"The Ensigns Of Command"
Darkness came without a hint of the days remains. Hours passed endlessly, one after another each one seemingly quicker than the last. Dawn came, and with it light. It lasted shorter than the night, and so the motion picture of the heavens continued to play out before us.
Us.
What Us? There was me, of that I was certain. Every few days (or nights perhaps) I had to determine whether or not I was still there. My certainty waned with the time which I was no longer certain was passing whatsoever. I had witnessed (or had I not, I am no longer sure) days and nights pass one after another for countless days, hours, minutes, weeks, millennia...
I was no longer aware of the existence of “us”. Were you a memory? Were you a phantom which passed before my eyes long ago? Were we naught but the deranged delusions of a daft mind?
Darkness, light, darkness, light. How the maddening procession continued on so...
Us? And them? Honey, I can barely confirm that which is “me“, and I do not know how to even begin to remember that which may or may not have been “you”. “Them” is not even in my vocabulary at the current time. Day, night, darkness, light, time might have taken an epoch or two off for retooling.
Voices.
Images.
Clutter. my. mind. Clutter: too much filth in too little space. My: that which is of me. Mind: Area of entity wherein lies idea making apparatus.
After several googolplexes of insanity you return to me. I can no longer recall any memory of your departure or mark your arrival, and yet I will always bear the scars of the absence.
But as time is timeless, that is yet to happen, as it has already occurred. In the meantime I wait. In the meantime the skies continue to change.