Aberrant: The Middle Children of History - Starry Night

[Netherworld]

The Paris night is not really night, Netherworld repeated to himself every time he heard someone mention it was dark outside. The stars were not visible. Certainly the majestic awe of the milky way was hidden as well. No, what they had over Paris was a reflection of their fear of the dark. The light rays rose to the sky and drowned out the universe around them, so they didn't have to be reminded just how small they really were. At least Netherworld got that feeling when he escaped from the populated areas and gazed into the night sky.

He really wanted to share with his fellow Parisans that the darkness was not to be feared. There were some in the city who enjoyed things that were 'dark', but he questioned if they truly knew what is was to immerse themselves into blackness that stripped the soul from its moorings and left only the mind. In such a place, thoughts were all that mattered. These 'dark-lovers', as Netherworld called them, hung around the exhibit houses and asked multitudes of mind numbing questions about what it is like in the 'netherworld' and if there others there.

One man in particular, always showed up to the exhibits. His dark hair and green eyes were an interesting contrast that drew Netherworld's attention. The man never spoke to him, but smiled when Netherworld looked at him. Out of curiosity, Netherworld watched the man from the dark places. His conversations were always centered around the possibility that life existed in other dimensions and sub-conscious levels of thought. Eventually, he would have to approach this man to share his insight. Right now though, Netherworld was content with the man's observations. There would be plenty of opportunities to discuss the nuances of living in two worlds.

For Netherworld, multidimensional existence was a fascinating concept, and one in which he was not in a position to share. He did not have the ability to bring others with him as he journeyed, so he was alone in his experiences. Therefore, only through his art could he share his feelings and experiences of being immersed in the Nether-Realms. Art would be his vessel to help man over his fear of darkness. Then maybe, mankind would turn out the lights, so Netherworld could see the stars from his beloved Paris.

[Netherworld]

There was a large group of well to do Euros lingering around one of his larger sculptures titled 'Dawn of Night'. They were in intense discussion over its meaning and emotional stature. As Netherworld listened, he realized that, while it gave them a profound sense of smallness, they were also wrong in its meaning. The 8 foot tall piece of moving black clouds, interspersed with swirling tiny points of lights that flickered rhythmically to a beating heart was mean to describe his physical body at the moment it entered the 'Shadow Realm'. It was the dawning of the night realm as seen through his own eyes and felt in his soul. It simply was a piece of self-experience.

For the elites gathered around it, however, it was being talked about as if it was a living creature that resided in the otherworldly ether. They were haggling over whether it was intelligent or not, but in either case, that was not correct. For a brief moment, Netherworld thought of telling them what the sculpture represented, then just as quickly decided to let them think what they wanted to. There was no sense in ruining their beliefs and their fascination in the piece. The would not really understand anyways.

A smaller piece that looked vaguely equine, was already being marked as sold; not that Netherworld cared if it did or not. The 20 cm tall 'Nightmare', as he named it, was his interpretation of the mythical personification of nightmares that ferried bad dreams to sleepers. Netherworld suspected that it was bought by one of the 'dark lovers' who tended to enjoy things like that.

As the night wore on, the sold tags grew in numbers, as his pieces were purchased. One of the things he did, that many of his contemporaries didn't do, he suspected, was keep the price low. He wanted to share this other world with humanity, not profit from his transitory experience within it. At the end of the evening, as the crowds grew more boisterous from the alcohol and, he assumed, other things that changed one's perceptions, he saw that his morphing statue of a man, did not sell. Oh well, he thought, it is my favorite piece anyways. After all, it was of his physical body changing into shadows. For the assembled group, it was probably considered too simplistic and obvious. It was supposed to be. Maybe I will give it as a gift.