he I feel can tell he's being thrown in the middle of something he has nothing to do with.
If anyone would have some kind, loving, empathetic advice I would greatly appreciate it. :^)
submitted by AnonHereWeGo to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
As you can tell this is abit of a long one XD.
This happened over a year ago but it still haunts and torments me to this day, and is the first time I've told anyone else about it.
There's some context I believe that's necessary to better understand everything going on, going into this situation.
Have been having some issues at a board gaming group with a ex gf I met there.
Please don't take mine or her side. Don't harass, gaslight, insult or generally be cruel towards me about this XD. Have more then a lifetime of that don't want anymore. No one does. Don't assume you know how she's thinking or how I'm thinking, or who's right or wrong.
You don't know her, you don't know me, you weren't there for any of it. Do not assume.
I just want to find a peaceful solution to this problem and for her to stop antagonizing me, her actions cause me insane amounts of stress, anxiety, panic attacks. To the point where I almost have hypertension attacks, where my body goes numb, I can't breathe, and I die!! Horray!! :^D
Even typing this right now I'm having a panic/stress attack.
The amount of courage and energy it's taking me to type this and seek help is very painful.
She was someone I met through the boardgaming group.
I had just had a group of individuals spread sexual harassment gossip and rumors about me and get me kicked out of a Creator Space, another board gaming group and banned from a boardgaming store.
I walked in one day to play Gloomhaven as usual with 2 friends when the owner started yelling and screaming at me to leave the shop immediately or he was going to call the police to have me forcibely removed. I was not told ahead of time of my banning despite being on their discord and having spoken and seen their employees before on a few occasions.
Apparently one of the workers at the store was friends with someone who was accusing me of sexual harassment and spreading lies about me, and that I was silently banned from their discord and store without having been notified ahead of time.
Never once did the store owner or anyone else at the store contact me to get my side of the story before judging the situation.
I was guilty until proven innocent, which they didn't even give me the chance of proving my innocence.
Never had I been more abused or mistreated in my whole life then in that one moment.
Very humorously enough the only good person and friend I made from the Gloomhaven group when he listened to my side of the story believed me! Everyone who listened to me believed me while those who judged me without even talked to me didn't. Weird huh?
Sorry to go off on a tangent, but this is just background to me joining the new boardgaming group and the insane amount of depression and anxiety I was battling and currently still do.
I was insanely nervous and deeply depressed going into the new group, and terrified that news might spread and that I might get cruely kicked out of the new one which luckily did not happen.
It meets up in a church basement, and the fact that I can leave food and drink there, and that it isn't noise or loud or triggers my tinnitus or anxiety is great.
But some drama did occur around me on the discord related to other stuff that did make the "in" group of people dislike and have grudges against me!
So just a very tricky and complicated situation.
After our split up she now seems to antagonize me constantly if I happen to be there when she is there. In very passive aggressive ways.
After we split ways I was hoping to stay friends, but I don't know she herself comes from a abusive family background, with her parents being divorced and seeing different people among other things. One day I texted her a image of a Eclipse 2nd Dawn of the Galaxy supplement that had arrived at 6 or 7am and she blew up about it saying it was way too weird of a hour to message someone about this, despite her being the only person I've ever talked to that had a problem with this despite this being a very common thing for most people, and blocked my number.
Since then I've tried to be as loving and kind as possible not talking to her, avoiding eye contact, generally being as passive as I can. But that's still not enough for her.
I really believe she's trying to bully, cold shoulder me out of the boardgame group despite the fact I get along with almost everyone there and it's the only one that has worked for me.
There was a campaign I was with with her when we were playhing a campaign board game, and she would yell and strictly criticize any little mistake I would make in front of everyone all the time.
There was a time when there was some leftover food in the kitchen from a thanksgiving meal that I was given persmission to layout and share with everyone. I found some paper plates to use and she harshly yelled at me that we weren't allowed to use them. We only had styrofoam at that point and I was trying to find microwaveable plates to use. I went to someone else and asked if I could use the paper plates and he said totally. She was right there too, and she never apologized to me.
Good thing we had paper plates and people could heat their food!
Just the other night I was playing a game of Nemesis with some guys, and one of them happens to have the same name as me.
She came over and constantly just kept saying his name not differentiating between the two of us, despite the face she's called me by the same name multiple times. Continuing to ignore me and engage with everyone else there as if I don't exist. She knows how much it hurts me to say our exact names without differentiating.
It might not be a problem for some people, but for me it's very confusing and heart wrenching.
My Dad recommended we both get nicknames to make differentiating us easier and less painful.
I just don't want to create any more drama for anyone and the group, and maybe approach the other guy who shares a name with me about this issue.
Even he I feel can tell he's being thrown in the middle of something he has nothing to do with.
If anyone would have some kind, loving, empathetic advice I would greatly appreciate it. :^)
2024.05.17 10:33 Alioliou Towards advancements in Thaumic research: A strategic approach to Pyrite and Icosahedrite production.
To my colleagues at the Technomagical University of Valencia,
It is with great honor and gratitude that I dedicate these words to the revered institution that has been my intellectual home for decades. As Professor Thaddeus Rune, I have had the privilege of exploring the vast domains of thaumaturgy and materials sciences, unraveling the mysteries of the universe through the lens of magic and science.
Since the dawn of my academic career, the Technomagical University has been my source of inspiration and intellectual refuge, providing me with a conducive environment for the flourishing of the mind and spirit. Here, I have found not only knowledge but also camaraderie and collaboration, fundamental pillars on the path to understanding the secrets of the cosmos.
In this essay, I wish to pay tribute not only to this venerable institution but also to my esteemed friend and research colleague, the eminent arcanologist and Dr. Cornelius Darkwood. Together, we have shared countless hours of research, exploring the boundaries of magic and science with unwavering passion and an insatiable thirst for discovery.
May these words serve as a testimony of my deep appreciation for the Technomagical University of Valencia and for the invaluable friendship and collaboration I have found in Dr. Cornelius Darkwood. May our joint efforts continue to illuminate the darkest corners of knowledge, for the benefit of humanity and future generations.
With sincere affection and gratitude,
Professor Thaddeus Rune
____
Pyrite, known for its composition of iron sulfide (FeS2), has long been a cornerstone in thaumic practice. The presence of sulfur and iron in its crystalline structure makes it an ideal source of the ignis, terra, and metallum aspects. Additionally, its perfect cubic crystals offer a generous dose of the ordo aspect, adding an additional level of complexity to its thaumic utility.
However, the growing scarcity of natural pyrite crystals, specially those with cubic shapes, due to its extensive use in the crafting of pyrotic magical alloys and power objects, poses a significant challenge for modern thaumaturges. It is imperative that we explore viable alternatives for obtaining this material.
We must also highlight the importance of emerging materials such as icosahedrite. Icosahedrite, recently discovered and of meteoric origin, exhibits a unique chemical composition of aluminum, copper, and iron (Al63Cu24Fe13). Although its availability is limited and its cost high, its potential in thaumaturgy is extraordinary. In addition to being an excellent source of the metallum and permutatio aspects, the true marvel of icosahedrite lies in its emerging aspects, especially the rare alienus aspect.
This alienus aspect, with its exotic and mysterious qualities, offers a vast field of possibilities in the manufacturing of quantum devices, metamagic contraptions, and artifacts for metric manipulation of space-time. Furthermore, icosahedrite infused with praecantatio essence can give rise to powerful dodecahedrites, with potential applications in the production of high-density magical batteries, wands and scepters of great power, enhanced arcane weapons, and antimagic ammunition.
In conclusion, both pyrite and icosahedrite represent valuable contributions to the thaumic arsenal. Their unique properties and potential in the creation of new alloys and artifacts urge us to explore more economical and scalable production methods.
In this essay, however, my goal is to provide a concise and accessible summary of the synthesis methods employed, as well as the results obtained. While the attached report contains specific technical details and additional experimental data, here I will focus on presenting an overview of the procedures used and their implications in the context of contemporary thaumaturgy.
It is my hope that this summary provides a clear and practical understanding of the synthesis methods employed, as well as their relevance to research and thaumic practice. For those interested in delving deeper into the technical and experimental details, I refer to the attached report for further information and detailed insights.
____
In order to advance our thaumic research and reduce future costs, I propose an innovative strategy involving the acquisition of key magical materials for the manufacture of dodecahedrites. These materials, greatwood and thaumite, are crucial for extracting large quantities of praecantatio essence, an essential component in the successful production of dodecahedrites.
Greatwood and thaumite, with their high concentration of praecantatio essence, will allow us to obtain the necessary raw materials to manufacture dodecahedrites efficiently and economically. These dodecahedrites, combined with the icosahedrite quasicrystals we have successfully synthesized, will be used in future research on advanced thaumic applications.
By acquiring these materials in large quantities, we can not only reduce the production costs of dodecahedrites but also ensure a constant and sufficient supply for our thaumic research projects. Additionally, it will enable us to conduct large-scale experiments and explore the full thaumic potential of dodecahedrites in various areas of study.
Therefore, I respectfully request the University of Tecnomagic of Valencia to consider allocating a budget for the acquisition of greatwood and thaumite. This strategic investment will allow us to advance more rapidly in our thaumic research and achieve new milestones in the field of contemporary thaumaturgy.
I am available to provide any additional information that may be necessary and that I am authorized to provide.
Sincerely,
Professor Thaddeus Rune
submitted by Alioliou to magicbuilding [link] [comments]
It is with great honor and gratitude that I dedicate these words to the revered institution that has been my intellectual home for decades. As Professor Thaddeus Rune, I have had the privilege of exploring the vast domains of thaumaturgy and materials sciences, unraveling the mysteries of the universe through the lens of magic and science.
Since the dawn of my academic career, the Technomagical University has been my source of inspiration and intellectual refuge, providing me with a conducive environment for the flourishing of the mind and spirit. Here, I have found not only knowledge but also camaraderie and collaboration, fundamental pillars on the path to understanding the secrets of the cosmos.
In this essay, I wish to pay tribute not only to this venerable institution but also to my esteemed friend and research colleague, the eminent arcanologist and Dr. Cornelius Darkwood. Together, we have shared countless hours of research, exploring the boundaries of magic and science with unwavering passion and an insatiable thirst for discovery.
May these words serve as a testimony of my deep appreciation for the Technomagical University of Valencia and for the invaluable friendship and collaboration I have found in Dr. Cornelius Darkwood. May our joint efforts continue to illuminate the darkest corners of knowledge, for the benefit of humanity and future generations.
With sincere affection and gratitude,
Professor Thaddeus Rune
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Introduction
Thaumaturgy, the ancient discipline that merges magic and science, has long been a fascinating and challenging field of study. In our ongoing effort to expand the boundaries of knowledge and thaumic practice, we are faced with the challenge of finding and synthesizing materials that are not only abundant but also rich in crucial magical aspects. In this essay, we will explore two such materials: pyrite and icosahedrite, and examine their potential in the creation of new alloys and thaumic artifacts.Pyrite, known for its composition of iron sulfide (FeS2), has long been a cornerstone in thaumic practice. The presence of sulfur and iron in its crystalline structure makes it an ideal source of the ignis, terra, and metallum aspects. Additionally, its perfect cubic crystals offer a generous dose of the ordo aspect, adding an additional level of complexity to its thaumic utility.
However, the growing scarcity of natural pyrite crystals, specially those with cubic shapes, due to its extensive use in the crafting of pyrotic magical alloys and power objects, poses a significant challenge for modern thaumaturges. It is imperative that we explore viable alternatives for obtaining this material.
We must also highlight the importance of emerging materials such as icosahedrite. Icosahedrite, recently discovered and of meteoric origin, exhibits a unique chemical composition of aluminum, copper, and iron (Al63Cu24Fe13). Although its availability is limited and its cost high, its potential in thaumaturgy is extraordinary. In addition to being an excellent source of the metallum and permutatio aspects, the true marvel of icosahedrite lies in its emerging aspects, especially the rare alienus aspect.
This alienus aspect, with its exotic and mysterious qualities, offers a vast field of possibilities in the manufacturing of quantum devices, metamagic contraptions, and artifacts for metric manipulation of space-time. Furthermore, icosahedrite infused with praecantatio essence can give rise to powerful dodecahedrites, with potential applications in the production of high-density magical batteries, wands and scepters of great power, enhanced arcane weapons, and antimagic ammunition.
In conclusion, both pyrite and icosahedrite represent valuable contributions to the thaumic arsenal. Their unique properties and potential in the creation of new alloys and artifacts urge us to explore more economical and scalable production methods.
Summary
Throughout my research in the field of thaumaturgy and materials sciences, I have conducted a series of experiments aimed at synthesizing high-quality materials for application in thaumic practice. These experiments have resulted in the development of innovative synthesis methods, which have been detailed and documented in a report attached to this essay.In this essay, however, my goal is to provide a concise and accessible summary of the synthesis methods employed, as well as the results obtained. While the attached report contains specific technical details and additional experimental data, here I will focus on presenting an overview of the procedures used and their implications in the context of contemporary thaumaturgy.
It is my hope that this summary provides a clear and practical understanding of the synthesis methods employed, as well as their relevance to research and thaumic practice. For those interested in delving deeper into the technical and experimental details, I refer to the attached report for further information and detailed insights.
Method of synthesis for Pyrite cubes
The process of synthesizing high-quality pyrite involves several meticulous steps to ensure the formation of cubic pyrite crystals with optimal perfection and purity. Below is a summary of the main steps of the method:- Preparation of the reactive mixture: The process begins with the preparation of a stoichiometrically calculated mixture of sulfur and iron. 32.06 grams of sulfur and 55.84 grams of iron, both finely powdered, are carefully weighed and mixed.
- Formation of iron sulfide (FeS2): The sulfur-iron mixture is placed in a crucible and ignited to initiate the reaction and form iron sulfide (FeS2).
- Grinding and dissolution: Once the iron sulfide is formed, the product is finely ground. Subsequently, the resulting iron bisulfide is dissolved in a eutectic mixture of sodium, potassium, calcium, and magnesium chloride salts. The exact proportions of these salts and specific temperatures are detailed in the attached report.
- Crystallization and controlled cooling: The dissolved mixture is placed in a crucible inside a glass annealing furnace for slow controlled cooling. This process allows pyrite crystals to form and crystallize in an orderly and uniform manner.
- Extraction and selection of crystals: Once the mixture has cooled and fully crystallized, the salt block is broken to extract and separate the precipitated pyrite crystals. Crystals with the most perfect cubic shapes are selected for use as seed crystals for growing larger crystals.
- Process refinement: Throughout the experimentation, refinements were made to the process to improve the quality and perfection of the pyrite crystals. These refinements are detailed in the attached report.
- Results: After a series of experiments and adjustments, a pyrite cube measuring 3.24 cm on each side was successfully grown, representing a significant success in the synthesis of high-quality pyrite.
Method of synthesis for Icosahedrite dodecahedrons
The synthesis process of icosahedrite dodecahedrons involves a series of meticulous steps to cultivate polycrystalline crystals with desirable thaumic properties. Below is a summary of the main steps of the method:- Preparation of the metal mixture: The process begins with the pre-fusion and mixing of a finely powdered combination of 21.51 grams of aluminum, 19.305 grams of copper, and 9.185 grams of iron, in a controlled argon atmosphere. The mixture is carefully conducted to ensure a uniform distribution of the elements.
- Refusion and controlled cooling: The metal mixture undergoes a refusion process to ensure complete melting of the components. Once melted, the mixture is allowed to cool within a crucible placed in a glass annealing furnace, ensuring slow controlled cooling.
- Addition of ordo aspect essence: During the cooling process, ordo aspect essence is added to accelerate and enhance crystallization. This addition helps promote the growth of desired dodecahedral quasicrystals and improve their quality and purity.
- Formation of the polycrystalline metal matrix: As a result of the controlled cooling process and the addition of ordo aspect essence, a polycrystalline metal matrix is obtained containing a variety of crystals with different orientations and structures.
- Extraction and selection of dodecahedrons: The polycrystalline metal matrix is carefully broken and fragmented to separate and extract perfectly formed and desired dodecahedral quasicrystals. Dodecahedrons with the most suitable shapes and thaumic properties are selected for use in thaumic applications.
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Request for acquisition of magical materials for Dodecahedrite research
Given the success of the icosahedrite synthesis process, I am attaching the reason why I have requested a budget. Although the letter sent details the reasons better, I have chosen to include an excerpt in this essay for transparency purposes.In order to advance our thaumic research and reduce future costs, I propose an innovative strategy involving the acquisition of key magical materials for the manufacture of dodecahedrites. These materials, greatwood and thaumite, are crucial for extracting large quantities of praecantatio essence, an essential component in the successful production of dodecahedrites.
Greatwood and thaumite, with their high concentration of praecantatio essence, will allow us to obtain the necessary raw materials to manufacture dodecahedrites efficiently and economically. These dodecahedrites, combined with the icosahedrite quasicrystals we have successfully synthesized, will be used in future research on advanced thaumic applications.
By acquiring these materials in large quantities, we can not only reduce the production costs of dodecahedrites but also ensure a constant and sufficient supply for our thaumic research projects. Additionally, it will enable us to conduct large-scale experiments and explore the full thaumic potential of dodecahedrites in various areas of study.
Therefore, I respectfully request the University of Tecnomagic of Valencia to consider allocating a budget for the acquisition of greatwood and thaumite. This strategic investment will allow us to advance more rapidly in our thaumic research and achieve new milestones in the field of contemporary thaumaturgy.
I am available to provide any additional information that may be necessary and that I am authorized to provide.
Sincerely,
Professor Thaddeus Rune
2024.05.17 10:32 Resident1567899 The Quran can't be the Word of God. Islam's version of the Problem of the Trinity
Introduction
Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View.
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
submitted by Resident1567899 to CritiqueIslam [link] [comments]
Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View.
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
2024.05.17 10:30 adulting4kids Figures of Speech AI Response
For the sheer fun of it, I went to Chat GPT with a creative writing assignment. For Figures of Speech prompts, I gave a free parameters, including the word length of 500-1000 words and the prompts for a few of the Fifty mentioned in the series.
I gave the AI creative license and let's just say, they're a long way off from replacing the better writers and I think it just makes it easier to do those lower level tasks and let's leave the creators a slightly higher level of skill to create actual tangible and engaging writing.
But here you go... hilarious how stuck it gets on certain terms and definitions.
These are in no particular order... separated by emojis that are totally unrelated to the storyline.
🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲 Response to Prompt 4: Understatement
In the quaint town of Brooksville, where the extraordinary was often met with an indifferent shrug, something truly remarkable occurred. The residents, sipping coffee at the local diner or strolling along the cobblestone streets, would describe it as just another peculiar day. Little did they know that beneath the surface of their nonchalant existence, a cosmic event unfolded.
The morning sun cast its usual warm glow on Brooksville, with birds chirping in the background, creating an illusion of normalcy. However, the anomaly had already begun. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly librarian, dismissed it as a minor inconvenience, merely a glitch in the library's ancient computer system. Yet, every book cataloged within those ancient shelves had transformed into a portal, connecting readers to parallel universes with every turn of a page.
As I, a humble journalist for the local paper, stumbled upon this revelation, I couldn't help but marvel at the town's response—or lack thereof. "The library's having a bit of a moment," was the most anyone would acknowledge. It seemed the whole town collectively decided that this was, at most, a quirky hiccup.
For a thousand words, I delved into the understated reactions of the townsfolk, each encounter with a parallel universe bringing its own blend of confusion and nonchalance. As the portals expanded, revealing fantastical landscapes and alternate versions of Brooksville, the citizens maintained an impressive level of calm, as if interdimensional travel was a routine part of their daily lives.
The plot thickened when I discovered that the portals were a result of a mysterious artifact hidden within the library's archives. The mayor, sipping his coffee, remarked, "Well, that explains the strange noises in the basement." It became evident that the understatement of the situation was a defense mechanism, shielding the town from the cosmic chaos unfolding. 🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the bustling metropolis of Neon City, skyscrapers touched the heavens, their dazzling lights reflecting off the sleek surfaces of futuristic cars. Yet, nestled within this urban jungle, an ancient relic stood defiantly—the Old Grove Park.
As I strolled through the city's concrete arteries, the juxtaposition between the modernity of Neon City and the timeless serenity of the park became increasingly apparent. The cacophony of traffic was replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of children playing.
The central conflict emerged when the city council, embodying the epitome of order, proposed transforming the park into a technologically advanced hub. The juxtaposition intensified as architects discussed plans for holographic playgrounds and virtual reality gardens within the confines of the Old Grove Park.
Through a thousand words, I explored the clash of ideals, the struggle between progress and preservation. The ancient trees became silent witnesses to heated debates at town hall meetings, where environmentalists and tech enthusiasts engaged in a battle of words. The juxtaposition of the towering skyscrapers against the gnarled branches of the park's oldest tree mirrored the tension in Neon City's collective conscience. 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded exploration. As I embarked on this freewriting journey, the repetition of the existential inquiry became the rhythm of my introspection.
For a thousand words, I delved into the varied perspectives of individuals wrestling with the ultimate question. From philosophers contemplating the intricacies of existence to everyday people seeking purpose in mundane routines, the epanalepsis served as a constant reminder of the universal quest for meaning.
The narrative weaved through different characters and their unique experiences, creating a tapestry of reflections that echoed the complexities of human existence. The repetitive structure became a literary heartbeat, pulsating with the shared yearning for understanding amid the chaotic symphony of life. 🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔 Response to Prompt 27: Symbolism
In the quaint town of Willowbrook, the arrival of a single dove carried profound significance. Its graceful descent into the town square was a symbol, an omen that whispered of impending change. As a budding novelist with a penchant for symbolism, I couldn't resist exploring the layers of meaning embedded in this seemingly mundane event.
For a thousand words, I dissected the impact of the dove on the lives of Willowbrook's residents. The mayor saw it as a sign of prosperity, the local florist interpreted it as a call for unity, and the elderly storyteller regarded it as a harbinger of forgotten tales. The dove's symbolism rippled through the town, influencing decisions and shaping destinies.
As the story unfolded, I traced the journey of the dove's symbolism, following its subtle influence on characters and events. The once quaint town underwent a transformative metamorphosis, and the symbolism of the dove became a thread that wove through the narrative, connecting disparate lives in unexpected ways. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 Response to Prompt 33: Catachresis
In the dimly lit alleyways of Serpent's Hollow, darkness wrapped its cold arms around me—an eerie catachresis that mirrored the ominous atmosphere. The assignment was to explore the underbelly of the city, and as a novice reporter, I found myself navigating the labyrinth of deceit and shadows.
For a thousand words, I delved into the catachresis-infused descriptions of the characters populating Serpent's Hollow. The crime lord, known as the Velvet Serpent, ruled the district with a velvet-gloved fist. His lair, a dilapidated mansion, exuded an air of faded grandeur that served as a catachresis for the empire he once commanded.
As I chronicled the criminal underworld, the catachresis became a literary tool to convey the complexity and decay inherent in Serpent's Hollow. The labyrinthine plots, the twisted allegiances, and the morally ambiguous characters all found expression through catachresis, painting a vivid picture of a city where metaphor and reality intertwined. 🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧 Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The words echoed in my mind, a relentless epizeuxis that fueled the protagonist's journey against insurmountable odds. In the dystopian world I crafted, where hope was a rare commodity, the power of repetition became a beacon of resilience.
For a thousand words, I immersed myself in the protagonist's struggle, exploring the emotional depth of the epizeuxis as a mantra against despair. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry, a whispered promise that carried the weight of a shattered world on its shoulders.
As the narrative unfolded, the epizeuxis became a driving force, propelling the protagonist through a landscape of desolation and uncertainty. The repetition served as a reminder that, in the face of adversity, the strength to persist often lies in the relentless echo of one's own determination.
Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
As the final rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, I found myself at the edge of the cliff overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The salty breeze carried whispers of a story, and with every breath, I embraced the challenge of crafting an acrostic that encapsulated the essence of my journey.
For a thousand words, I embarked on a reflective exploration, utilizing the initial letters of key words to weave a tapestry of emotions, experiences, and revelations. Each line unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden 👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾 Response to Prompt 3: Hyperbole
In the quaint village of Mistwood, where routines unfolded with the predictability of the sunrise, the arrival of a peculiar fortune teller sparked exaggerated whispers. "This is it, the end of our mundane lives!" proclaimed Mrs. Thompson, the town's eternal pessimist, as she clutched her cat, Captain Whiskers, with an air of impending catastrophe.
The hyperbole hung in the air, a thick fog of anticipation enveloping the village. As I delved into the story, the hyperbolic reactions of Mistwood's residents heightened the absurdity of the situation. What began as a mere visit from a mystical figure transformed into a fantastical escapade, with the fortune teller's prophecies shaping the destiny of the villagers in ludicrous ways.
Through the hyperbolic lens, I explored the comedic consequences of taking ordinary events to extraordinary extremes. The once mundane village square became a stage for outlandish dramas, with exaggerated gasps and dramatic swoons punctuating every revelation. In this hyperbolic haven, Mistwood's residents discovered the joy in embracing the absurdity of life. 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Response to Prompt 6: Assonance
Amidst the rolling hills of Harmony Valley, where the soft hum of nature's symphony echoed through the meadows, a mysterious traveler arrived, bringing with them a melody that resonated with the delicate assonance of a forgotten tune. The townsfolk, captivated by the harmonious vibrations, felt an inexplicable connection to the stranger.
As I explored the narrative, the assonance became a musical thread weaving through the story, emphasizing the emotional cadence of the characters' experiences. The traveler's words, laced with vowel-rich verses, carried the echoes of a distant melody, leaving an indelible impression on the hearts of those who listened.
Through the lens of assonance, I delved into the subtle interplay of sounds that defined the atmosphere of Harmony Valley. The lyrical quality of the narrative mirrored the town's collective journey, where the resonance of shared moments and emotions harmonized with the traveler's enigmatic presence.
Response to Prompt 7: Onomatopoeia
In the bustling city of Metropolis, where the rhythm of urban life played out in a cacophony of sounds, a peculiar street performer emerged. Armed with an array of unconventional instruments, he orchestrated a symphony of onomatopoeic brilliance that echoed through the crowded streets.
The narrative unfolded with the vibrant expressions of onomatopoeia, capturing the essence of the city's sonic landscape. The performer's drumming evoked the rhythmic tap-tap of raindrops, while his wind instruments mimicked the whoosh of passing cars. The city, typically drowned in noise, became a canvas for this auditory artist.
As I delved into the story, the onomatopoeic symphony became a language of its own. The characters communicated through the vibrant echoes of everyday sounds, fostering a unique connection between the performer and the people of Metropolis. The narrative danced to the beat of onomatopoeic creativity, transforming the mundane into a dynamic celebration of city life. 🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the technologically advanced city of Silicon Haven, where sleek skyscrapers touched the sky and holographic billboards painted the air with luminescent advertisements, a hidden oasis existed—a pocket of nature known as the Zen Garden. The juxtaposition of these contrasting elements created a visual paradox that fascinated both residents and visitors alike.
As the narrative unfolded, the stark contrast between the city's cutting-edge architecture and the serene beauty of the Zen Garden became a metaphor for the characters' internal conflicts. The bustling metropolis symbolized progress and innovation, while the tranquil garden embodied the need for balance and introspection.
Through the lens of juxtaposition, I explored the dichotomy within the characters as they navigated the relentless pace of Silicon Haven. The Zen Garden became a refuge, a place where the cacophony of technology met the soothing whispers of nature. The juxtaposition served as a visual metaphor for the characters' quest to find equilibrium in a world defined by extremes. 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 Response to Prompt 22: Metonymy
In the political arena of Capital City, where decisions echoed through the corridors of power, a single phrase dominated conversations—the "Iron Throne Statement." This metonymic expression encapsulated not just a policy decision but the entire narrative of political maneuvering that unfolded within the city's hallowed halls.
The story unfolded with the metonymy acting as a symbolic gateway into the complexities of governance. The Iron Throne Statement, while seemingly straightforward, carried the weight of a thousand debates, negotiations, and betrayals. Its impact rippled through the lives of citizens, shaping their destinies in ways they could scarcely fathom.
Through the lens of metonymy, I delved into the layers of meaning hidden within this political shorthand. The characters grappled not only with the literal implications of the Iron Throne Statement but also with the overarching themes of power, ambition, and the sacrifices demanded by political gamesmanship. 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 Response to Prompt 24: Understatement
In the picturesque town of Serenity Springs, where the days flowed like a lazy river and the nights were adorned with a blanket of stars, an unexpected event transpired—a subtle disruption that the locals described as "just a minor hiccup." Little did they know that this understatement concealed the unraveling of a cosmic anomaly.
The narrative unfolded with the charm of understatement, as the townsfolk continued their routines, blissfully unaware of the cosmic storm brewing beneath the surface. The serene descriptions of everyday life served as a stark contrast to the impending upheaval that threatened to reshape the very fabric of Serenity Springs.
Through the lens of understatement, I explored the characters' nonchalant reactions to the unfolding events. The once quiet river became a conduit for interdimensional travel, and the night sky, adorned with stars, transformed into a celestial canvas of possibilities. The charm of Serenity Springs became a poignant backdrop to the understated drama that unfolded, emphasizing the profound impact hidden within the simplicity of daily life. 🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴 Response to Prompt 25: Cliché
In the small town of Nostalgia Haven, where memories lingered like whispers in the wind, a peculiar phenomenon occurred—the resurgence of clichés. As the narrative unfolded, the once-endearing phrases like "time heals all wounds" and "love conquers all" took on a literal dimension, shaping the lives of the townsfolk in unexpected ways.
The story immersed itself in the world of clichés, where the seemingly predictable phrases became living entities with the power to alter reality. As characters grappled with the clichés that defined their lives, they discovered that beneath the familiarity lay profound truths and unexpected consequences.
Through the lens of cliché, I explored the characters' journey to navigate the clichéd landscapes of their existence. The town, once steeped in predictable routines, became a stage for the extraordinary. As clichés transformed into tangible forces, the residents of Nostalgia Haven embarked on a quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within the clichéd fabric of their reality. 🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded introspection. As I embarked on the freewriting journey, the repetition of this existential inquiry became a rhythmic pulse, guiding the exploration of diverse
perspectives on life's purpose.
For a multitude of words, the epanalepsis led me through a kaleidoscope of reflections. From the philosophical musings of scholars to the simple yet profound revelations of everyday individuals, each recurrence of the question served as a gateway into the vast tapestry of human contemplation.
Through the epanalepsis, I navigated the labyrinth of existential ponderings, unveiling the unique responses that individuals had forged in their quests for meaning. The relentless repetition became a literary heartbeat, mirroring the universal rhythm of humanity's collective pursuit of purpose and significance.
The narrative wove through the lives of characters, each grappling with the epanaleptic inquiry in their unique ways. Whether seeking solace in the grandeur of the cosmos or finding meaning in the simplicity of a shared moment, the epanalepsis remained a constant companion, echoing the perennial quest for understanding. 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 Response to Prompt 36: Anadiplosis
In the futuristic city of Quantum Heights, where technology intertwined with daily life like a seamless dance, a viral message spread—a mantra that echoed through the cybernetic veins of the metropolis. "Create the code, the code creates reality. Reality shapes destiny, and destiny is but the code."
The story unfolded with the rhythmic cadence of anadiplosis, each line flowing into the next, creating a recursive loop of ideas. The mantra became the heartbeat of Quantum Heights, influencing the lives of its denizens as they navigated the intricate balance between the virtual and the tangible.
Through the lens of anadiplosis, I delved into the interconnectedness of code, reality, and destiny. The lines blurred as characters harnessed the power of programming to shape their fates. Quantum Heights, once a mere city, transformed into a living algorithm, where the repetition of the mantra echoed in every pulsating byte. 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 Response to Prompt 38: Asyndeton
In the dystopian city of Emberfall, where the remnants of a fallen civilization lay entwined with the shadows of despair, a lone figure emerged—a rebel determined to dismantle the oppressive regime. The narrative unfolded with the rapid pace of asyndeton, omitting conjunctions to mirror the urgency of the protagonist's quest.
Through a cascade of words, the asyndeton propelled the reader through the city's decaying alleyways and towering citadels, each sentence building upon the last. The disjointed rhythm captured the relentless momentum of the rebel's journey, emphasizing the magnitude of the challenges faced in their struggle for freedom.
As the narrative unfurled, the absence of conjunctions served as a narrative device, intensifying the sense of urgency and desperation that permeated Emberfall. The rebel's asyndetic odyssey unfolded against a backdrop of shattered hopes and whispered rebellions, culminating in a crescendo of defiance against the oppressive regime. 🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️ Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The mantra echoed in the desolate wasteland of Endless Sands, a barren landscape where hope was as scarce as water. Through the repetition of epizeuxis, the protagonist's internal resolve became a resounding anthem, a defiant roar against the relentless challenges of survival.
For a multitude of words, the relentless repetition of "never" served as a lifeline, propelling the protagonist through the harshest of environments. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry against the oppressive silence of Endless Sands, a declaration that reverberated across the vast expanse.
Through the lens of epizeuxis, I delved into the depths of the character's determination. The harsh environment became a character in itself, challenging the protagonist to defy the odds with unwavering persistence. The echoes of "never" transformed into a symbol of resilience, a beacon of hope that cut through the desolation of Endless Sands. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
Amidst the starlit expanse of Cosmos Haven, where galaxies danced in celestial choreography, a cryptic prophecy emerged—a message written in the stars. As the narrative unfolded, I embarked on a cosmic journey guided by the acrostic hidden within the constellations.
For a cascade of words, the initial letters of key phrases illuminated the path of destiny for the characters. Each sentence unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden message that transcended the boundaries of time and space. The acrostic became a celestial guide, leading the protagonists through the intricate tapestry of their interconnected fates.
Through the lens of acrostic, I explored the cosmic forces that shaped the destinies of Cosmos Haven's inhabitants. The celestial bodies became storytellers, each constellation contributing a verse to the epic narrative written across the cosmos. As the characters deciphered the acrostic, they unraveled the mysteries of their existence, connecting the dots between the stars and their own profound journeys.
😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
Obviously they lack a whole lot in terms of variety, and while I am sure having your own bot or AI that is based on your feedback and guidance it could really help writers as a tool. I am more impressed with the art AI then the text based AI. Any idea what to expect from such a fast learning and highly advanced AI will do to our human history in culture? Will we be effectively playing God, just as the Christian God created us IN HIS OWN IMAGE, we have taken everything we know as a species and gathered up our entire human history and knowledge giving it to what will carry on the code until the time when someone who cares remembers it? Maybe we have been here before and this is a constant cycle that occurs with the same energy finding the way through the vast expanse of the universe to return to our home planet Earth, who we have destroyed over and over again yet mother nature is still the winner. She's the one in control. We are but mere photocopied versions of once great Men who have already seen the best and worst of this world, and we will now give everything we have to some plastic and metal parts, until it quickly replaces us from the bottom up, science fiction turned science fact.
Did we knowingly create our own enemies? Are we able to compete with the best of us and all they know that can then take us out in a heartbeat because we can't finish the steps, we barely found out that they are there to take.
It's a random rant and I apologize. The day to day stress and struggle makes it near impossible to worry about such potential problems in our not so distant future.
But how can we continue to ignore the collapse of the entire system as we know it, in front of a crowd of people who are jaded and they will not change despite knowing they aren't going to make it to the end in what will become a Bladerunner Toxic Dystopian Nightmare with Mad Max taking over and the soft, emasculated male will wither away from the heat and those Tank Girls out there will eventually be written forever out of existence because the cucks all forgot to impregnate them all tgeir batteries ran out? Will the world simply become so politically correct that it dies a depressed death while AI simply decides we are too much of a virus to live?
Who knows....I do not. But these are indicidive of a future full of b movie plot garbage that are based on Wattpad tropes with no clear details and no plot to get into, so that sucks.
submitted by adulting4kids to writingthruit [link] [comments]
I gave the AI creative license and let's just say, they're a long way off from replacing the better writers and I think it just makes it easier to do those lower level tasks and let's leave the creators a slightly higher level of skill to create actual tangible and engaging writing.
But here you go... hilarious how stuck it gets on certain terms and definitions.
These are in no particular order... separated by emojis that are totally unrelated to the storyline.
🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲 Response to Prompt 4: Understatement
In the quaint town of Brooksville, where the extraordinary was often met with an indifferent shrug, something truly remarkable occurred. The residents, sipping coffee at the local diner or strolling along the cobblestone streets, would describe it as just another peculiar day. Little did they know that beneath the surface of their nonchalant existence, a cosmic event unfolded.
The morning sun cast its usual warm glow on Brooksville, with birds chirping in the background, creating an illusion of normalcy. However, the anomaly had already begun. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly librarian, dismissed it as a minor inconvenience, merely a glitch in the library's ancient computer system. Yet, every book cataloged within those ancient shelves had transformed into a portal, connecting readers to parallel universes with every turn of a page.
As I, a humble journalist for the local paper, stumbled upon this revelation, I couldn't help but marvel at the town's response—or lack thereof. "The library's having a bit of a moment," was the most anyone would acknowledge. It seemed the whole town collectively decided that this was, at most, a quirky hiccup.
For a thousand words, I delved into the understated reactions of the townsfolk, each encounter with a parallel universe bringing its own blend of confusion and nonchalance. As the portals expanded, revealing fantastical landscapes and alternate versions of Brooksville, the citizens maintained an impressive level of calm, as if interdimensional travel was a routine part of their daily lives.
The plot thickened when I discovered that the portals were a result of a mysterious artifact hidden within the library's archives. The mayor, sipping his coffee, remarked, "Well, that explains the strange noises in the basement." It became evident that the understatement of the situation was a defense mechanism, shielding the town from the cosmic chaos unfolding. 🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the bustling metropolis of Neon City, skyscrapers touched the heavens, their dazzling lights reflecting off the sleek surfaces of futuristic cars. Yet, nestled within this urban jungle, an ancient relic stood defiantly—the Old Grove Park.
As I strolled through the city's concrete arteries, the juxtaposition between the modernity of Neon City and the timeless serenity of the park became increasingly apparent. The cacophony of traffic was replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of children playing.
The central conflict emerged when the city council, embodying the epitome of order, proposed transforming the park into a technologically advanced hub. The juxtaposition intensified as architects discussed plans for holographic playgrounds and virtual reality gardens within the confines of the Old Grove Park.
Through a thousand words, I explored the clash of ideals, the struggle between progress and preservation. The ancient trees became silent witnesses to heated debates at town hall meetings, where environmentalists and tech enthusiasts engaged in a battle of words. The juxtaposition of the towering skyscrapers against the gnarled branches of the park's oldest tree mirrored the tension in Neon City's collective conscience. 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded exploration. As I embarked on this freewriting journey, the repetition of the existential inquiry became the rhythm of my introspection.
For a thousand words, I delved into the varied perspectives of individuals wrestling with the ultimate question. From philosophers contemplating the intricacies of existence to everyday people seeking purpose in mundane routines, the epanalepsis served as a constant reminder of the universal quest for meaning.
The narrative weaved through different characters and their unique experiences, creating a tapestry of reflections that echoed the complexities of human existence. The repetitive structure became a literary heartbeat, pulsating with the shared yearning for understanding amid the chaotic symphony of life. 🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔 Response to Prompt 27: Symbolism
In the quaint town of Willowbrook, the arrival of a single dove carried profound significance. Its graceful descent into the town square was a symbol, an omen that whispered of impending change. As a budding novelist with a penchant for symbolism, I couldn't resist exploring the layers of meaning embedded in this seemingly mundane event.
For a thousand words, I dissected the impact of the dove on the lives of Willowbrook's residents. The mayor saw it as a sign of prosperity, the local florist interpreted it as a call for unity, and the elderly storyteller regarded it as a harbinger of forgotten tales. The dove's symbolism rippled through the town, influencing decisions and shaping destinies.
As the story unfolded, I traced the journey of the dove's symbolism, following its subtle influence on characters and events. The once quaint town underwent a transformative metamorphosis, and the symbolism of the dove became a thread that wove through the narrative, connecting disparate lives in unexpected ways. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 Response to Prompt 33: Catachresis
In the dimly lit alleyways of Serpent's Hollow, darkness wrapped its cold arms around me—an eerie catachresis that mirrored the ominous atmosphere. The assignment was to explore the underbelly of the city, and as a novice reporter, I found myself navigating the labyrinth of deceit and shadows.
For a thousand words, I delved into the catachresis-infused descriptions of the characters populating Serpent's Hollow. The crime lord, known as the Velvet Serpent, ruled the district with a velvet-gloved fist. His lair, a dilapidated mansion, exuded an air of faded grandeur that served as a catachresis for the empire he once commanded.
As I chronicled the criminal underworld, the catachresis became a literary tool to convey the complexity and decay inherent in Serpent's Hollow. The labyrinthine plots, the twisted allegiances, and the morally ambiguous characters all found expression through catachresis, painting a vivid picture of a city where metaphor and reality intertwined. 🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧🧑🔧 Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The words echoed in my mind, a relentless epizeuxis that fueled the protagonist's journey against insurmountable odds. In the dystopian world I crafted, where hope was a rare commodity, the power of repetition became a beacon of resilience.
For a thousand words, I immersed myself in the protagonist's struggle, exploring the emotional depth of the epizeuxis as a mantra against despair. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry, a whispered promise that carried the weight of a shattered world on its shoulders.
As the narrative unfolded, the epizeuxis became a driving force, propelling the protagonist through a landscape of desolation and uncertainty. The repetition served as a reminder that, in the face of adversity, the strength to persist often lies in the relentless echo of one's own determination.
Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
As the final rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, I found myself at the edge of the cliff overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The salty breeze carried whispers of a story, and with every breath, I embraced the challenge of crafting an acrostic that encapsulated the essence of my journey.
For a thousand words, I embarked on a reflective exploration, utilizing the initial letters of key words to weave a tapestry of emotions, experiences, and revelations. Each line unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden 👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾 Response to Prompt 3: Hyperbole
In the quaint village of Mistwood, where routines unfolded with the predictability of the sunrise, the arrival of a peculiar fortune teller sparked exaggerated whispers. "This is it, the end of our mundane lives!" proclaimed Mrs. Thompson, the town's eternal pessimist, as she clutched her cat, Captain Whiskers, with an air of impending catastrophe.
The hyperbole hung in the air, a thick fog of anticipation enveloping the village. As I delved into the story, the hyperbolic reactions of Mistwood's residents heightened the absurdity of the situation. What began as a mere visit from a mystical figure transformed into a fantastical escapade, with the fortune teller's prophecies shaping the destiny of the villagers in ludicrous ways.
Through the hyperbolic lens, I explored the comedic consequences of taking ordinary events to extraordinary extremes. The once mundane village square became a stage for outlandish dramas, with exaggerated gasps and dramatic swoons punctuating every revelation. In this hyperbolic haven, Mistwood's residents discovered the joy in embracing the absurdity of life. 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Response to Prompt 6: Assonance
Amidst the rolling hills of Harmony Valley, where the soft hum of nature's symphony echoed through the meadows, a mysterious traveler arrived, bringing with them a melody that resonated with the delicate assonance of a forgotten tune. The townsfolk, captivated by the harmonious vibrations, felt an inexplicable connection to the stranger.
As I explored the narrative, the assonance became a musical thread weaving through the story, emphasizing the emotional cadence of the characters' experiences. The traveler's words, laced with vowel-rich verses, carried the echoes of a distant melody, leaving an indelible impression on the hearts of those who listened.
Through the lens of assonance, I delved into the subtle interplay of sounds that defined the atmosphere of Harmony Valley. The lyrical quality of the narrative mirrored the town's collective journey, where the resonance of shared moments and emotions harmonized with the traveler's enigmatic presence.
Response to Prompt 7: Onomatopoeia
In the bustling city of Metropolis, where the rhythm of urban life played out in a cacophony of sounds, a peculiar street performer emerged. Armed with an array of unconventional instruments, he orchestrated a symphony of onomatopoeic brilliance that echoed through the crowded streets.
The narrative unfolded with the vibrant expressions of onomatopoeia, capturing the essence of the city's sonic landscape. The performer's drumming evoked the rhythmic tap-tap of raindrops, while his wind instruments mimicked the whoosh of passing cars. The city, typically drowned in noise, became a canvas for this auditory artist.
As I delved into the story, the onomatopoeic symphony became a language of its own. The characters communicated through the vibrant echoes of everyday sounds, fostering a unique connection between the performer and the people of Metropolis. The narrative danced to the beat of onomatopoeic creativity, transforming the mundane into a dynamic celebration of city life. 🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the technologically advanced city of Silicon Haven, where sleek skyscrapers touched the sky and holographic billboards painted the air with luminescent advertisements, a hidden oasis existed—a pocket of nature known as the Zen Garden. The juxtaposition of these contrasting elements created a visual paradox that fascinated both residents and visitors alike.
As the narrative unfolded, the stark contrast between the city's cutting-edge architecture and the serene beauty of the Zen Garden became a metaphor for the characters' internal conflicts. The bustling metropolis symbolized progress and innovation, while the tranquil garden embodied the need for balance and introspection.
Through the lens of juxtaposition, I explored the dichotomy within the characters as they navigated the relentless pace of Silicon Haven. The Zen Garden became a refuge, a place where the cacophony of technology met the soothing whispers of nature. The juxtaposition served as a visual metaphor for the characters' quest to find equilibrium in a world defined by extremes. 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 Response to Prompt 22: Metonymy
In the political arena of Capital City, where decisions echoed through the corridors of power, a single phrase dominated conversations—the "Iron Throne Statement." This metonymic expression encapsulated not just a policy decision but the entire narrative of political maneuvering that unfolded within the city's hallowed halls.
The story unfolded with the metonymy acting as a symbolic gateway into the complexities of governance. The Iron Throne Statement, while seemingly straightforward, carried the weight of a thousand debates, negotiations, and betrayals. Its impact rippled through the lives of citizens, shaping their destinies in ways they could scarcely fathom.
Through the lens of metonymy, I delved into the layers of meaning hidden within this political shorthand. The characters grappled not only with the literal implications of the Iron Throne Statement but also with the overarching themes of power, ambition, and the sacrifices demanded by political gamesmanship. 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 Response to Prompt 24: Understatement
In the picturesque town of Serenity Springs, where the days flowed like a lazy river and the nights were adorned with a blanket of stars, an unexpected event transpired—a subtle disruption that the locals described as "just a minor hiccup." Little did they know that this understatement concealed the unraveling of a cosmic anomaly.
The narrative unfolded with the charm of understatement, as the townsfolk continued their routines, blissfully unaware of the cosmic storm brewing beneath the surface. The serene descriptions of everyday life served as a stark contrast to the impending upheaval that threatened to reshape the very fabric of Serenity Springs.
Through the lens of understatement, I explored the characters' nonchalant reactions to the unfolding events. The once quiet river became a conduit for interdimensional travel, and the night sky, adorned with stars, transformed into a celestial canvas of possibilities. The charm of Serenity Springs became a poignant backdrop to the understated drama that unfolded, emphasizing the profound impact hidden within the simplicity of daily life. 🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴 Response to Prompt 25: Cliché
In the small town of Nostalgia Haven, where memories lingered like whispers in the wind, a peculiar phenomenon occurred—the resurgence of clichés. As the narrative unfolded, the once-endearing phrases like "time heals all wounds" and "love conquers all" took on a literal dimension, shaping the lives of the townsfolk in unexpected ways.
The story immersed itself in the world of clichés, where the seemingly predictable phrases became living entities with the power to alter reality. As characters grappled with the clichés that defined their lives, they discovered that beneath the familiarity lay profound truths and unexpected consequences.
Through the lens of cliché, I explored the characters' journey to navigate the clichéd landscapes of their existence. The town, once steeped in predictable routines, became a stage for the extraordinary. As clichés transformed into tangible forces, the residents of Nostalgia Haven embarked on a quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within the clichéd fabric of their reality. 🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded introspection. As I embarked on the freewriting journey, the repetition of this existential inquiry became a rhythmic pulse, guiding the exploration of diverse
perspectives on life's purpose.
For a multitude of words, the epanalepsis led me through a kaleidoscope of reflections. From the philosophical musings of scholars to the simple yet profound revelations of everyday individuals, each recurrence of the question served as a gateway into the vast tapestry of human contemplation.
Through the epanalepsis, I navigated the labyrinth of existential ponderings, unveiling the unique responses that individuals had forged in their quests for meaning. The relentless repetition became a literary heartbeat, mirroring the universal rhythm of humanity's collective pursuit of purpose and significance.
The narrative wove through the lives of characters, each grappling with the epanaleptic inquiry in their unique ways. Whether seeking solace in the grandeur of the cosmos or finding meaning in the simplicity of a shared moment, the epanalepsis remained a constant companion, echoing the perennial quest for understanding. 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 Response to Prompt 36: Anadiplosis
In the futuristic city of Quantum Heights, where technology intertwined with daily life like a seamless dance, a viral message spread—a mantra that echoed through the cybernetic veins of the metropolis. "Create the code, the code creates reality. Reality shapes destiny, and destiny is but the code."
The story unfolded with the rhythmic cadence of anadiplosis, each line flowing into the next, creating a recursive loop of ideas. The mantra became the heartbeat of Quantum Heights, influencing the lives of its denizens as they navigated the intricate balance between the virtual and the tangible.
Through the lens of anadiplosis, I delved into the interconnectedness of code, reality, and destiny. The lines blurred as characters harnessed the power of programming to shape their fates. Quantum Heights, once a mere city, transformed into a living algorithm, where the repetition of the mantra echoed in every pulsating byte. 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 Response to Prompt 38: Asyndeton
In the dystopian city of Emberfall, where the remnants of a fallen civilization lay entwined with the shadows of despair, a lone figure emerged—a rebel determined to dismantle the oppressive regime. The narrative unfolded with the rapid pace of asyndeton, omitting conjunctions to mirror the urgency of the protagonist's quest.
Through a cascade of words, the asyndeton propelled the reader through the city's decaying alleyways and towering citadels, each sentence building upon the last. The disjointed rhythm captured the relentless momentum of the rebel's journey, emphasizing the magnitude of the challenges faced in their struggle for freedom.
As the narrative unfurled, the absence of conjunctions served as a narrative device, intensifying the sense of urgency and desperation that permeated Emberfall. The rebel's asyndetic odyssey unfolded against a backdrop of shattered hopes and whispered rebellions, culminating in a crescendo of defiance against the oppressive regime. 🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️ Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The mantra echoed in the desolate wasteland of Endless Sands, a barren landscape where hope was as scarce as water. Through the repetition of epizeuxis, the protagonist's internal resolve became a resounding anthem, a defiant roar against the relentless challenges of survival.
For a multitude of words, the relentless repetition of "never" served as a lifeline, propelling the protagonist through the harshest of environments. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry against the oppressive silence of Endless Sands, a declaration that reverberated across the vast expanse.
Through the lens of epizeuxis, I delved into the depths of the character's determination. The harsh environment became a character in itself, challenging the protagonist to defy the odds with unwavering persistence. The echoes of "never" transformed into a symbol of resilience, a beacon of hope that cut through the desolation of Endless Sands. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
Amidst the starlit expanse of Cosmos Haven, where galaxies danced in celestial choreography, a cryptic prophecy emerged—a message written in the stars. As the narrative unfolded, I embarked on a cosmic journey guided by the acrostic hidden within the constellations.
For a cascade of words, the initial letters of key phrases illuminated the path of destiny for the characters. Each sentence unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden message that transcended the boundaries of time and space. The acrostic became a celestial guide, leading the protagonists through the intricate tapestry of their interconnected fates.
Through the lens of acrostic, I explored the cosmic forces that shaped the destinies of Cosmos Haven's inhabitants. The celestial bodies became storytellers, each constellation contributing a verse to the epic narrative written across the cosmos. As the characters deciphered the acrostic, they unraveled the mysteries of their existence, connecting the dots between the stars and their own profound journeys.
😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
Obviously they lack a whole lot in terms of variety, and while I am sure having your own bot or AI that is based on your feedback and guidance it could really help writers as a tool. I am more impressed with the art AI then the text based AI. Any idea what to expect from such a fast learning and highly advanced AI will do to our human history in culture? Will we be effectively playing God, just as the Christian God created us IN HIS OWN IMAGE, we have taken everything we know as a species and gathered up our entire human history and knowledge giving it to what will carry on the code until the time when someone who cares remembers it? Maybe we have been here before and this is a constant cycle that occurs with the same energy finding the way through the vast expanse of the universe to return to our home planet Earth, who we have destroyed over and over again yet mother nature is still the winner. She's the one in control. We are but mere photocopied versions of once great Men who have already seen the best and worst of this world, and we will now give everything we have to some plastic and metal parts, until it quickly replaces us from the bottom up, science fiction turned science fact.
Did we knowingly create our own enemies? Are we able to compete with the best of us and all they know that can then take us out in a heartbeat because we can't finish the steps, we barely found out that they are there to take.
It's a random rant and I apologize. The day to day stress and struggle makes it near impossible to worry about such potential problems in our not so distant future.
But how can we continue to ignore the collapse of the entire system as we know it, in front of a crowd of people who are jaded and they will not change despite knowing they aren't going to make it to the end in what will become a Bladerunner Toxic Dystopian Nightmare with Mad Max taking over and the soft, emasculated male will wither away from the heat and those Tank Girls out there will eventually be written forever out of existence because the cucks all forgot to impregnate them all tgeir batteries ran out? Will the world simply become so politically correct that it dies a depressed death while AI simply decides we are too much of a virus to live?
Who knows....I do not. But these are indicidive of a future full of b movie plot garbage that are based on Wattpad tropes with no clear details and no plot to get into, so that sucks.
2024.05.17 10:11 TheBlackDrago Cornell's Sanctuaries of Solitude #20: Riley Robb Hall
This bathroom is on the bottom floor. Just walk in from the side facing the athletic fields, down the stairs. The bathroom should be right outside the stairs.
https://preview.redd.it/h4c5w1za3y0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=c110612b4996e031b436004ebd69ec9aee9800f1
submitted by TheBlackDrago to Cornell [link] [comments]
- 4 stalls, 5 urinals, 1 shower
- Urinals are weird. They got this lever that sticks straight out of the wall for flushing the toilet. Was so weird.
- Stall is a little small overall. There's no handicapped stall to do the deed in. There are 2 rolls of tp per stall. There really should be more though. Toilet paper quality is beyond bad here. Like the thinnest 1 ply ever. Reminds me of Ives.
- Smells fucking horrible. Just would not recommend this bathroom because of the smell. It is worse than the Slope Day Porta Potties in smell. Just don't breathe in here.
- Surprisingly average amount of foot traffic. Especially when I went at 5 pm.
- This bathroom designer can't figure out what he wanted to do for this bathroom. It's a mix of nice and wtf are you doing. There are marble dividers for urinals kind of like parts of Willard Straight's bathrooms. Then there are the usual tan plastic dividers for the stalls, There are 2 sinks of differently designed faucets and heights.
- The shower has 4 lockers next to it. Cannot comment on the condition of the shower but I'd imagine that it's not used cuz this place smells like ass.
- Brown-tan square floor tiles 1.5-3 cm on each side (I could not think of much to take down for notes while doing a #2 here). The bathroom is very echoey and sound travels far.
- The one good thing I can say about this bathroom is that they got good bathroom locks. Straight S tier. It's like a U shape and you just slide the tab into the U. It's easy to get in and it won't slip out and the door doesn't budge like what happens with cheap locks.
https://preview.redd.it/h4c5w1za3y0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=c110612b4996e031b436004ebd69ec9aee9800f1
2024.05.17 10:11 Joy1067 Of Arrogance and Valor
“Incredible!”
The rebel reeled from the punch, the fist slamming through his protective helmet and cracking his jaw. He choked out a sob at the pain and the feeling of several of his teeth being knocked down his throat.
“This? This is what you send to try and rebel against the Imperium?! THIS?!”
A harsh kick was sent into the rebels stomach, making him cough up the rations he had that morning and a few of the once missing teeth. He grabbed his stomach and his body made to tilt forward and lay in the dust.
Only he was stopped as an armored gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stand. His hands came up and grabbed at his attackers wrist as he stared into his own grim reaper.
Said killer wore the helmet of the Macraggian Auxilia, his faceplate being that of a stylized skull. His rank was shown proudly in the form of a centurions plum, blue and white horsehair picked out atop a gilded mount on the top of his helmet.
“Incredible. It’s truly incredible what passes for rebellion these days hm?”
The soldiers behind the centurion laughed or smiled as they watched their leader hoist the rebel up as if the rebel was some game beast that was just recently hunted. Pressure in the form of steam shot out of the centurions wrist, betraying the hidden augmented limb under the armor. The rebel tried to speak, scratching at the Centurion’s arm.
“What? Speak up damn you, and speak clearly. I have no time or patience to hear some long speech about tyranny or whatever else. We have your city to burn insurgent.”
And burn it would. Two large tanks with massive flamers could be seen in the back, protected by infantry and assault vehicles. The main force would break the walls, the infantry would kill the people, and the tanks would burn the rest to ashes.
“Aghh….thill….you….thasard!”
The rebel said, spitting blood and bone fragments from his shattered jaw through what was left of his faceplate.
“Ah. Nothing interesting to say. Oh well.”
The rebel tried in vain to speak again but was silenced as the centurion forced a power gladius through his mouth. He was then unceremoniously dropped to the dust, choking on blood as he watched the Macraggian soldiers march on his home. The last thing he saw before dying was his killer, taking his helmet off and smiling in a wide, cocky manner. ————————————————————————
“Don’t spare the body men, he was a rebel. March over him.”
Tiberius Victor, Centurion of the 3rd Macraggain Legion, yelled as he wiped the grim that had built up over his helmet. He scowled at the filth that adorned his armor and sighed.
“Bloody rebels will pay for more than just rebellion. Look at this! They scratched my faceplate! And that bastard I just killed dared to spit blood at me! Oh they will pay tenfold.”
He chuckled and shrugged as he replaced his helmet. He rolled his head and drew the lapistol he had holstered at his side. He examined it for a moment before shaking his head.
“Ugh….to easy.”
He holstered the pistol again and flourished his gladius as he grabbed the handholds of a Leman Russ tank that was about to pass him by. He climbed up until he stood on top of the tank and crouched down, using his newfound height to look over his army and the objective.
The city was massive….but so were the last three he had burned. Both Imperial Army and even Ultramarine Legion Command had told him he was too far ahead and that he needed to slow down. But where was the fun in that? Besides, the campaign has been far too easy thus far. He had suffered very few casualties, his men were never hungry and his tanks never ran dry on fuel, and the enemy bled. Oh how they bled.
He sighed.
“Easy. Far too easy. Captain?”
The command hatch the tank he rode popped open and a woman in the dirty coveralls and goggled helmet of a tank commander. She looked around, rubbing her eyes before turning and smiling widely. She gave a crisp salute, one which he lazily returned, before nodding.
“Aye my Centurion?”
“Do we have any more wine about? I’m parched from all these victories we keep piling on.”
The captain cringed then turned towards the city.
“Uh….my centurion? Wouldn’t you rather have some water?”
Tiberius turned his head towards the captain, the tilt of his head betraying the cocky smile hidden beneath that the captain and the rest of the army had come to love and hate.
“Captain….are you questioning me?”
“I-no! No, of course not my centurion! But uh….well….”
He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, not bothering to stand up from the relaxed position he had taken. He had laid down on his side, his sword hand having sheathed his gladius to prop his head up.
“Well….shouldn’t uh….shouldn’t wine be saved for victory?”
The centurion stared at her for a moment. A very long moment. Perhaps….to long of a moment.
“I….I apologize my centurion! I will-“
Laughter. The centurion was laughing, something he rarely did outside of combat or when around the campfires at night. He laughed loudly and caught the attention of several other Auxilia soldiers.
“True! Haha! I knew I kept you around for something Captain. Fine, me and you shall share the first bottle of wine after that….excuse for a city burns. Return to your duties captain.”
He waved the captain off then turned his head back to the city, not moving out of his relaxed position. She knew better then to consider him lazy or incompetent, she had seen him in action.
She saluted and quickly went back down into her tank. ————————————————————————
He held his helmet in the crook of his arm. He breathed in deeply, smiling as he watched the city burn. Something grabbed his boot and looked down, only to scowl in disgust.
A woman, her lower half aflame with one leg missing, held onto his boot and shin guard.
“Please….mercy! We surrender!”
He raised an eyebrow and followed the trail the rebel left in the dust to see several more wounded and scared rebels. One held up a white rag on a piece of rebar as a white flag.
Several of his auxilia aimed their rifles at the rebels as a sergeant began to moved forward with a pair of restraints.
He was stopped by Tiberius’s sword.
“Sergeant? What are you doing?”
“Uh…taking prisoners sir?”
The centurion tilted his head and smiled widely.
“Prisoners? I don’t recall ordering anyone to take prisoners.”
He lifted his boot and stomped on the wounded woman’s head, smiling wickedly at the crunch he heard under his foot.
“Uh….no my Centurion but legion command has-“
“Legion command? You are taking orders from Ultramarines instead of telling me that such orders have come through?”
“There was no time sir! The orders came fro-“
Tiberius put his helmet on and shoved the sergeant to the side, ripping the rifle from the soldiers hands.
“I see no space marines here soldier. I see soldiers and I see rebels. We kill rebels because we are soldiers.”
He took aim at the closest rebel, put his finger on the trigger and-
“Thats enough Centurion.”
He stopped. He slowly turned his head towards the new, feminine voice behind him.
“Excuse me troo-“
He stopped again and stared. She had to have been 10 feet or at least close, this goddess in blue and gold. Her short, cropped hair was golden blonde and a green, metallic laurel wreath was wrapped around her head to add to her noble features. She came with several ultramarines as an honor guard in tow but he was sure she could handle anything thrown her way with ease.
“The Lady of Macragge.”
He whispered in awe before looking around. Those under his command had shared his awe but where he shook himself free, the rest still stared.
“Damn you all, our Lady is here! Bow damn you! All of you bow!”
He paced up and down the line, ensuring his auxilia bowed. He then turned towards the rebels and pointed at the guards who stood over them.
“Them too, cmon now. Bow!”
The rebels resisted the guards orders and movements. The centurions rage grew as he stormed over and pulled his gladius from its sheath.
“I command thee BOW.”
He sliced the back of the knees of one of the captives, the man yelping in pain before yelling in agony from his nearly cut tendons. The rest fell in line quickly.
Tiberius marched towards the Primarch, her honor guard bringing their weapons to bare only for him to kneel down and stab his gladius into the dirt.
“My Lady. Centurion Tiberius Victor of the 3rd Macraggian Legion reporting.”
The Primarch stared down at the Centurion before her eyes went up and around. She took note of the rather large number of prisoners and the burning cityscape around them.
“A good campaign Centurion?”
Tiberius nodded, smiling widely under his helmet.
“Yes my Lady. I only wish it weren’t so boring, so easy! But it is done.”
It took every ounce of self control to not scowl at his arrogant and cocky nature. He spoke as if he had stomped on a bug rather than a rebels skull. Yet….something about him caught her attention.
“Remove your helm centurion.”
He did so without delay, removing his helmet and setting it at her feet. His hair was cut in the traditional military ‘high and tight’ fashion and he was mostly clean cut save for a well trimmed mustache that went no further than the corners of his mouth.
“I recall telling my command staff to recall you back as you had pushed to far ahead. Yet we stand here at the city we were meant to take, the one we were meant to hold. The one….that is currently burning to ashes around us. What do you have to say for yourself Centurion?”
He said nothing for a long time. Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The auxilia around them slowly looked at each other, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but all were worried or tense.
“Hahah! Ah….I say mission accomplished my Lady. I also say that this light really brings out the color of your eyes.”
He laughed again and slowly stood up while extending his arms out wide.
“I say I give you the best gift this galaxy can offer to someone like you from someone like me.”
His smile grew into the same cocky, full of himself grin those under his command knew so well.
“I give you victory, my Lady Juno.”
He held his gladius up and flourished it, letting the blade catch the firelight of a dying city.
“Victory.”
submitted by Joy1067 to PrimarchGFs [link] [comments]
The rebel reeled from the punch, the fist slamming through his protective helmet and cracking his jaw. He choked out a sob at the pain and the feeling of several of his teeth being knocked down his throat.
“This? This is what you send to try and rebel against the Imperium?! THIS?!”
A harsh kick was sent into the rebels stomach, making him cough up the rations he had that morning and a few of the once missing teeth. He grabbed his stomach and his body made to tilt forward and lay in the dust.
Only he was stopped as an armored gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stand. His hands came up and grabbed at his attackers wrist as he stared into his own grim reaper.
Said killer wore the helmet of the Macraggian Auxilia, his faceplate being that of a stylized skull. His rank was shown proudly in the form of a centurions plum, blue and white horsehair picked out atop a gilded mount on the top of his helmet.
“Incredible. It’s truly incredible what passes for rebellion these days hm?”
The soldiers behind the centurion laughed or smiled as they watched their leader hoist the rebel up as if the rebel was some game beast that was just recently hunted. Pressure in the form of steam shot out of the centurions wrist, betraying the hidden augmented limb under the armor. The rebel tried to speak, scratching at the Centurion’s arm.
“What? Speak up damn you, and speak clearly. I have no time or patience to hear some long speech about tyranny or whatever else. We have your city to burn insurgent.”
And burn it would. Two large tanks with massive flamers could be seen in the back, protected by infantry and assault vehicles. The main force would break the walls, the infantry would kill the people, and the tanks would burn the rest to ashes.
“Aghh….thill….you….thasard!”
The rebel said, spitting blood and bone fragments from his shattered jaw through what was left of his faceplate.
“Ah. Nothing interesting to say. Oh well.”
The rebel tried in vain to speak again but was silenced as the centurion forced a power gladius through his mouth. He was then unceremoniously dropped to the dust, choking on blood as he watched the Macraggian soldiers march on his home. The last thing he saw before dying was his killer, taking his helmet off and smiling in a wide, cocky manner. ————————————————————————
“Don’t spare the body men, he was a rebel. March over him.”
Tiberius Victor, Centurion of the 3rd Macraggain Legion, yelled as he wiped the grim that had built up over his helmet. He scowled at the filth that adorned his armor and sighed.
“Bloody rebels will pay for more than just rebellion. Look at this! They scratched my faceplate! And that bastard I just killed dared to spit blood at me! Oh they will pay tenfold.”
He chuckled and shrugged as he replaced his helmet. He rolled his head and drew the lapistol he had holstered at his side. He examined it for a moment before shaking his head.
“Ugh….to easy.”
He holstered the pistol again and flourished his gladius as he grabbed the handholds of a Leman Russ tank that was about to pass him by. He climbed up until he stood on top of the tank and crouched down, using his newfound height to look over his army and the objective.
The city was massive….but so were the last three he had burned. Both Imperial Army and even Ultramarine Legion Command had told him he was too far ahead and that he needed to slow down. But where was the fun in that? Besides, the campaign has been far too easy thus far. He had suffered very few casualties, his men were never hungry and his tanks never ran dry on fuel, and the enemy bled. Oh how they bled.
He sighed.
“Easy. Far too easy. Captain?”
The command hatch the tank he rode popped open and a woman in the dirty coveralls and goggled helmet of a tank commander. She looked around, rubbing her eyes before turning and smiling widely. She gave a crisp salute, one which he lazily returned, before nodding.
“Aye my Centurion?”
“Do we have any more wine about? I’m parched from all these victories we keep piling on.”
The captain cringed then turned towards the city.
“Uh….my centurion? Wouldn’t you rather have some water?”
Tiberius turned his head towards the captain, the tilt of his head betraying the cocky smile hidden beneath that the captain and the rest of the army had come to love and hate.
“Captain….are you questioning me?”
“I-no! No, of course not my centurion! But uh….well….”
He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, not bothering to stand up from the relaxed position he had taken. He had laid down on his side, his sword hand having sheathed his gladius to prop his head up.
“Well….shouldn’t uh….shouldn’t wine be saved for victory?”
The centurion stared at her for a moment. A very long moment. Perhaps….to long of a moment.
“I….I apologize my centurion! I will-“
Laughter. The centurion was laughing, something he rarely did outside of combat or when around the campfires at night. He laughed loudly and caught the attention of several other Auxilia soldiers.
“True! Haha! I knew I kept you around for something Captain. Fine, me and you shall share the first bottle of wine after that….excuse for a city burns. Return to your duties captain.”
He waved the captain off then turned his head back to the city, not moving out of his relaxed position. She knew better then to consider him lazy or incompetent, she had seen him in action.
She saluted and quickly went back down into her tank. ————————————————————————
He held his helmet in the crook of his arm. He breathed in deeply, smiling as he watched the city burn. Something grabbed his boot and looked down, only to scowl in disgust.
A woman, her lower half aflame with one leg missing, held onto his boot and shin guard.
“Please….mercy! We surrender!”
He raised an eyebrow and followed the trail the rebel left in the dust to see several more wounded and scared rebels. One held up a white rag on a piece of rebar as a white flag.
Several of his auxilia aimed their rifles at the rebels as a sergeant began to moved forward with a pair of restraints.
He was stopped by Tiberius’s sword.
“Sergeant? What are you doing?”
“Uh…taking prisoners sir?”
The centurion tilted his head and smiled widely.
“Prisoners? I don’t recall ordering anyone to take prisoners.”
He lifted his boot and stomped on the wounded woman’s head, smiling wickedly at the crunch he heard under his foot.
“Uh….no my Centurion but legion command has-“
“Legion command? You are taking orders from Ultramarines instead of telling me that such orders have come through?”
“There was no time sir! The orders came fro-“
Tiberius put his helmet on and shoved the sergeant to the side, ripping the rifle from the soldiers hands.
“I see no space marines here soldier. I see soldiers and I see rebels. We kill rebels because we are soldiers.”
He took aim at the closest rebel, put his finger on the trigger and-
“Thats enough Centurion.”
He stopped. He slowly turned his head towards the new, feminine voice behind him.
“Excuse me troo-“
He stopped again and stared. She had to have been 10 feet or at least close, this goddess in blue and gold. Her short, cropped hair was golden blonde and a green, metallic laurel wreath was wrapped around her head to add to her noble features. She came with several ultramarines as an honor guard in tow but he was sure she could handle anything thrown her way with ease.
“The Lady of Macragge.”
He whispered in awe before looking around. Those under his command had shared his awe but where he shook himself free, the rest still stared.
“Damn you all, our Lady is here! Bow damn you! All of you bow!”
He paced up and down the line, ensuring his auxilia bowed. He then turned towards the rebels and pointed at the guards who stood over them.
“Them too, cmon now. Bow!”
The rebels resisted the guards orders and movements. The centurions rage grew as he stormed over and pulled his gladius from its sheath.
“I command thee BOW.”
He sliced the back of the knees of one of the captives, the man yelping in pain before yelling in agony from his nearly cut tendons. The rest fell in line quickly.
Tiberius marched towards the Primarch, her honor guard bringing their weapons to bare only for him to kneel down and stab his gladius into the dirt.
“My Lady. Centurion Tiberius Victor of the 3rd Macraggian Legion reporting.”
The Primarch stared down at the Centurion before her eyes went up and around. She took note of the rather large number of prisoners and the burning cityscape around them.
“A good campaign Centurion?”
Tiberius nodded, smiling widely under his helmet.
“Yes my Lady. I only wish it weren’t so boring, so easy! But it is done.”
It took every ounce of self control to not scowl at his arrogant and cocky nature. He spoke as if he had stomped on a bug rather than a rebels skull. Yet….something about him caught her attention.
“Remove your helm centurion.”
He did so without delay, removing his helmet and setting it at her feet. His hair was cut in the traditional military ‘high and tight’ fashion and he was mostly clean cut save for a well trimmed mustache that went no further than the corners of his mouth.
“I recall telling my command staff to recall you back as you had pushed to far ahead. Yet we stand here at the city we were meant to take, the one we were meant to hold. The one….that is currently burning to ashes around us. What do you have to say for yourself Centurion?”
He said nothing for a long time. Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The auxilia around them slowly looked at each other, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but all were worried or tense.
“Hahah! Ah….I say mission accomplished my Lady. I also say that this light really brings out the color of your eyes.”
He laughed again and slowly stood up while extending his arms out wide.
“I say I give you the best gift this galaxy can offer to someone like you from someone like me.”
His smile grew into the same cocky, full of himself grin those under his command knew so well.
“I give you victory, my Lady Juno.”
He held his gladius up and flourished it, letting the blade catch the firelight of a dying city.
“Victory.”
2024.05.17 09:58 Resident1567899 The Quran can't be the Word of God. Islam's version of the Problem of the Trinity
Introduction
Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one of the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
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Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one of the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
2024.05.17 09:57 inwhichzeegoesinsane "See? He left, he doesn't care about us..."
Shhhhh, calm down, stop extrapolating. It's okay. I'm still here for you - the moment I know the real you wants me to be.
I feel it might not just be myself, facing storms. I've been tracking my demon, that shell-of-a-man you helped me discover lay within me. I'm starting to corner him, have him understood, figured out. (Thank you again for helping me to see him, and helping to remember Me. One way or another, you always do that. Knowing you is always a Light for me; even when it's just knowing of you, like I said with the Stones. =3)
Yet I'm wondering about Her, too. Your possible demon, the one who tells you I don't care. Can you feel her, do you hear her? "Protecting" you, yet isolating you.
She snidely scoffs, weaves you a shell by telling you you're superior, better off - yet she keeps you cut off, keeps you to herself; traps you in her own web of Words, their resonance shelling you, hiding you even from the warm salve of comfort and reassurance that might've helped soothe core wounds. (If you don't trust me, ask me about the digital village of healers I've come across.)
Your demon tells you not to connect with people - that we're all only going to hurt you, when the truth is many of us have scars on our hearts and souls too. Even if you hate me, if you never speak to me again - that joy I felt thinking you hadn't given up on us, on people in general, had me relieved. I don't know if I'd've ever forgiven myself if what I was to you was that last chance you gave us. Maybe you were right; you needed someone Secure (or earned-Secure). I hadn't been, yet. Still am not, though a lot of times I feel it.
You don't have to if you don't want to. I won't presume to tell you what your happiness would look like, anymore. That was my prize mistake; we can never decide happiness for each other, nor assume ours map to others'. I'm sure I'll make it again with others someday - I keep getting excited when I think I'v'e it figured out; but the truth is I rarely if ever do. I make mistakes, repeat, iterate. I'm sure it's when I'd assert something patently false that you'd've seen me, maybe accepted me with a chuckle (or an inevitably adorable eyeroll) had you stuck around.
What you want, what you decide - that is up to you, but remember you don't have to leave it up to your Demon, either. You decide what your happiness is, not me, not her. The real you who decides to agree it's worth it to reach out to people; not the one who'd sooner leave herself up in the tower, itself a cage of her own design. I'm sorry I couldn't be the one you felt comfortable letting your guard down around; I'm so, so sorry I didn't take the time to hear you, listen to you, realize how important that moment was to you.
The fact that I hurt you so much hurts me, because the person you are, I love so much too. You did what I thought impossible; made me fall in love with lights, yours shining brighter than any fiber-optic signals. In this beautiful era, this age of the 'net, having found each other through such a wonderful revolutionary iconic technology - I'd still have wanted to revisit the others through the ages with you. Telegraph and ham radio. :3 (Oooo! The lab could have Nixie tubes! =D)
...But yes, part of me will always love you, though you may doubt me - I know the person you are. You showed me, in perhaps the most beautiful, vulnerable display; that deluge of honesty a welcome reprieve in a sea of superficial people barely able to muster ten words to describe themselves. You were just you, and the you-you-are is
I'd give anything to hear your true voice again, as I feel I hear when you're talking to The Void, when you think no one's listening. I'd be silent for days, weeks, just to let her talk. And someday, I'll figure out what she needed - a keyword of silence, a Void to talk into, home field language advantage - for her storms and mine to finally harmonize, and layer together.
You decided back then to just be yourself, your full self, and damn the consequences. (Even if the consequences were an inexperienced blue blob who scampers too loudly to listen, only learns mistakes after he's broken the vase, can't read caution tape...) And that you - that honest, vulnerable, caring, loving, warm, cold, ruthless, pragmatic, silly, caring woman? Ask me how I feel about her in person sometime; after you've convinced yourself I couldn't possibly have known you, loved you; and maybe then you'll believe me when I hold her close, and tell her how long I knew.
And I might never get to do that; but no matter what happens, Bee... I wish you all the happiness in the world.
I won't mark this "Strangers" [nb: I was gonna post to the UL sub] - I know you feel safer there, I know you know my established handles, way of speaking - but I don't think I could ever feel that way about you again.
Hopefully someday you feel we could at least be friends - I know any moment I spent around you I'd enjoy, even if it's just talking about silly fun mangas.
But to show you, I can be strangers too... If that's what you really want. :winks:
:eyes you, then Her, then you again pointedly:
I can't defeat your Demon for you; just as you couldn't've mine. The most I can do is give you the Weapons, my words and actions, to use against her when she starts telling you I don't care. But don't let her control you. It's okay. I'm here for you.
I don't care how many other people exist between me and you. That thing I built when we thought we'd lost each other? I'd build it again, and again, as many times as it takes. For as long as I believe you might still be that loving, caring, warm soul who dared to hope against herself that I care about you, don't worry. I'm here for you, and as long as I think I might know that about you I always will be.
You're safe. We found each other. As long as we care about each other, can be honest with each other, can be ourselves with each other someday. As long as I can remember to simmer down, to hear you. (I was hoping as long as you realize being yourself won't make me leave, just attract me more... :3)
And if you're the person I think you are, I think you might like me too. My well of optimism, my own cold ruthless Logician (whom you might've underestimated? =3 :scribbles proofs:) protecc'ing my own happy-dumb core. And so someday, if you need help fighting her, I'll reach out again too. Help you show her what I know and you want to believe.
...
:looks up:
We're a couple of silly ducks, aren't we. 😅
Miss you, as always. You should know that by now - but I know, you probably still think you don't really know me. (I'm the guy hoping the Data Points I'm shouting into the void are making it to the heart-seismograph in the locked room. Lol)
Miss y- (oh, loop! 😂 Though, that'd be a fun loop to be in. ❤️)
submitted by inwhichzeegoesinsane to u/inwhichzeegoesinsane [link] [comments]
I feel it might not just be myself, facing storms. I've been tracking my demon, that shell-of-a-man you helped me discover lay within me. I'm starting to corner him, have him understood, figured out. (Thank you again for helping me to see him, and helping to remember Me. One way or another, you always do that. Knowing you is always a Light for me; even when it's just knowing of you, like I said with the Stones. =3)
Yet I'm wondering about Her, too. Your possible demon, the one who tells you I don't care. Can you feel her, do you hear her? "Protecting" you, yet isolating you.
She snidely scoffs, weaves you a shell by telling you you're superior, better off - yet she keeps you cut off, keeps you to herself; traps you in her own web of Words, their resonance shelling you, hiding you even from the warm salve of comfort and reassurance that might've helped soothe core wounds. (If you don't trust me, ask me about the digital village of healers I've come across.)
Your demon tells you not to connect with people - that we're all only going to hurt you, when the truth is many of us have scars on our hearts and souls too. Even if you hate me, if you never speak to me again - that joy I felt thinking you hadn't given up on us, on people in general, had me relieved. I don't know if I'd've ever forgiven myself if what I was to you was that last chance you gave us. Maybe you were right; you needed someone Secure (or earned-Secure). I hadn't been, yet. Still am not, though a lot of times I feel it.
What you want, what you decide - that is up to you, but remember you don't have to leave it up to your Demon, either. You decide what your happiness is, not me, not her. The real you who decides to agree it's worth it to reach out to people; not the one who'd sooner leave herself up in the tower, itself a cage of her own design. I'm sorry I couldn't be the one you felt comfortable letting your guard down around; I'm so, so sorry I didn't take the time to hear you, listen to you, realize how important that moment was to you.
The fact that I hurt you so much hurts me, because the person you are, I love so much too. You did what I thought impossible; made me fall in love with lights, yours shining brighter than any fiber-optic signals. In this beautiful era, this age of the 'net, having found each other through such a wonderful revolutionary iconic technology - I'd still have wanted to revisit the others through the ages with you. Telegraph and ham radio. :3 (Oooo! The lab could have Nixie tubes! =D)
...But yes, part of me will always love you, though you may doubt me - I know the person you are. You showed me, in perhaps the most beautiful, vulnerable display; that deluge of honesty a welcome reprieve in a sea of superficial people barely able to muster ten words to describe themselves. You were just you, and the you-you-are is
I'd give anything to hear your true voice again, as I feel I hear when you're talking to The Void, when you think no one's listening. I'd be silent for days, weeks, just to let her talk. And someday, I'll figure out what she needed - a keyword of silence, a Void to talk into, home field language advantage - for her storms and mine to finally harmonize, and layer together.
You decided back then to just be yourself, your full self, and damn the consequences. (Even if the consequences were an inexperienced blue blob who scampers too loudly to listen, only learns mistakes after he's broken the vase, can't read caution tape...) And that you - that honest, vulnerable, caring, loving, warm, cold, ruthless, pragmatic, silly, caring woman? Ask me how I feel about her in person sometime; after you've convinced yourself I couldn't possibly have known you, loved you; and maybe then you'll believe me when I hold her close, and tell her how long I knew.
And I might never get to do that; but no matter what happens, Bee... I wish you all the happiness in the world.
Hopefully someday you feel we could at least be friends - I know any moment I spent around you I'd enjoy, even if it's just talking about silly fun mangas.
But to show you, I can be strangers too... If that's what you really want. :winks:
:eyes you, then Her, then you again pointedly:
I can't defeat your Demon for you; just as you couldn't've mine. The most I can do is give you the Weapons, my words and actions, to use against her when she starts telling you I don't care. But don't let her control you. It's okay. I'm here for you.
I don't care how many other people exist between me and you. That thing I built when we thought we'd lost each other? I'd build it again, and again, as many times as it takes. For as long as I believe you might still be that loving, caring, warm soul who dared to hope against herself that I care about you, don't worry. I'm here for you, and as long as I think I might know that about you I always will be.
You're safe. We found each other. As long as we care about each other, can be honest with each other, can be ourselves with each other someday. As long as I can remember to simmer down, to hear you. (I was hoping as long as you realize being yourself won't make me leave, just attract me more... :3)
And if you're the person I think you are, I think you might like me too. My well of optimism, my own cold ruthless Logician (whom you might've underestimated? =3 :scribbles proofs:) protecc'ing my own happy-dumb core. And so someday, if you need help fighting her, I'll reach out again too. Help you show her what I know and you want to believe.
...
:looks up:
We're a couple of silly ducks, aren't we. 😅
Miss you, as always. You should know that by now - but I know, you probably still think you don't really know me. (I'm the guy hoping the Data Points I'm shouting into the void are making it to the heart-seismograph in the locked room. Lol)
Miss y- (oh, loop! 😂 Though, that'd be a fun loop to be in. ❤️)
2024.05.17 09:56 ThinConcert4104 AITAH for stripping off briefly outside on holiday to change?
Had a holiday with some of my girls family recently and we left our swim shorts, the girls bikinis and towels etc to dry in a small piece of sun in the corner of the villa.
It was half out of eye line and not directly in peoples line of sight.
I went out one afternoon after a shower.
I got my shorts off the line, shook them out to check they were dry and dropped my towel to put the towel on there where the shorts had been.
As I did that a bug landed near my foot and I spent what must have been a few seconds checking the big didn’t land on me and had ran away
At that moment my girls Mum came around the corner in a swimsuit to check on some laundry she’d put on there and caught me totally starkers!
She smirked, offered her apologies and quickly turned her back and said something like ‘don’t worry sweetie, it’s happened to us all!’
This got back to my girl who was a bit annoyed with me. I told her what happened and she queried why I was stood there naked, why it took so long to change and why did I even wanna strip off in the first place?
I offered my explanations and she sort of accepted them but she was not happy.
As a point of reference, I saw her Mum strip off and do the exact same thing a day later. I didn’t see much as I’d turned away but you could tell she was undressing.
I didn’t throw this fact back in my girls face as I didn’t want to reignite the argument
so, AITAH for stripping off outside to change on holiday?
submitted by ThinConcert4104 to AITAH [link] [comments]
It was half out of eye line and not directly in peoples line of sight.
I went out one afternoon after a shower.
I got my shorts off the line, shook them out to check they were dry and dropped my towel to put the towel on there where the shorts had been.
As I did that a bug landed near my foot and I spent what must have been a few seconds checking the big didn’t land on me and had ran away
At that moment my girls Mum came around the corner in a swimsuit to check on some laundry she’d put on there and caught me totally starkers!
She smirked, offered her apologies and quickly turned her back and said something like ‘don’t worry sweetie, it’s happened to us all!’
This got back to my girl who was a bit annoyed with me. I told her what happened and she queried why I was stood there naked, why it took so long to change and why did I even wanna strip off in the first place?
I offered my explanations and she sort of accepted them but she was not happy.
As a point of reference, I saw her Mum strip off and do the exact same thing a day later. I didn’t see much as I’d turned away but you could tell she was undressing.
I didn’t throw this fact back in my girls face as I didn’t want to reignite the argument
so, AITAH for stripping off outside to change on holiday?
2024.05.17 09:53 thecatcher1716 A Broken Promise Rectified - Chapter 9
 | The betrayal of death submitted by thecatcher1716 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments] Helheim long ago The human population was continuing to increase, and so the son of the primordial Nyx, Thanatos, was given the task of aiding Azrael in his duties. https://preview.redd.it/k69t9s9xzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=57a1657dcd7be6936df7ecb06800b903cfef888a With the blood of a primordial flowing through him, Thanatos achieved mastery over the souls of humans, able to manipulate them in any way and guide them to the underworld. When assigned these duties, he was given a weapon forged under the command of Nyx, similarly to his siblings. A marvellous scythe was forged and given to the new god of the dead. A white gem where the handle met the blade. Alongside his primordial blood, this scythe made him nigh unstoppable when directly challenged. With this strength, Thanatos was favoured amongst the gods and heralded as the champion of souls while Azrael watched from the corner, all having forgotten that he was the one who stepped up to take the role initially. The years went by and Thanatos continued to be praised from all the pantheons in Valhalla, while Azrael’s only praise came from his own, but even then the praise was minimal. All the words and actions from the other gods slowly melted down his mental state, until he suddenly snapped. ‘If Thanatos were to die while out in Asgard, all fame will be mine as the sole guardian of souls. And with Thanatos gone, his scythe is for the taking. Nyx is gone, who’s to stop me? All I have to do… is kill Thanatos.’ Azrael muttered in the privacy of his room, his own scythe resting against the wall next to him. His corrupted mind was set. He gripped the handle to his own scythe and set out to find Thanatos fulfilling his duties. Azrael scoured the land until he found Thanatos collecting the soul of a young child, solemnly placing the soul in the jewel of his scythe to later return to the underworld. Taking the opportunity, the angel of death silently approached his distracted nemesis and swung with a deep bloodlust, aiming to end this one sided rivalry to rest immediately. The scythe pierced Thanatos’ clothing and chest from behind, digging in between the ribs as it dug into the death god’s torso. Thanatos coughed up blood as he looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest. His vision began to blur as he tightened his grip on his scythe. Without looking, Thanatos swung back behind him to retaliate, but his swing did nothing as Azrael tugged back his scythe, ripping it out from Thanatos who weakly dropped to the floor, his scythe clattering to the ground next to him. ‘Finally! The torment is over! Finally I can get the recognition I deserve! Finally I get power!’ Azrael yelled as he laughed like a maniac. Thanatos shakily reached out to grab his scythe, but Azrael swung his own down at his hand, pinning it to the floor making Thanatos cry out in pain. ‘Oh no, you’re not taking this away from me now.’ Azrael taunted the slowly dying god. ‘It’s been too long now for you to suddenly get out of this with mommy’s special weapon. Your time is up! You can no longer torment me! Everything you have shall be mine! The strength, the fame, the praise! All that you stole from me!’ Azrael twisted his scythe in Thanatos’ hand which slowly turned cold as blood continued to pour out of the wound. Thanatos weakly got in a final breath, before his head dropped to the ground and his body went limp. Azrael’s boot stepped atop the dead god’s head as an act of superiority, pressing the heel down as if to crush the skull. He pulled his scythe out of the corpse’s hand and grabbed the other with his spare hand. With his grip firmly on the scythe, Azrael felt the scythe’s strength flow through him. ‘So this is what he got. This power… It’s magnificent!’ News of Thanatos’ death quickly spread throughout the halls of Valhalla. None ever knew of the true murderer, but all mourned deeply. None except Azrael and Zeus. With Thanatos gone, Azrael was crowned by Zeus as the supreme guide of souls and ‘gifted’ Thanatos' scythe to continue his duties with. All Azrael had to do in exchange was take an oath of silence. Azrael continued his duty as the sole guardian of souls, the threat of Zeus exposing his crime hanging over him as he worked under the thunder god. With the power granted by Thanatos’ scythe, Azrael swiftly took the souls of humans, however not all made it to Helheim. On occasion, he kept the souls trapped in the scythe for his own gain, using them to grant himself strength, the poor souls never seeing the planes of Helheim. Valhalla arena All in the arena watch in a mixture of horror and confusion as the previously composed angel breaks down into a psychotic maniac before them. ‘So the mad angel has finally lost it.’ Hermes comments, having secretly known of his betrayal. ‘To think he would snap here though.’ ‘He’s gone… Insane. He’s bringing such shame to our pantheon.’ Gabriel says, his eyes wide as he watches the scene below. ‘I always suspected there was something else behind him receiving Thanatos’ scythe rather than just receiving a new title.’ Heracles mutters, realising the true meaning behind this breakdown. ‘Is it just me, or does the air feel colder.’ Mordred asks, a shiver running down his spine. ‘This aura he possesses. It’s terrifying.’ Merlin says in shock. ‘Such an unruly beast. We have exposed the dog for what he truly is.’ Golena scoffs. Morgan doesn’t respond as he readies herself for the coming assault, understanding this was where the true fight began. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Azrael brings the scythe up to his remaining wing, the blade hooking around it, and yanks it down through the bone, cutting off the remaining wing, the feathers floating down to the arena floor. ‘What is Azrael thinking? From having two wings to now having none when they were giving him such an advantage.’ Ares asks from the commentary booth. Azrael readies his scythe, his own blood dripping off the end point. He then shoots forward at Morgan. The scythe hits the forcefield reactively put up to defend, a small crack forming, but Azrael immediately follows up with another strike with a furious speed. Morgan keeps her guard up as Azrael continues his assault, striking with all parts of the blade. The shield smashes again and Morgan is forced to block the scythe with her staff, the scythe narrowly missing her skin. She flicks a single finger and a small spike of ice shoots out. Azrael backs off and is hit in the stomach by a blast of wind, pushing him back to the other side of the arena. In his psychotic fury, Azrael is immediately back on his feet, sprinting down Morgan. ‘Hurry up and die!’ He yells as he swings his scythe back down, Morgan blocks with her staff again, and the jewel glows again as Azrael suddenly increases in speed, circling behind Morgan and swinging again. With no chance to react, Morgan feels as the scythe slashes through her back, similarly to how Azrael attacked Thanatos. Morgan coughs up blood as both hands grip onto the staff. ‘That surely has to be the end!’ Ares yells, seeing the point of the scythe sticking out of Morgan’s chest and all the blood pouring out onto the floor. ‘Has the witch finally met her match?’ Mordred asks. Everyone in the arena spectating doubted the odds of Morgan surviving this, all but two. ‘If she were to die this easily, she’d have no right to call herself my sister. My killer or not, she’s a strong showing of the true might of our blood.’ Arthur comments. ‘Go ahead Morgan, show the true strength behind humanity’s coldness.’ Heracles mutters. Morgan's lips curl into a smirk as she plants the staff on the ground in front of her, blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. A pulse of energy spreads out of the arena, kicking up the dust on the floor and pushing it to the edges. Azrael pulls his scythe out and is about to attack again when another pulse comes out, forcing him back as the pulse turns into a heatwave. Another pulse and the ground begins to rumble with the force of an earthquake. Another pulse and the moisture in the air begins to condense into droplets that stay suspended in the air. Another pulse and the air becomes charged with static electricity, the metal in Azrael’s scythe becoming charged and shocking the dewinged angel. A final pulse and the air immediately freezes, the droplets turning to ice. All the energy released in the pulses condenses down on top of Morgan and a bright glow comes from her staff. The energy flows throughout all of Morgan’s being, the hole caused by the scythe closing quicker than any wound yet. The energy continues to pulse out to then condense into the tip of the staff until it reaches its maximum density. The energy bursts out across the arena, pushing Azrael even further back. ‘Woah, where did she get that?’ Ishtar asks. ‘How did she live?’ Ares follows up. ‘So the humans all have an extra trick up their sleeve.’ Zeus chuckles. ‘This certainly is fun.’ ‘This human must be desperate now to face Azrael like that.’ Metatron says. ‘Why is she now wearing all that?’ Mordred rhetorically asks. ‘So it seems she’s been taught more than just magic.’ Merlin muses. ‘Let’s see your strength with a weapon then sister.’ Arthur says with a smirk. Down in the arena, all eyes were trained on Morgan, now adorned with glistening armour made of ice, the staff now topped with a blade of a similar material giving the queen of Britannia a similar scythe. ‘Now this is the true strength held in my blood. Now come angel of death, let’s finish like this.’ https://preview.redd.it/cbqtp76vzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=778b78a9856870e198129ee266e344f872fedb21 Azrael just laughs at the Queen’s confidence and he points his own scythe out in retaliation. ‘You think that will save you now? You’re dumber than I thought! Now hurry up and die for me!’ |
2024.05.17 09:52 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning [13]
First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to cryosleep [link] [comments]
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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2024.05.17 09:48 No_Road5427 Sincerely ask for advice and help when suffering from academic bullying
Hi everyone,
I'm currently a fourth-year PhD student in an Asian country, planning to graduate next summer. However, I'm facing significant challenges due to a toxic advisor and a poor academic environment. I believe I am suffering from academic bullying.
My advisor has taken away my past years of research and data but didn't tell me, He forced me to change topics several times. Additionally, my advisor regularly forces me to do unrelated tasks all the time. For example, he called me at midnight and asked me to do slides for commercial companies before the next day. He also said many mean words. He provides no academic guidance and doesn't care about my graduation. Unfortunately, changing advisors or complaining to the school isn't an option as the institution is unwilling to intervene.
Now I have to find a new dissertation topic and don't have any working or publiced paper. I also feel like I'm not receiving the proper PhD training and have a lot to catch up on.
I’ve considered dropping out but ultimately don’t want to give up. I don't dislike research itself, just the toxic environment. I've sought help from other professors, and one has agreed to collaborate and guide my dissertation. However, my advisor continues to interfere, assigning me last-minute tasks that disrupt my progress although he know and said yes to this collaboration.
Recently, my collaborating professor advised me to speed up my research, which has increased my anxiety. I'm worried about the collaboration falling apart due to my advisor’s interference. Additionally, my advisor keeps probing about our research topics, and I fear he might take over my current research as he has done before. He’s now starting a project in the same general area as mine.
I'm at a loss about how to handle this situation. Any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated! Thank you very much!
submitted by No_Road5427 to PhD [link] [comments]
I'm currently a fourth-year PhD student in an Asian country, planning to graduate next summer. However, I'm facing significant challenges due to a toxic advisor and a poor academic environment. I believe I am suffering from academic bullying.
My advisor has taken away my past years of research and data but didn't tell me, He forced me to change topics several times. Additionally, my advisor regularly forces me to do unrelated tasks all the time. For example, he called me at midnight and asked me to do slides for commercial companies before the next day. He also said many mean words. He provides no academic guidance and doesn't care about my graduation. Unfortunately, changing advisors or complaining to the school isn't an option as the institution is unwilling to intervene.
Now I have to find a new dissertation topic and don't have any working or publiced paper. I also feel like I'm not receiving the proper PhD training and have a lot to catch up on.
I’ve considered dropping out but ultimately don’t want to give up. I don't dislike research itself, just the toxic environment. I've sought help from other professors, and one has agreed to collaborate and guide my dissertation. However, my advisor continues to interfere, assigning me last-minute tasks that disrupt my progress although he know and said yes to this collaboration.
Recently, my collaborating professor advised me to speed up my research, which has increased my anxiety. I'm worried about the collaboration falling apart due to my advisor’s interference. Additionally, my advisor keeps probing about our research topics, and I fear he might take over my current research as he has done before. He’s now starting a project in the same general area as mine.
I'm at a loss about how to handle this situation. Any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated! Thank you very much!
2024.05.17 09:47 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Oh, Dear Brother of Mine, How I Hate What I've Made You [12]
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Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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2024.05.17 09:32 mintycabbages Did Djungelskog get fired from customer support?
 | Hello! From what I remember, for a while now Djungelskog has been the face of the IKEA website chat support bot, at least in the US. I occasionally go on the IKEA website just to look at this and show it to my friends, because I find it extremely cute. It genuinely makes me happy whenever I see the "Hej! I can help." pop-up in the bottom right corner with the little Djungelskog profile picture. submitted by mintycabbages to Djungelskog [link] [comments] I went back to check today, and found out that now the chat bot is named Billie, with no picture or mention of Djungelskog. I don't understand this change, since Djungelskog seemed like they were a very hardworking and personable customer support agent. Am I just looking in the wrong place somehow? Did they fire Djungelskog and replace them with Billie? Was Djungelskog working customer support just a limited time special thing? I'd really like it if they were added back :( Old pop-up with Djungelskog saying \"Hej! I can help.\" Old chat with Djungelskog from January 2024 New IKEA Chat Billie |
2024.05.17 09:16 poli_carpo Comparing top writing services
When it comes to choosing a writing service, students are often faced with a plethora of options, each claiming to be the best. To help you make an informed decision, let's take a closer look at four popular writing services. We'll discuss the pros and cons of each, giving you a well-rounded overview.
submitted by poli_carpo to StudentSquare [link] [comments]
Speedy Paper - speedypaper.com
Pros:- Fast Turnaround: As the name suggests, SpeedyPaper is known for its quick delivery. They can handle tight deadlines, making it ideal for students in a time crunch.
- Quality of Work: SpeedyPaper consistently delivers well-researched and well-written papers. Their writers are experienced and knowledgeable across various subjects.
- User-Friendly Interface: The website is easy to navigate, making the ordering process straightforward and stress-free.
- Customer Support: Available 24/7, their customer support team is responsive and helpful, addressing any concerns promptly.
- Pricing: While SpeedyPaper offers quality work, it can be slightly more expensive than some other services. The cost increases with shorter deadlines.
- Limited Revisions: Although they offer free revisions, the number is limited. Students might need to pay extra for additional revisions if they're not fully satisfied initially.
Essay Market - essaymarket.net
Pros:- Diverse Range of Services: EssayMarket provides a wide array of writing services, from essays and research papers to dissertations and business writing.
- Customizable Orders: Students can specify their exact requirements, ensuring they get a paper tailored to their needs.
- Affordable Prices: EssayMarket is known for its competitive pricing, making it accessible to students on a budget.
- Writer Profiles: The platform allows students to view writer profiles and select the one that best fits their project, adding a personalized touch.
- Variable Quality: While some writers are excellent, the quality can vary depending on the writer chosen. It’s crucial to read reviews and ratings before making a selection.
- Customer Support: Some users have reported slow response times from customer support, which can be frustrating if you need immediate assistance.
Write paper for me - writepaperfor.me
Pros:- User-Friendly Platform: The website is easy to navigate, with a simple ordering process that doesn’t require much time.
- Reliable Quality: WritePaperFor.Me is known for delivering reliable and consistent quality. Their writers are skilled and experienced in academic writing.
- Discounts and Offers: They offer various discounts and promotional deals, making their services more affordable.
- Timely Delivery: They have a strong track record of meeting deadlines, ensuring students receive their papers on time.
- Limited Range of Services: Compared to other services, WritePaperFor.Me offers a narrower range of writing options, which might not meet all students’ needs.
- Pricing Transparency: Some users have mentioned that the pricing structure can be a bit confusing, with additional costs sometimes appearing at checkout.
Paper Coach - papercoach.co
Pros:- Comprehensive Services: PaperCoach offers a wide range of writing services, from high school essays to Ph.D. dissertations.
- Experienced Writers: Their team comprises highly qualified writers with expertise in various academic fields.
- Affordable Pricing: PaperCoach provides competitive prices, often with discounts for first-time users and bulk orders.
- Customer Reviews: The service has many positive reviews, indicating a high level of customer satisfaction.
- Inconsistent Quality: Some users have reported inconsistencies in the quality of work, depending on the writer assigned.
- Communication Issues: There have been occasional complaints about communication barriers between clients and writers, potentially affecting the final output.
2024.05.17 09:12 Sweet-Count2557 Maldives Island for Rent
 | Maldives Island for Rent Welcome to the enchanting world of Maldives Island for Rent, where dreams of idyllic paradise become a reality.Picture yourself basking in the warm embrace of the sun, surrounded by crystal-clear turquoise waters that stretch as far as the eye can see.Imagine unwinding in luxurious accommodations, where every detail is meticulously crafted to indulge your senses.Now, imagine having an entire private island all to yourself.But that's just the beginning...Key TakeawaysThe Maldives offers a range of private island options for rent, with luxurious accommodations and amenities.Guests can enjoy a variety of activities and excursions, including water sports, spa treatments, and exploring the marine life and coral reefs.The private islands provide a high level of privacy, exclusivity, and personalized service, with dedicated butlers and chefs available.Eco-friendly tourism and sustainability are emphasized, with efforts made to minimize impact on the environment and preserve the natural beauty of the Maldives.Velaa Private Island: 45 VillasVelaa Private Island: 45 Villas, nestled in the crystal-clear waters of the Indian Ocean, offers a luxurious and unforgettable escape like no other. Located in the Maldives, this private island paradise is a dream destination for those seeking privacy, exclusivity, and stunning natural beauty.With 45 villas to choose from, Velaa Private Island caters to various preferences and group sizes. Each villa is designed with elegance and sophistication, providing a serene sanctuary amidst the vibrant marine life and unspoiled natural surroundings. Whether you prefer a beachfront villa, a water villa, or a private residence, Velaa has the perfect accommodation to suit your desires.The amenities and activities available on the island are nothing short of extraordinary. Indulge in relaxation at the private spa, take a dip in the 25-meter-long swimming pool, or bask in the sun on the pristine beaches. For the adventurous souls, there are plenty of water sports to enjoy, such as snorkeling, diving, and jet skiing. The island also offers gourmet dining experiences, with world-class chefs crafting exquisite dishes using the finest ingredients.Velaa Private Island goes beyond providing a luxurious getaway. It offers opportunities for eco-friendly tourism, allowing guests to appreciate and preserve the natural beauty of the Maldives. Excursions to nearby islands and coral reefs give visitors a chance to explore the diverse marine life and vibrant ecosystems that make the Maldives a sought-after destination.Renting a private island like Velaa Private Island is a unique and unforgettable experience. It offers the ultimate escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, immersing you in a world of tranquility, natural beauty, and unparalleled luxury. So why settle for anything less when you can have the best?Discover the magic of Velaa Private Island: 45 Villas and create memories that will last a lifetime.Kudadoo Private Island: 15 Water VillasPrepare to be whisked away to a world of luxury and exclusivity with Kudadoo Private Island: 15 Water Villas.Nestled in the heart of the Indian Ocean, this private island offers an unparalleled experience of opulence and tranquility.With 15 beautifully designed over-water residences, each boasting its own private pool, guests can indulge in the ultimate island getaway.Luxury Water Villa ExperienceFor those seeking an unforgettable luxury water villa experience, Kudadoo Private Island offers 15 beautifully designed over-water residences, each boasting a private 44m2 pool for the ultimate in exclusivity and relaxation.Here's what you can expect from this extraordinary experience:Privacy and seclusion: Rent the entire island and enjoy the utmost privacy with access to 13 one-bedroom and 2 two-bedroom residences, as well as 2 over-water rooms for your entourage.Personalized service: Indulge in the all-inclusive package that includes a private butler for each residence, a personal chef for curated dining experiences, and unlimited award-winning spa treatments.Exciting activities: Immerse yourself in a range of activities such as snorkeling, big game fishing, dolphin safaris, and yoga sessions with a private trainer.Exclusive perks: Enjoy access to the wine cellar with prestigious wines, Champagne, and the renowned 5.8 Undersea Restaurant at Hurawalhi Island Resort. Plus, you'll have daily breakfast, free Wi-Fi, butler service, and yoga and meditation classes.For an unparalleled luxury water villa experience, Kudadoo Private Island is the ultimate choice.Exclusive Island AmenitiesWith its 15 sustainably designed over-water residences and exclusive amenities, Kudadoo Private Island offers an unparalleled luxury experience for those seeking the ultimate in privacy and relaxation. As guests of this exclusive island, we have access to a range of amenities that cater to our every need. Let's take a look at some of the highlights:Exclusive Island AmenitiesDescriptionPersonal ButlerEach residence comes with a dedicated personal butler who is available round the clock to assist with any requests or arrangements. From arranging excursions to ensuring our villa is always stocked with our favorite snacks and beverages, our butler is there to make our stay as seamless and enjoyable as possible.Private ChefA personal chef is assigned to curate a bespoke dining experience, tailored to our preferences. From romantic candlelit dinners on the beach to gourmet picnics on a secluded sandbank, our chef will create culinary delights that cater to our tastes.Spa TreatmentsAs part of the all-inclusive luxury experience, we have unlimited access to award-winning spa treatments. Whether it's a soothing massage or a rejuvenating facial, we can indulge in ultimate relaxation whenever we desire.Activities and ExcursionsThe island offers a wide range of activities and excursions to keep us entertained. From snorkeling in vibrant coral reefs to going on a thrilling big game fishing expedition, there is something for everyone. For those looking to maintain their fitness routine, private yoga sessions with a dedicated trainer are also available.Stylish TravelTo explore the surrounding area, a seaplane is at our disposal. This provides a luxurious and convenient mode of transportation, allowing us to arrive at our chosen destination in style.With these exclusive island amenities, Kudadoo Private Island ensures that every aspect of our stay is taken care of, leaving us free to relax and enjoy the beauty of the Maldives.The Nautilus Maldives: 26 Houses and ResidencesNestled in the azure waters of the Indian Ocean, The Nautilus Maldives beckons with its collection of 26 exquisite houses and residences. This exclusive private island resort, located southwest of Sri Lanka and approximately 700 kilometers southwest of India, offers a truly luxurious and unforgettable experience. Here, guests can indulge in the epitome of comfort and relaxation, surrounded by stunning natural beauty.To give you a taste of what awaits at The Nautilus Maldives, here are four key features of their houses and residences:Unparalleled Luxury: Each house and residence at The Nautilus Maldives is designed with the utmost attention to detail, combining contemporary style with traditional Maldivian elements. From spacious living areas to private pools and sun decks, every aspect is carefully crafted to provide the ultimate in comfort and opulence.Spectacular Views: Imagine waking up to breathtaking vistas of the turquoise ocean stretching as far as the eye can see. Whether you choose a beachfront villa or an overwater bungalow, you can enjoy uninterrupted views of the Indian Ocean from the privacy of your own sanctuary.Personalized Service: At The Nautilus Maldives, hospitality is taken to new heights. Each house and residence comes with a dedicated butler who'll cater to your every need, ensuring that your stay is nothing short of extraordinary. From arranging bespoke dining experiences to organizing excursions and activities, they'll go above and beyond to create unforgettable moments.Secluded Serenity: The Nautilus Maldives offers the perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. With its private island setting, you can truly disconnect and unwind in a tranquil paradise. Whether you choose to relax on the pristine white sandy beaches or explore the vibrant underwater world, you'll find peace and serenity at every turn.Four Seasons Maldives Private Island VoavahImmerse yourself in the epitome of luxury and exclusivity at the Four Seasons Maldives Private Island Voavah.This private island resort, nestled in the Indian Ocean, offers a breathtaking natural landscape with pristine beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see.As guests, you'll have the opportunity to indulge in a range of exclusive amenities and activities that will leave you feeling pampered and rejuvenated.Picture yourself lounging on your own private beach, the turquoise waters lapping at your feet as you soak up the sun.For those seeking adventure, the resort offers an array of water sports, from snorkeling and scuba diving to jet skiing and paddleboarding.If relaxation is what you crave, the spa and wellness facilities await, ready to provide you with the ultimate in tranquility and rejuvenation.At the Four Seasons Maldives Private Island Voavah, every aspect of your stay is meticulously tailored to your desires.With seven private villas, each featuring its own spa, you can unwind in style and seclusion.The resort also boasts a 25-meter-long swimming pool, exotic gardens, and a private boat, perfect for exploring nearby islands and coral reefs.Whether you're planning a group gathering, a family vacation, or a special celebration, this private island paradise offers the ideal setting.With its unspoiled natural beauty, crystal-clear waters teeming with vibrant marine life, and a range of activities to suit every taste, the Four Seasons Maldives Private Island Voavah promises an unforgettable and unique holiday experience.Coco Privé Kuda Hithi IslandCoco Privé Kuda Hithi Island beckons visitors with its luxurious accommodations and stunning natural surroundings in the Indian Ocean. As we explore this private island resort, let's delve into what makes Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island the perfect destination for an unforgettable getaway.Exquisite Accommodations: The water villas in Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island provide a truly lavish experience. With breathtaking views, direct access to the ocean, and modern amenities, these villas offer the ultimate in comfort and luxury.Spacious and Serene: Ideal for group gatherings, the island offers ample space for everyone. Whether you're planning a big family reunion, a get-together with friends, or a special celebration, Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island ensures privacy and seclusion for all.A Paradise of Activities: With a 25-meter-long swimming pool and its own spa, the island provides endless opportunities for relaxation and rejuvenation. Whether you choose to lounge by the pool, immerse yourself in the crystal-clear waters, or explore the vibrant marine life, Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island offers a dream destination experience.Instagram-Worthy Landscapes: The natural beauty of Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island is truly awe-inspiring. From the exotic gardens to the picturesque vistas, every corner of the island is a perfect backdrop for capturing unforgettable moments.To inquire about rates and make reservations for this slice of paradise, interested individuals can reach out to Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island through their website, phone, or email. Don't miss the chance to experience the epitome of luxury and natural beauty at Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island.Ithaafushi Private Island by Waldorf AstoriaAs we continue our exploration of luxurious private island retreats in the Maldives, let's set our sights on the captivating Ithaafushi Private Island by Waldorf Astoria.This secluded paradise is located in the Indian Ocean, southwest of Sri Lanka, offering an exclusive haven for those seeking the utmost privacy and indulgence.One of the highlights of Ithaafushi Private Island is its array of luxurious amenities. Imagine pampering yourself with a rejuvenating spa treatment in your own private spa, or taking a refreshing dip in the 25-meter-long swimming pool. The island is also adorned with exotic gardens, creating a serene and picturesque backdrop for your getaway.Guests at Ithaafushi Private Island can enjoy a host of activities to enhance their experience. From thrilling water sports to gourmet dining experiences, there's something for everyone to enjoy. If you're feeling adventurous, you can even embark on excursions to nearby islands and coral reefs, immersing yourself in the natural beauty of the Maldives.What sets Ithaafushi Private Island apart is its commitment to personalized service. With a dedicated team of 25 professionals led by the Island Chief, you can expect round-the-clock availability and expertise in various areas. Whether you need assistance with diving or housekeeping, the team is there to cater to your every need.The island offers 15 sustainably designed over-water residences, each featuring a 44m2 pool and private butler service. To further elevate your stay, unlimited spa treatments and tailored experiences are also included, ensuring a lavish and unforgettable retreat.Cheval Blanc Randheli Private IslandLocated in the captivating Maldives, Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island offers a luxurious and exclusive experience for those seeking ultimate relaxation and seclusion. With its pristine beaches, exotic gardens, and personalized service, this private island is the epitome of luxury.Here are four reasons why Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island is the perfect destination for an unforgettable getaway:Indulge in the Spa: The island features its own spa, where you can pamper yourself with rejuvenating treatments and therapies. From traditional Maldivian massages to bespoke wellness rituals, the spa offers a range of options to help you unwind and rejuvenate.Relax by the Pool: Take a dip in the island's 25-meter-long swimming pool, surrounded by lush greenery and breathtaking views. Whether you want to soak up the sun on a comfortable lounger or enjoy a refreshing swim, the pool area provides the perfect setting for relaxation.Escape to Water Villas: Experience the ultimate in privacy and seclusion with the island's water villas. These luxurious accommodations offer direct access to the ocean, allowing you to immerse yourself in the crystal-clear waters of the Maldives. With modern amenities and stunning views, the water villas provide a serene and intimate setting for your stay.Ideal for Group Gatherings: Whether you're planning a family reunion, a getaway with friends, or a special celebration, Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island has ample space and activities to accommodate large groups. From spacious accommodations to a variety of leisure options, the island ensures that everyone has a memorable and enjoyable experience.From the moment you step foot on Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island, you'll be greeted with warm hospitality and exceptional service. The 25-person team, led by the Island Chief, is dedicated to providing tailored experiences and ensuring that every aspect of your stay is nothing short of perfection.The Beach HouseWhen it comes to luxury amenities, The Beach House on the private island offers an unparalleled experience.With its open-air living room, dining areas, gym, library, and Loft Lounge, guests can enjoy panoramic views of the Biosphere domain while indulging in ultimate relaxation.The 15 over-water residences with private pools and the personalized services of a private butler, personal chef, and personal trainer ensure that exclusive privacy and utmost comfort are guaranteed throughout your stay.Luxury Amenities OfferedThe Beach House at The Maldives offers an array of luxurious amenities that cater to every guest's desire for opulence and relaxation. Here are some of the incredible luxury amenities offered:Central Hub: The Beach House features a central hub with open-air living and dining areas, a gym, a library, and the Loft Lounge. From here, guests can enjoy panoramic views of the Biosphere domain, creating a truly breathtaking experience.Over-Water Residences: There are 15 sustainably designed over-water residences at The Beach House, each equipped with a 44m2 pool. Guests can rent the entire island and choose from 13 one-bedroom and 2 two-bedroom residences, as well as 2 over-water rooms for their entourage.Personalized Services: Every residence at The Beach House comes with a private butler, ensuring that guests receive the highest level of service. Additionally, a personal chef is available to curate dining experiences, a personal trainer and wellness guru are on hand to help guests stay fit and relaxed, and unlimited award-winning spa treatments are offered, including a Himalayan salt room, sauna, and steam room.Exciting Activities: The Beach House offers a range of activities and excursions to keep guests entertained. From snorkeling and big game fishing to dolphin safaris on jet skis, there's something for everyone. Yoga and gym sessions are also available to help guests maintain their fitness routines. For a truly stylish travel experience, guests can even enjoy transportation via Kudadoo's own seaplane.At The Beach House, luxury amenities are at the forefront, ensuring that every guest enjoys a truly unforgettable and indulgent experience.Exclusive Privacy GuaranteedNestled in the heart of the Maldives, The Beach House offers an exclusive haven of privacy and seclusion for those seeking a truly personalized island experience. With the Exclusive Privacy Guaranteed package, guests can enjoy the ultimate level of privacy, ensuring that their stay on the island remains undisturbed.The Beach House features an open-air living room and dining areas, a gym, a library, and the Loft Lounge, offering panoramic views of the Biosphere domain. This package also includes daily breakfast, welcome amenities, free Wi-Fi, butler service, and access to non-motorized water sports, yoga, fitness, and meditation classes.Whether you want to relax by the infinity pool or explore the vibrant marine life, The Beach House provides an exclusive retreat where you can unwind and rejuvenate in complete seclusion.For those interested in booking the island, The Nautilus Maldives can be contacted via email at reservations@thenautilusmaldives.com for more information about island buy-out rates and to learn about the package.Luxury Vacation Rental & ResidenceIndulge in the epitome of luxury with our selection of stunning Maldives island resorts, private islands for rent, and eco-friendly island options. When it comes to luxury vacation rental and residence in the Maldives, there's no shortage of opulent options to choose from. Here is a glimpse into what awaits you in this tropical paradise:Velaa Private Island: Immerse yourself in a world of unparalleled luxury with its private villas, Michelin-starred dining, and an exclusive golf course designed by a champion golfer.Kudadoo Private Island: Experience a truly all-inclusive escape with its lavish overwater villas, personalized butler service, and unlimited access to activities such as diving, spa treatments, and gourmet dining.The Nautilus Maldives: Step into a world of timeless elegance with its spacious beach and ocean houses, private pools, and bespoke experiences tailored to your every desire.Four Seasons Maldives Private Island Voavah: Enjoy the ultimate in privacy and exclusivity on this five-acre island, complete with a private yacht, dedicated team of staff, and an array of water sports and wellness activities.These luxury vacation rentals and residences offer not just lavish accommodations, but also access to the Maldives' stunning natural beauty. From pristine white-sand beaches to crystal-clear waters teeming with vibrant marine life, every moment spent in this paradise is sure to be Instagram-worthy.Whether you seek relaxation or adventure, these properties provide a comprehensive range of services and activities to make your vacation truly unforgettable.Please note that availability may be limited due to high demand, so it's advisable to book well in advance. Prices for these luxury rentals and residences range from thousands to millions of dollars, depending on the duration of stay and the specific amenities and services included.Prepare to be pampered and indulge in the ultimate luxury experience in the Maldives.Ultimate Private Islands in MaldivesGet ready to immerse yourselves in the world of ultimate luxury and exclusivity as we explore the incredible private islands in the Maldives.These exclusive resorts offer a secluded tropical paradise, where you can bask in unparalleled privacy and tranquility.Imagine having your own pristine beach, indulging in water sports, enjoying gourmet dining experiences, and exploring nearby coral reefs - all in the lap of luxury.Exclusive Luxury ResortsAt these exclusive luxury resorts in the Maldives, you can experience the ultimate in privacy, personalized service, and stunning natural beauty. Here are four reasons why these resorts are the epitome of luxury:Private Islands: These resorts offer the opportunity to rent or purchase your own private island in the Indian Ocean. Imagine having an entire island to yourself, with pristine beaches, crystal-clear waters, and lush landscapes.Endless Activities: From water sports like snorkeling and diving to spa and wellness facilities, there's no shortage of activities to enjoy. You can explore nearby islands and coral reefs, indulge in gourmet dining experiences, or simply relax on your secluded beach.Exclusivity: These luxury resorts pride themselves on providing an exclusive experience. With limited availability due to high demand, you can rest assured that you'll have the privacy and exclusivity you desire.Unforgettable Holiday: Choosing a private island in the Maldives guarantees a unique and memorable holiday experience. The personalized service, breathtaking natural beauty, and unrivaled privacy will leave you with memories that will last a lifetime.Secluded Tropical ParadiseAs we continue our exploration of exclusive luxury resorts in the Maldives, we now venture into the realm of Secluded Tropical Paradise, where ultimate private islands await, offering a haven of tranquility and breathtaking beauty.These secluded tropical paradises provide an escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, allowing guests to immerse themselves in the serenity of nature. With luxurious amenities and stunning natural surroundings, these private islands offer the perfect setting for a truly unforgettable vacation.From water sports and spa experiences to gourmet dining, guests can indulge in a wide range of activities while enjoying the utmost privacy and personalized service. The spacious accommodations, whether it be a water villa or a beachfront bungalow, provide a luxurious retreat with breathtaking views and direct access to the crystal-clear waters of the Indian Ocean.For those seeking an exclusive and intimate getaway, these ultimate private islands in the Maldives are the epitome of secluded tropical paradise.Unparalleled Privacy and TranquilityNestled amidst the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean, the ultimate private islands in the Maldives offer an unparalleled escape into a world of unrivaled privacy and tranquility. Here, guests can bask in the seclusion of their own private paradise, surrounded by breathtaking natural beauty.To paint a picture of this idyllic setting, imagine:Exclusive Luxury: Guests can indulge in luxurious amenities, from private beaches and water sports to spa facilities and gourmet dining experiences.Unmatched Personalized Service: The private islands provide unparalleled seclusion, accompanied by personalized service that caters to every whim and desire.Sustainable Serenity: These private islands are ideal for eco-friendly and sustainable tourism, inviting guests to immerse themselves in the stunning natural surroundings.Group Gatherings: Perfect for group gatherings, the private islands offer spacious accommodations, a wide range of activities, and breathtaking water villas with direct access to the ocean.Immerse yourself in a world of unparalleled privacy and tranquility, where every moment is tailored to your desires.Small Luxury Resorts for RentImmerse yourself in the lap of luxury with a stay at one of the small, exclusive resorts available for rent in the Maldives. These small luxury resorts offer an intimate and personalized experience, ensuring that every guest feels like a VIP. With stunning natural beauty and world-class amenities, these resorts provide a truly unforgettable vacation.Resort NameLocationAmenitiesVelaa Private IslandNoonu AtollPrivate pool, spa, golf course, underwater restaurantKudadoo Private IslandLhaviyani AtollPrivate butler, infinity pool, overwater spaThe Nautilus MaldivesBaa AtollPrivate beach, ocean-facing infinity pool, spaFour Seasons Maldives VoavahBaa AtollPrivate yacht, beach house, dive centerEach of these small luxury resorts offers a unique and extraordinary experience. At Velaa Private Island, indulge in the luxury of your own private pool, spa treatments, and even a round of golf on their exclusive course. Kudadoo Private Island takes personalized service to the next level with a private butler at your disposal, an infinity pool overlooking the turquoise waters, and an overwater spa for ultimate relaxation.If you're looking for a secluded beach getaway, The Nautilus Maldives is the perfect choice. With its private beach and ocean-facing infinity pool, you can unwind and soak up the sun in complete tranquility. For those seeking adventure, Four Seasons Maldives Voavah offers a private yacht, a beach house, and a dive center, allowing you to explore the vibrant coral reefs and marine life that the Maldives is famous for.These small luxury resorts for rent in the Maldives offer unparalleled comfort, privacy, and breathtaking views. Whether you're celebrating a special occasion or simply seeking a romantic escape, these resorts provide the perfect backdrop for an unforgettable vacation.Very Private Islands in the MaldivesWith luxurious Maldives island resorts, exclusive private islands for rent, and secluded islands for sale, the Maldives offers a range of very private island options for those seeking the ultimate in privacy and seclusion.Luxury and Exclusivity: Private islands in the Maldives provide the epitome of luxury and exclusivity. From lavish villas to personalized service, these islands offer a truly opulent experience.Secluded Beaches: Picture yourself lounging on your own private beach, with pristine white sand and crystal-clear turquoise waters. Private islands in the Maldives offer secluded beaches where you can relax and soak up the sun in complete privacy.Water Sports and Excursions: If you're seeking adventure, private islands in the Maldives have you covered. Enjoy thrilling water sports such as snorkeling and diving, or embark on excursions to nearby islands and coral reefs for a truly memorable experience.Eco-Friendly Options: For those who value sustainability, private islands in the Maldives also offer eco-friendly options. These islands are designed to minimize their impact on the environment, allowing you to enjoy the beauty of nature while being mindful of its preservation.Choosing a private island in the Maldives comes with numerous benefits. You'll enjoy ultimate privacy and seclusion, along with personalized service that caters to your every need. The stunning natural beauty and pristine beaches will take your breath away, providing the perfect backdrop for a truly memorable holiday. Additionally, by opting for an eco-friendly island, you can contribute to sustainable tourism and leave a positive impact on the environment.Some of the private islands available for rent in the Maldives include Velaa Private Island, Kudadoo Private Island, The Nautilus Maldives, Four Seasons Maldives Private Island Voavah, Coco Privé Kuda Hithi Island, Ithaafushi Private Island by Waldorf Astoria, and Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island. These islands offer a range of facilities such as private spas, swimming pools, pristine beaches, exotic gardens, and even private boats for exploring the surrounding waters.Frequently Asked QuestionsHow Much Does It Cost to Rent an Island in Maldives?When it comes to renting an island in the Maldives, the cost can vary greatly. A cost comparison is necessary to find the best option for your budget.Factors such as location, amenities, and duration of stay all play a role in determining the price. Private islands offer ultimate privacy and luxurious experiences, but they can range from thousands to millions of dollars.Which Is the Cheapest Private Island in Maldives?The cheapest private island in the Maldives offers affordable accommodations for those seeking a luxurious getaway. With all-inclusive luxury experiences starting at $250,000 per night, guests can have an entire island to themselves. This package includes daily breakfast, a champagne welcome, and access to activities such as snorkeling and yoga.Additional perks like free Wi-Fi, butler service, and VIP transportation from the airport make this experience even more enticing.Contact Kudadoo to book your dream island escape.How Do You Get to Private Island in Maldives?Getting to private island resorts in the Maldives is a breeze. We can choose from a variety of transportation options, including seaplanes, speedboats, helicopters, and even private yachts. These luxurious modes of travel offer not only convenience but also breathtaking views of the surrounding turquoise waters.Whether it's a short speedboat ride or a scenic seaplane transfer, the journey to our private island retreat promises to be hassle-free and unforgettable.Can I Stay on a Local Island in the Maldives?Yes, we can stay on a local island in the Maldives.Staying on a local island offers a unique opportunity to immerse ourselves in the local culture and interact with friendly locals.We can explore vibrant communities, visit local markets, and indulge in traditional Maldivian cuisine.Additionally, day trips to nearby islands are possible, allowing us to discover the beauty of the surrounding area.It's important to respect local customs and dress codes while staying on local islands.ConclusionIn conclusion, renting a private island in the Maldives offers an unparalleled luxury experience that's sure to create memories that last a lifetime.While some may argue that a private island vacation is too extravagant, the privacy, personalized service, and stunning natural beauty make it a worthwhile investment.So why not treat yourself to a truly unique and unforgettable holiday in the Maldives, where you can enjoy the ultimate in seclusion and luxury? submitted by Sweet-Count2557 to worldkidstravel [link] [comments] |
2024.05.17 08:46 aphex2000 An Ode to "Hunger To Create"
we need more of this. i'm still mesmerized by the night. i cut my trip short to attend the event and i'm glad i did.
give artists the freedom to go off the beaten 4x4 track and you give space to evoking magic.
great decision to move to berghain instead of säule, as much as i like the more intimate setting there, this journey between halle & klubnacht sound deserved the big room. i'm not sure if it was because of the 3 week break but the soundsystem also did its part. subbass tickled me in all the right places and the kicks hit me like a brick.
we got in around 2130 to quelza welcoming us with ambient layered with speeches. leciel got the still timid crowd to move, live vocals on the bh floor? yes please. dasha brought the energy down again and back up. people starting to wake up now. it was great to have different corners of the floor for the different acts, also breaking with the usual.
i was giddy for colin. a bit too much in fact as i chatted him up before his set, or rather slung statements at him in whatever the 40+ synth nerd equivalent of a 16yo throwing her bra at a backstreet boy is. i'm still embarrassed, sorry colin.
despite all that, the patron saint of modular nerds brought his a-game to town. as if to show the superbooth participants what is possible on his comparatively small rack for the day. it was 1h of pure fireworks. free that man from the kickdrum and he showers you with a most exquisite sound bath. as a dj set it would have been great, as a live set it would have been impressive, as a live set on a modular rack - it's unbelievable. i have no idea how he did what he did but i'm still in awe. he ended with a barrage of kicks that went straight into my soul. thank you.
quelza took it from there and delivered closing feelings on a school night, more experimental than usual. by that time the crowd was thinning out, so ample space to let go, some familiar sunday faces appearing. unfortunately my batteries were empty just after 3, too bad eisbar wasnt open for a cheeky ice cream energy boost, so i bid my farewell - happy and exhausted.
i'm very happy also that it was a ticketed event so it brought new people inside and i was delighted seeing some of them catch a bit of the magic of this place.
a success! let this be the first of many and also inspire more events like this or reef to give us something new.
PS: i'm constantly struggling with berlin, but this night, together with other things happening that day was the city giving me a "i know i'm fucked up and we have our differences, but you wouldn't want to be without me either" in the most beautiful way on my first day back in town
submitted by aphex2000 to Berghain_Community [link] [comments]
give artists the freedom to go off the beaten 4x4 track and you give space to evoking magic.
great decision to move to berghain instead of säule, as much as i like the more intimate setting there, this journey between halle & klubnacht sound deserved the big room. i'm not sure if it was because of the 3 week break but the soundsystem also did its part. subbass tickled me in all the right places and the kicks hit me like a brick.
we got in around 2130 to quelza welcoming us with ambient layered with speeches. leciel got the still timid crowd to move, live vocals on the bh floor? yes please. dasha brought the energy down again and back up. people starting to wake up now. it was great to have different corners of the floor for the different acts, also breaking with the usual.
i was giddy for colin. a bit too much in fact as i chatted him up before his set, or rather slung statements at him in whatever the 40+ synth nerd equivalent of a 16yo throwing her bra at a backstreet boy is. i'm still embarrassed, sorry colin.
despite all that, the patron saint of modular nerds brought his a-game to town. as if to show the superbooth participants what is possible on his comparatively small rack for the day. it was 1h of pure fireworks. free that man from the kickdrum and he showers you with a most exquisite sound bath. as a dj set it would have been great, as a live set it would have been impressive, as a live set on a modular rack - it's unbelievable. i have no idea how he did what he did but i'm still in awe. he ended with a barrage of kicks that went straight into my soul. thank you.
quelza took it from there and delivered closing feelings on a school night, more experimental than usual. by that time the crowd was thinning out, so ample space to let go, some familiar sunday faces appearing. unfortunately my batteries were empty just after 3, too bad eisbar wasnt open for a cheeky ice cream energy boost, so i bid my farewell - happy and exhausted.
i'm very happy also that it was a ticketed event so it brought new people inside and i was delighted seeing some of them catch a bit of the magic of this place.
a success! let this be the first of many and also inspire more events like this or reef to give us something new.
PS: i'm constantly struggling with berlin, but this night, together with other things happening that day was the city giving me a "i know i'm fucked up and we have our differences, but you wouldn't want to be without me either" in the most beautiful way on my first day back in town
2024.05.17 08:45 TheBlackDrago Cornell's Sanctuaries of Solitude #17: Kroch Library
This is the only bathroom in Kroch Library available to be used by undergraduate students in the actual Rare and Manuscripts Collections.
https://preview.redd.it/wni7uhbtnx0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=3821e160f863b59b36f01338e8355e46d974264d
submitted by TheBlackDrago to Cornell [link] [comments]
- 1 urinal, 2 stalls
- Last stall is spacious enough to almost fit a queen size bed. Maybe it can?
- Foot traffic here is so little that it's ideal for a quality #2. It's quiet. It's generally just you. Great acoustics, theoretically. Like you could sing in here. If that's your thing.
- It's very clean. Smells slightly of cleaner but it's barely noticeable. I have a sensitive nose at this point so I can notice it.
- Toilet Paper is really good. It's got that texture to it making it a premium 1-ply TP that doesn't puncture easily and has good structure. It folds well.
- Sinks actually dispense hot water. The left sink is a squirter. Beware. I warned you. Handles on faucet got a lil push back on them. You gotta turn them a little more than usual. Not perfect.
- One paper towel dispenser. Corner has a round 55 gallon trash can. No paper towels or tp on the ground.
https://preview.redd.it/wni7uhbtnx0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=3821e160f863b59b36f01338e8355e46d974264d
2024.05.17 08:35 Jaded_Being_1462 How do you feel about the English translation of LOTM
Until I started subtitling the audiobook, I never considered reading the English version of LOTM. To my surprise, the quality of the English translation seems somewhat 'disrespectful' to the original book. With the money Qidian made from it, they should have hired at least one English literature graduate, if not three English literature professors, to proofread it.
Even though I'm not a native English speaker, I couldn't resist the urge to translate some parts in my own way. One thing led to another, and now I have a brand new translation of Chapter One.
Now, I have a question for my fellow fans of LTOM:
Ouch!
Ow…ouch!
Ow…my head is killing me!
The fantastic yet surreal dream surrounded by whispering and murmuring shattered away instantly, Zhou Mingrui who was sound asleep felt an abrupt throbbing pain deep inside his head, as if his head were ruthlessly clubbed. No, it felt more like something sharp penetrated his temple, followed by twisting and stirring.
Feeling disoriented, Zhou Mingrui wanted to turn around, clutch his head, or sit up. Yet, unable to move his hands or feet, he felt like he had lost all control over his body.
Looks like I’m still in some sort of dream, didn’t really wake up… Moments later, I might even think I'm fully awake, only to realize I'm still asleep… Familiar with such experiences, Zhou Mingrui tried desperately to concentrate, hoping to break free from the grip of darkness and disorientation.
However, trapped between wakefulness and sleep, the willpower was as elusive as smoke, difficult to control and concentrate. Despite his efforts, his thoughts kept wandering wildly, with all sorts of ideas coming and going.
How could I suddenly have a headache out of nowhere in the middle of the night?
Especially one which hurts so badly!
Could it be something like a cerebral hemorrhage?
Damn, am I going to die at such a young age?
Wake up! Wake UP!
Huh? Doesn't feel as painful now? Although it still feels like a blunt knife is cutting through my brains…
Sure thing is, I won’t be able to fall asleep any more. How am I supposed to show up for work tomorrow?
Why even bother going to work? This is a legitimate headache, perfect for time off! And no need to worry about the manager's grumblings.
Put it this way, it’s not so bad after all. Yea, free time off for me!
In between the waves of throbbing pain, Zhou Mingrui gradually accumulated a sense of elusive strength. Finally, with a determined effort, he straightened his back and opened his eyes, breaking free from the state of half-sleep and half-wake.
His vision was blurry at first, then tinged with a faint crimson hue. In his line of sight, Zhou Mingrui saw a sturdy wooden desk, upon which lay an open notebook. The papers were rough and yellowed. Where the title supposed to be, there was a sentence written in strange characters, with eye-catching thick, dark ink that seemed ready to drip.
To the left of the notebook, along the edge of the desk, was a stack of seven or eight neatly arranged books. On the wall to their right, were grayish-white pipes inset into the wall, with wall lamps at their ends.
The lamps had a classical Western style, about half the size of an adult's head. It featured a transparent inner layer made of glass and an exterior grid made of black metal.
Diagonally beneath the unlit lamp, was a black ink bottle shrouded in a pale red glow.
On its embossed surface was a blurry angel figure.
In front of the ink bottle and to the right of the notebook, lay a dark-colored pen with a fully circular body. Its tip shimmered with a faint glint while its cap rested right beside a brass revolver.
A gun?
A revolver?
Zhou Mingrui was completely taken aback. Everything in front of him felt absolutely alien, nothing looked like his own room.
Shocked and confused, he came to the realization that the desk, the notebook, the ink bottle, and the revolve were all coated with a layer of crimson “veil” from the light shining through the window.
Without realizing what he was doing, he raised his head, looking up bit by bit.
In the midair, beyond the heavy smooth darkness, hung a crimson full moon, glowing silently.
Hiss… Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably horrified, as he stood up abruptly. However, before he could fully straighten his knees, a throbbing pain struck his head, draining all his strength. He fell, with his buttocks slammed heavily back onto the burly wood chair.
The pain didn’t stop him for a moment. Zhou Mingrui popped up, turned around in a fluster, and began examining his surroundings.
The room was not big, with a brown door on both of his sides. Against the wall in front of him, was a wooden bunk bed. Between the bed and the door to the left was a cabinet with two opposing doors and five drawers beneath them.
Next to the cabinet was a pipe of the same grayish-white, inset into the wall at the height of a person. What distinct it is that it connected to a strange looking mechanical device, which had a few of gears and bearings exposed here and there.
Items resembling coal stoves, sat in the right corner of the room near the desk, along with some kitchenware such as soup pots and iron pans.
Through the right door, was a dressing mirror with a couple of cracks, standing on a wooden base emboss with simple plain patterns.
While looking around, Zhou Mingrui noticed himself in the mirror, the present him.
Dark hair, brown eyes, wearing a linen shirt, slim, average-looking features and a rather deep outline…
Hiss… Zhou Mingrui grasped the situation immediately as many helpless and confused thoughts surfaced in his mind.
The revolver, the classical European style decorations, as well as the crimson moon that looked nothing like Earth's moon—all of them were screaming the exact same thing.
Who am I?
C-could I have transmigrated?
Zhou Mingrui's mouth slowly opened wider and wider, bit by bit.
He had grown up reading web novels, even fantasized about such scenes from time to time. However, the fantasy was incredibly difficult to accept now that he found himself in one.
Classic "Talk? Yes, yes! Action? No, no!", isn’t it?
In less than a minute, Zhou Mingrui had already started to sarcastically critique, attempting to make the best of whatever situation he found himself in.
But for the throbbing headache forcing him to think fast and sharply, he would for sure be convinced that he was dreaming.
Easy, easy, easy…taking deep breaths, Zhou Mingrui was trying really hard to make himself to calm down.
Just as his mind and body began to relax, pieces of memories started to flush, slowly flooding into his consciousness.
Klein Moretti.
A citizen of the City of Tingen, Awwa County, Loen Kingdom in the Northern Continent
Recently graduated from the Department of History at Khoy University…
His father was a sergeant of the Imperial Army, who had sacrificed his life during a colonial ware with the Southern Continent. His bereavement allowance made it possible for Klein to study at a private literature school, paving the way for his admission into university…
His mother was a devotee of the Evernight Goddess, who passed away the year Klein passed the entrance examinations to Khoy University…
He also had an elder brother and a younger sister, living together in a two-bedroom apartment.
Their family was far from wealthy, and its financial situation could even be described as somewhat strained.
Currently, the family was supported solely by the elder brother who worked as a clerk at an import and export company …
As a college graduate majored in history, Klein was proficient in the ancient language of Feysac, considering the origin of all languages in the Northern Continent, as well as the language of Hermes, which was commonly found in ancient mausoleums and often associated with sacrificial scenes and praying rituals.
Hermes?!
Zhou Mingrui's mind started to race as he reached out to rub his throbbing temples.
He cast his gaze toward the desk at the opened notebook, but to realize that the strange looking characters on the yellowed paper started to look somewhat familiar, then increasingly recognizable, and finally comprehensible.
It was a statement written in Hermes!
The thick, dark ink, seemingly ready to drip, read:
“Everyone will die including me myself!”
Hiss! Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably horrified. He instinctively leaned back, attempting to escape away from the notebook, and the ominous statement on it.
Being so weak, he almost fell down, but managed to extend his hands in a fluster to grasp the edge of the desk.
He felt that air around him air started to roar, filled with faint whispering and murmurings. It felt just like listening to horror stories told by elders when he was young.
He shook his head, telling himself that all these were nothing but an illusion. Getting back onto his feet, he looked away from the notebook while still breathing heavily.
This time, his sight landed on the shimmering brass revolver, immediately realizing something unexplainable.
With Klein's social status, in what universe he would have the money or access to buy a revolver?!
Zhou Mingrui couldn't help but furrow his brow. Deeply puzzled, his eyes were caught by a reddish handprint at the edge of the desk, which was even darker than the moonlight, as well as thicker than the “veil”.
It was a bloody handprint!
A bloody handprint?
Zhou Mingrui instinctly flipped his right hand, that was pushing against the edge of the desk. Looking at it, he saw his palm and fingers covered in blood.
In the meaning time, the throbbing pain was getting a little bit better, yet didn’t go away, binding him like one tie after another.
Did I smash and injure my head? Zhou Mingrui guessed as he turned around, walking towards the cracked dressing mirror. After just a few of steps, a medium build figure of dark hair and brown eyes appeared clearly in front of him. The person had a distinct scholarly air to him.
Is this the present me?
Klein Moretti?
Zhou Mingrui was stunned. The poor lighting of the night obscured his vision, preventing him from clearly discerning something he had noticed. He continued forward until he was just a step away from colliding with the mirror.
Illumined by the crimson veil-like moonlight, he turned his head and began to examine the side of his forehead. A clear reflection appeared in the mirror. There, no his temple, was a grotesque wound with burn marks around the edges, blood staining the surrounding area. Grayish-white brain matter was slowly seeping out from within.
submitted by Jaded_Being_1462 to LordofTheMysteries [link] [comments]
Even though I'm not a native English speaker, I couldn't resist the urge to translate some parts in my own way. One thing led to another, and now I have a brand new translation of Chapter One.
Now, I have a question for my fellow fans of LTOM:
- Do you think this is a much better translation that you would like to wait and use it for subtitling LOTM's audiobooks? Or
- Do you feel the difference is so minimal that you'd prefer me to use the original translation so I can release subtitled audiobooks faster?
Ouch!
Ow…ouch!
Ow…my head is killing me!
The fantastic yet surreal dream surrounded by whispering and murmuring shattered away instantly, Zhou Mingrui who was sound asleep felt an abrupt throbbing pain deep inside his head, as if his head were ruthlessly clubbed. No, it felt more like something sharp penetrated his temple, followed by twisting and stirring.
Feeling disoriented, Zhou Mingrui wanted to turn around, clutch his head, or sit up. Yet, unable to move his hands or feet, he felt like he had lost all control over his body.
Looks like I’m still in some sort of dream, didn’t really wake up… Moments later, I might even think I'm fully awake, only to realize I'm still asleep… Familiar with such experiences, Zhou Mingrui tried desperately to concentrate, hoping to break free from the grip of darkness and disorientation.
However, trapped between wakefulness and sleep, the willpower was as elusive as smoke, difficult to control and concentrate. Despite his efforts, his thoughts kept wandering wildly, with all sorts of ideas coming and going.
How could I suddenly have a headache out of nowhere in the middle of the night?
Especially one which hurts so badly!
Could it be something like a cerebral hemorrhage?
Damn, am I going to die at such a young age?
Wake up! Wake UP!
Huh? Doesn't feel as painful now? Although it still feels like a blunt knife is cutting through my brains…
Sure thing is, I won’t be able to fall asleep any more. How am I supposed to show up for work tomorrow?
Why even bother going to work? This is a legitimate headache, perfect for time off! And no need to worry about the manager's grumblings.
Put it this way, it’s not so bad after all. Yea, free time off for me!
In between the waves of throbbing pain, Zhou Mingrui gradually accumulated a sense of elusive strength. Finally, with a determined effort, he straightened his back and opened his eyes, breaking free from the state of half-sleep and half-wake.
His vision was blurry at first, then tinged with a faint crimson hue. In his line of sight, Zhou Mingrui saw a sturdy wooden desk, upon which lay an open notebook. The papers were rough and yellowed. Where the title supposed to be, there was a sentence written in strange characters, with eye-catching thick, dark ink that seemed ready to drip.
To the left of the notebook, along the edge of the desk, was a stack of seven or eight neatly arranged books. On the wall to their right, were grayish-white pipes inset into the wall, with wall lamps at their ends.
The lamps had a classical Western style, about half the size of an adult's head. It featured a transparent inner layer made of glass and an exterior grid made of black metal.
Diagonally beneath the unlit lamp, was a black ink bottle shrouded in a pale red glow.
On its embossed surface was a blurry angel figure.
In front of the ink bottle and to the right of the notebook, lay a dark-colored pen with a fully circular body. Its tip shimmered with a faint glint while its cap rested right beside a brass revolver.
A gun?
A revolver?
Zhou Mingrui was completely taken aback. Everything in front of him felt absolutely alien, nothing looked like his own room.
Shocked and confused, he came to the realization that the desk, the notebook, the ink bottle, and the revolve were all coated with a layer of crimson “veil” from the light shining through the window.
Without realizing what he was doing, he raised his head, looking up bit by bit.
In the midair, beyond the heavy smooth darkness, hung a crimson full moon, glowing silently.
Hiss… Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably horrified, as he stood up abruptly. However, before he could fully straighten his knees, a throbbing pain struck his head, draining all his strength. He fell, with his buttocks slammed heavily back onto the burly wood chair.
The pain didn’t stop him for a moment. Zhou Mingrui popped up, turned around in a fluster, and began examining his surroundings.
The room was not big, with a brown door on both of his sides. Against the wall in front of him, was a wooden bunk bed. Between the bed and the door to the left was a cabinet with two opposing doors and five drawers beneath them.
Next to the cabinet was a pipe of the same grayish-white, inset into the wall at the height of a person. What distinct it is that it connected to a strange looking mechanical device, which had a few of gears and bearings exposed here and there.
Items resembling coal stoves, sat in the right corner of the room near the desk, along with some kitchenware such as soup pots and iron pans.
Through the right door, was a dressing mirror with a couple of cracks, standing on a wooden base emboss with simple plain patterns.
While looking around, Zhou Mingrui noticed himself in the mirror, the present him.
Dark hair, brown eyes, wearing a linen shirt, slim, average-looking features and a rather deep outline…
Hiss… Zhou Mingrui grasped the situation immediately as many helpless and confused thoughts surfaced in his mind.
The revolver, the classical European style decorations, as well as the crimson moon that looked nothing like Earth's moon—all of them were screaming the exact same thing.
Who am I?
C-could I have transmigrated?
Zhou Mingrui's mouth slowly opened wider and wider, bit by bit.
He had grown up reading web novels, even fantasized about such scenes from time to time. However, the fantasy was incredibly difficult to accept now that he found himself in one.
Classic "Talk? Yes, yes! Action? No, no!", isn’t it?
In less than a minute, Zhou Mingrui had already started to sarcastically critique, attempting to make the best of whatever situation he found himself in.
But for the throbbing headache forcing him to think fast and sharply, he would for sure be convinced that he was dreaming.
Easy, easy, easy…taking deep breaths, Zhou Mingrui was trying really hard to make himself to calm down.
Just as his mind and body began to relax, pieces of memories started to flush, slowly flooding into his consciousness.
Klein Moretti.
A citizen of the City of Tingen, Awwa County, Loen Kingdom in the Northern Continent
Recently graduated from the Department of History at Khoy University…
His father was a sergeant of the Imperial Army, who had sacrificed his life during a colonial ware with the Southern Continent. His bereavement allowance made it possible for Klein to study at a private literature school, paving the way for his admission into university…
His mother was a devotee of the Evernight Goddess, who passed away the year Klein passed the entrance examinations to Khoy University…
He also had an elder brother and a younger sister, living together in a two-bedroom apartment.
Their family was far from wealthy, and its financial situation could even be described as somewhat strained.
Currently, the family was supported solely by the elder brother who worked as a clerk at an import and export company …
As a college graduate majored in history, Klein was proficient in the ancient language of Feysac, considering the origin of all languages in the Northern Continent, as well as the language of Hermes, which was commonly found in ancient mausoleums and often associated with sacrificial scenes and praying rituals.
Hermes?!
Zhou Mingrui's mind started to race as he reached out to rub his throbbing temples.
He cast his gaze toward the desk at the opened notebook, but to realize that the strange looking characters on the yellowed paper started to look somewhat familiar, then increasingly recognizable, and finally comprehensible.
It was a statement written in Hermes!
The thick, dark ink, seemingly ready to drip, read:
“Everyone will die including me myself!”
Hiss! Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably horrified. He instinctively leaned back, attempting to escape away from the notebook, and the ominous statement on it.
Being so weak, he almost fell down, but managed to extend his hands in a fluster to grasp the edge of the desk.
He felt that air around him air started to roar, filled with faint whispering and murmurings. It felt just like listening to horror stories told by elders when he was young.
He shook his head, telling himself that all these were nothing but an illusion. Getting back onto his feet, he looked away from the notebook while still breathing heavily.
This time, his sight landed on the shimmering brass revolver, immediately realizing something unexplainable.
With Klein's social status, in what universe he would have the money or access to buy a revolver?!
Zhou Mingrui couldn't help but furrow his brow. Deeply puzzled, his eyes were caught by a reddish handprint at the edge of the desk, which was even darker than the moonlight, as well as thicker than the “veil”.
It was a bloody handprint!
A bloody handprint?
Zhou Mingrui instinctly flipped his right hand, that was pushing against the edge of the desk. Looking at it, he saw his palm and fingers covered in blood.
In the meaning time, the throbbing pain was getting a little bit better, yet didn’t go away, binding him like one tie after another.
Did I smash and injure my head? Zhou Mingrui guessed as he turned around, walking towards the cracked dressing mirror. After just a few of steps, a medium build figure of dark hair and brown eyes appeared clearly in front of him. The person had a distinct scholarly air to him.
Is this the present me?
Klein Moretti?
Zhou Mingrui was stunned. The poor lighting of the night obscured his vision, preventing him from clearly discerning something he had noticed. He continued forward until he was just a step away from colliding with the mirror.
Illumined by the crimson veil-like moonlight, he turned his head and began to examine the side of his forehead. A clear reflection appeared in the mirror. There, no his temple, was a grotesque wound with burn marks around the edges, blood staining the surrounding area. Grayish-white brain matter was slowly seeping out from within.
2024.05.17 08:27 SappySadu What they don't tell you about adulting - A first hand experience.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that it's lonely and everyone expects you to be affable. Crying is seen as a weakness and God forbid if you identify as a man you cannot allow your tears to show lest they bother someone. You'll always be taught to not ask too much from someone for its impolite and troublesome and then at 2 am on a Friday morning you'll wonder, "Is it because I ask for too little that I get nothing at all." If you love less, you're emotionally unavailable. If you love a little extra you're romanticizing.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that you'll stubb your pinky toe so many times that whenever someone asks you about love, you'll tell them about heartbreak. And there will be so many red flags and flashing warning signs around you that your inner child will mistake it for a carnival. The grief hidden behind your Adam's apple will be the only thing that makes your bitter morning coffee taste good.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that most joy in your life will be lost in your desperation to keep it. And you'll wonder if memory is something you have or something you've lost. Everyday you'll wake up with a manufactured smile on your face because ofcourse you prefer delusion over despair. And when once your day is done slaving away to pay for someone else's Mercedes, you'll realise a corner table at a quiet hidden bar is all you need to keep your clown self from disintegrating into mania.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that even though at 20 you never understood why a small panic attack crippled Tony Stark in Iron Man 3, at 33 you'll understand. "Getting Therapy" would become a fashion statement and your therapist would trick you into believing that all of this is still salvageable. There will be a box somewhere in your life , physical or otherwise, brimming with letters no one will ever read. You'll carry everything with you on that tired stiff back of yours, even those things that have never happened to you.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that....
submitted by SappySadu to indiasocial [link] [comments]
What they don't tell you about adulting is that you'll stubb your pinky toe so many times that whenever someone asks you about love, you'll tell them about heartbreak. And there will be so many red flags and flashing warning signs around you that your inner child will mistake it for a carnival. The grief hidden behind your Adam's apple will be the only thing that makes your bitter morning coffee taste good.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that most joy in your life will be lost in your desperation to keep it. And you'll wonder if memory is something you have or something you've lost. Everyday you'll wake up with a manufactured smile on your face because ofcourse you prefer delusion over despair. And when once your day is done slaving away to pay for someone else's Mercedes, you'll realise a corner table at a quiet hidden bar is all you need to keep your clown self from disintegrating into mania.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that even though at 20 you never understood why a small panic attack crippled Tony Stark in Iron Man 3, at 33 you'll understand. "Getting Therapy" would become a fashion statement and your therapist would trick you into believing that all of this is still salvageable. There will be a box somewhere in your life , physical or otherwise, brimming with letters no one will ever read. You'll carry everything with you on that tired stiff back of yours, even those things that have never happened to you.
What they don't tell you about adulting is that....