Fhaisorr'ko

2282
1819

рейтинг: 0+x
Fifthist.png

Вместе мы

Проедем туром по галактике,

Почувствуем прилив внутренней энергии,

И все станут едины

Не спеша,

В тишине.


Hey there fella, glad you stopped by. I mean, you’ll do… better than nothin’. No really, come on in. We aint kooks.

You might ask me why you’re here! Well that’s because you’re part of the Fifthist Church. You were drawn here a long time ago as a matter of fact, you didn’t have much say in the matter. You could say it’s somethin’ like fate, predestination, or maybe its retro-cuz-ality. Maybe it’s backwards like that. Who knows. Maybe it’s forwards too.

Not a religious type you say? Oh, well, that’s fine. We ain’t into prayin’ and all that either. A lot of us here are backsliders. Church is just one of them words people throw around. Fifthist Church, Fifthist Collective, Fifthist Book Publishing, Fifthist Psychedelic Surf Rock, Fifthist Lip Balm, etcetera. It’s Fifthist is all that matters.

What does “Fifthism” mean? Well, that’s not a name my congregation came up with. A while back there was a bunch of new agey hip types who went and published a book. Yanks called themselves The Fifth Church, and that name stuck… But the most likely case is that there are always five manifestations of Fifthism. Always. There’s usually a cult up north, out west, and well, yours truly. I ain’t never heard of no commy Fifthists or nothin'.

…Theres even been Fifthism all throughout time. Think of the Fifthist protozoans. Think of the Fifthist suns. Harken to creation, the concept of a universe.

What makes them Fifthist? Patterns, signals, magic. The unpossible. A Fifthist concept will slowly transcend reality. When that concept blossoms, it falls, like ripened fruit brother, o’ to be consumed and shat by the lord glowing hands himself. It becomes reality. We see the Fifth world, brother. And we too shall fall, like the the ekpyrotic house before us, and shat as they were.

Eventually.

Us Southern Fifthists have been around for years. Maybe someone’s keeping us from blowin’ downwind? Hate to be paranoid. Hate to think something out there was scared of the last Southern Fifthists after they done came to term.

But enough with all this morbid talk about dyin’ and indifferent other-universally forces of nature and TOP SECRETE PARAGOVERNEMENT ORGAN-IZATIONS. YEAH, WE KNOW ABOUT YOU. WE’RE GETTIN’ REAL TIRED OF YOUR SHIT! We’re still alive! So to hell with you! To hell with this “Fifthism” and talk about “Fifthism”! We got money to raise! Get outta my face! Join me in outer space! Roll that frog footage! Light those candles! Send check or money order to World 390, so that our corpses may bloat and explode, and from that heaping viscera we will rise again as pungent, fungent fumes!


Клайд и Умико ехали домой по ночи. Впервые за последнее время Клайд не настраивал гитару. Вместо этого он возился с радио, переключая с одной станции на другую. Умико вёл автомобиль, свет фар выхватывал небольшое пространство из темноты впереди.

"Эй, Умико, разве Брук не должна была ехать с нами?"

Крупный мужчина сжал руки на руле, вспоминая о Брук. Она никогда не чувствовала себя комфортно рядом с ним, и ему так и не удалось завоевать доверие барабанщицы, несмотря ни на что.

"Нет, она с другим другом. Я думать, я не нравиться ей."

"Да ну, не говори так, здоровяк. Я уверен, она придет. Женщины и их интуиция, знаешь? Эй, разве это не наша песня?"

Клайд вновь переключил радио, заиграла знакомая мелодия, лицо гитариста осветила улыбка. Умико присоединился к нему, непроизвольно засияв от гордости.

"Да, наша песня. Даже skits? ! Сильно хорошо! Мы на радио сейчас!"

Но Клайд не слушал Умико. Он уже подпевал песне из радио. Он помнил. Через секунду Умико присоединился к Клайду и они оба добавили свои голоса к песне. Тени мерцали на руках Умико, призывая повернуть рули и ехать в океан. Свет фар других машин присоединился к ним в их путешествии.

Музыка убаюкивала их умы и вела домой.

Роза быстро проснулась, поднялась с сиденья и встала. Она видела затылок Моргана, сидящего на водительском сиденье. Он был очень спокоен. Девушка рванула к нему, её широко раскрытые глаза выдавали замешательство.

"Морган? Как дела? Где мы?"

Клайд ответил, не открывая глаз: "Почти всё".

Роза не слышала шум мотора, а снаружи всё было черным, как смоль. Она подумала открыть боковое окно, но рукоятки не было на месте.

"Эй, что случилось с этой штукой?"

"Нам не стоит открывать окна. Там довольно холодно снаружи", - сказал парень, открыв глаза и повернувшись к Розе. - "Адская ночь, не так ли?"

"Ага. Надеюсь, все вернулись без происшествий", - ответила Роза, и вдруг осознание накатило на неё. - "Боже мой!"

"Что такое?…"

"Ты пьян, да? Серьёзно! Вот почему мы стоим здесь! Поверить не могу, что ты и правда пил!"

"У меня просто небольшое похмелье. Не самое приятное ощущение", - слабая улыбка появилась на лице Моргана. Роза закатила глаза и повернулась к нему. Желтый свет прошел возле водительского окна. На секунду ей показалось, что она видела силуэт головы, пока он не растворился в темноте.

"Пить хочу. У нас есть вода?"

"Н-нет…", - ответил Морган, Роза повернулась, чтобы открыть заднюю пассажирскую дверь. "Нет!" - закричал он, наклоняясь и хватая её за запястье. - "Не надо это делать. Мы сейчас на пароме. Не стоит открывать двери."

"Чего?" - девушка заметила, что он тяжело дышал, но его лицо было спокойным и расслабленным, как и всегда. Они были так близко. Он нервничал?

Он выпрямился и сел: "Просто сядь сядь и подожди. Мы скоро будем на месте".

Она откинулась на сиденье, немного взволнованная, и посмотрела в окно. Странные жёлтые огни медленно падали вниз, дрифтуя рядом с ними.

"На месте? Это какой-то сюрприз? Мы собираемся на отдых или типа того? Ох, обожаю. Пэйперс Кроссинг? Пеликан Лэндинг?"

"Не совсем", - он ответил, подавив желание смеяться. - "Глубокий космос. Мы отправляемся в глубокий космос."

Роза рассмеялась про себя, и в тут же в её лицо выстрелила струя воды. Морган услышал это и вновь закрыл глаза: "Что ж, похоже, мы опережаем расписание."

Ещё одна струя пробилась сквозь крышу фургона.

"Похоже, нам пиздец", - сказал Морган, в его голосе была слышна дрожь.

"О чем ты? Заткни эти дыры! Почему пол протекает?! Почему крыша протекает?!"

Морган достал небольшой пистолет из своего пальто.

"Прости, Роза. Я не могу ожидать от тебя, что ты поймёшь больше, чем я в первый раз."

Роза вошла в истерику: "О чём ты говоришь?! Что за хуйня сейчас творится?! Объясни мне!"

Морган смотрел на холодную сталь пистолета холодной сталью своих глаз: "Сегодня ночью с нами было что-то ещё. Ты почувствовала это, да?"

"Я-я, я не знаю. Может быть. Я думала, это было просто хорошее выступление."

He looked at her, eyes full of sympathy but demeanor unbroken.? : "Роза, это был величайшее выступление. Я не забуду его до конца жизни. Я никого не забуду: Брук, Умико, Клайд", - он остановился,

“Rosa, it was a great concert. I’ll never forget it as long as I exist. I’ll never forget any of them, Brooke, Umiko, Clyde,” he paused, his throat catching, “and I certainly won’t forget you.”

Rosa’s eyes were full of fear as she gazed around them, but began to calm when he grabbed her hand. She sniffled back a tear, shaking slightly. “Morgan… are we going to die?”

He smiled. “Yes. We’re going to die, Rosa. But we’re going to do it together, right here, ok?”

The water had gathered up to their knees as an additional crack started to form in the rear window. They were surrounded by lights, so many lights that Rosa couldn’t count them. Some far away, some so close she could just barely make them out. They all danced around her and Morgan, like fireflies when she was younger. In another life, she could’ve reached out and caught them and put them in a jar and fell asleep to lull of the tiny bursts of light.

He cocked the firearm. “I brought this for you, in case you don’t want to… It’s yours, Rosa.” His outstretched hand held it before her, and her eyes focused on it. She lifted a hand gingerly, picked it out of his hand and held it close to her. She looked up at him, eyes full of fear.

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

Morgan looked at the gathering of falling stars, his face illuminated by a billion points of light. In that moment, Rosa felt like she could see Morgan differently, like the boy with the black hair had been peeled away and left to float somewhere behind them, and in its place was a low burning fire, resilient and unwavering. She could see in him all of his hopes and aspirations and dreams, as well as her own, everything they had both desired their entire lives, and yet…

The water was unrelenting. It had filed past their waists, and the back window was ready to burst. Rosa choked back tears and looked out of her window. Next to her, she could see one of the stars drawing close. Inside sat two familiar figures, and yet, she couldn’t make out their faces. One of them waved, the other threw a thumbs up.

And then they were gone. Rosa’s tears flowed freely now, and she would’ve given anything, everything she ever had, to be sitting in her apartment, warm and dry and safe. In a moment, Rosa was terrified of death, and saw its gaping maw closing in around her. Panicking, she turned one last time to Morgan, to beg him to do something, anything, so they could go on, be together, live…

But her voice caught. The dim flame was gone and replaced with a magnificent roaring fire, reds and yellows and whites, filling up the entire car, and in the middle of it sat Morgan. The thing he had been was stripped away, replaced with fervor and zeal, its eyes blazing like a million suns. It looked at her, and beyond everything, beyond his face and the fire and the water and the stars around them, she saw something else. She saw…

CRACK!

She threw the gun into the water at her feet as it rushed in from behind them. “No,” she shouted over the growing din of the torrent. “No Morgan, I want to be there with you.”

The lead singer smiled. “To see it all within you.”

Water circled their necks, passing their mouths, then their eyes, and filled the car completely.

There was a moment while they floated in the weightlessness, where Rosa reached out and touched Morgan’s face. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and then towards where she was gesturing. Lights surrounded them, the lights of cars like theirs, floating in the depths of sea, hovering just above the edge of oblivion. They were all very still, yet pulsated like the night sky. Morgan glanced back at her, to share the moment with her, but she was already gone.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, felt towards the back window. When he reached it, he pushed himself out.

Around him he saw the lights flickering, and knew it would not be long. His mind reached out, looking for his friends among the stars, and felt them all around him. Clyde was to his right, guitar in hand, grinning while he tuned the damn thing for the fiftieth time. Next to him sat Brooke, crosslegged, spinning a drumstick and drinking a giant Mt. Dew. She laughed at some untold joke, and the rest of them guffawed along with her. Standing just outside of them was Umiko, calmly moving boxes back to the van. Morgan called out to him, and the big man turned and smiled at him.

Finally, there was Rosa. She was quiet, peaceful. She approached Morgan, held him, and then pointed skyward. Morgan looked up, then at his friends, and together they left for the next gig.

Morgan’s empty body floated in the water.

The stars hung for a second more, and then went out.

Пока не указано иное, содержимое этой страницы распространяется по лицензии Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License