Piper Square - Chapter 10 - Saturn's Hunger
Raymond Nocte had retreated from reality.
Floating in a sea of blackness, the apartment he called home ceased to be; instead becoming the canvas upon which his desires took form. Within that dream world Raymond, now Ramona Day, was a star untethered to the universe, able to freely enact and enjoy those desires that were long buried beneath years of pressure and oppression.
The levy had broken; the longer Raymond swam in the black waters, the deeper he sank, comforted by the knowledge he was returning home after many years abroad.
As a child, Raymond had often fled to the library nearby, a quaint building, older than the ones surrounding it, that had somehow survived the purges of history that often overtakes neighborhoods deemed desirable. Two staircases to the left and right rose for fifteen steps, eventually turning at right angles and continuing as they rose above a gated archway, eventually connecting with one another at the front entrance.
Raymond feared that gate, the stair leading below the sidewalk, into what he believed to be a dungeon where creatures were kept or people experimented upon.
This fear did not extend to the library above, where the glass windows along the upper parts of the wall let in copious amounts of light, often refracting against the dust let off by the old books, creating scenes of aged beauty that only come alive upon reflection, where detail and nostalgia blend into something cinematic, creating a time and place the soul yearns for.
Raymond’s home life was nothing if not troubled. Never able to live up to his father’s expectations, he was instead the outlet for his father’s rage. That rage was well hidden, his father adept at hiding the damage he inflicted, carefully selecting the areas covered by Raymond’s clothes. The purple and red marks, shaped like open hands and closed fists, clung to his frail frame, radiating pain, first sharp, then dull, with a frequency so high that young Raymond had grown accustomed to it. Beatings of this kind had become normal, such that the physical pain ceased to be pain at all, rather it was those moments free from pain that hurt the most, a reminder that life could be better than this.
Still, he found peace in the pages of old books; transported to other places, other worlds. In one book he found descriptions and pictures of cities unknown, with such fantastical places as Anastor, built into the very sky itself, with bridges that connected one part to another, hanging from the stars and shining at night like a magic jewel; or Vaneneim, the wandering city, built upon the shoulders of the giant Hrungir, child of the world builder, upon whose flesh is carved the secret of immortality; and Ulysia, formed beneath the ocean’s waves, surrounded by the dark blue expanse, under which run endless tunnels used mined the deep earth’s treasures, the lone survivor of the cycle of destruction and creation.
Fantasy worlds, realer to him in those precious moments of safety within the library walls, refining and strengthening his imagination, so that when he closed his eyes, it was as though he could walk down the parapets of those cities’ walls, looking in on the majesty of their construction, watch the lives of individuals unfold, and even become a part of that world.
Every time he entered, a new world unfurled, and he began to believe that this was not merely the work of his imagination, but rather his tapping into something larger than himself; moving beyond the boundaries and rules imposed upon him by life, by physics, by his father. A way to escape the unbending, unrelenting reality that would bleed from his nose with a single strike, the dull aches that forced his eyes open when all Raymond wanted was to fall asleep.
Within a year, this newfound world would be terrorized. His imagination began to take on a life of its own. Among the uncontrolled a monstrosity of a man seeking vengeance for ills yet wrought, stalking young Raymond from dream to dream, calling out threats, aching with rage to bite off his flesh from his bones. Raymond’s persistence in existing was an affront, an unworthy successor that needed to be felled before he took root; the tenacity of which forced Raymond, who only briefly had known what it was to be safe, to abandon his last refuge of peace, lest he allow Saturn to devour him whole.
Floating in a sea of blackness, the apartment he called home ceased to be; instead becoming the canvas upon which his desires took form. Within that dream world Raymond, now Ramona Day, was a star untethered to the universe, able to freely enact and enjoy those desires that were long buried beneath years of pressure and oppression.
The levy had broken; the longer Raymond swam in the black waters, the deeper he sank, comforted by the knowledge he was returning home after many years abroad.
As a child, Raymond had often fled to the library nearby, a quaint building, older than the ones surrounding it, that had somehow survived the purges of history that often overtakes neighborhoods deemed desirable. Two staircases to the left and right rose for fifteen steps, eventually turning at right angles and continuing as they rose above a gated archway, eventually connecting with one another at the front entrance.
Raymond feared that gate, the stair leading below the sidewalk, into what he believed to be a dungeon where creatures were kept or people experimented upon.
This fear did not extend to the library above, where the glass windows along the upper parts of the wall let in copious amounts of light, often refracting against the dust let off by the old books, creating scenes of aged beauty that only come alive upon reflection, where detail and nostalgia blend into something cinematic, creating a time and place the soul yearns for.
Raymond’s home life was nothing if not troubled. Never able to live up to his father’s expectations, he was instead the outlet for his father’s rage. That rage was well hidden, his father adept at hiding the damage he inflicted, carefully selecting the areas covered by Raymond’s clothes. The purple and red marks, shaped like open hands and closed fists, clung to his frail frame, radiating pain, first sharp, then dull, with a frequency so high that young Raymond had grown accustomed to it. Beatings of this kind had become normal, such that the physical pain ceased to be pain at all, rather it was those moments free from pain that hurt the most, a reminder that life could be better than this.
Still, he found peace in the pages of old books; transported to other places, other worlds. In one book he found descriptions and pictures of cities unknown, with such fantastical places as Anastor, built into the very sky itself, with bridges that connected one part to another, hanging from the stars and shining at night like a magic jewel; or Vaneneim, the wandering city, built upon the shoulders of the giant Hrungir, child of the world builder, upon whose flesh is carved the secret of immortality; and Ulysia, formed beneath the ocean’s waves, surrounded by the dark blue expanse, under which run endless tunnels used mined the deep earth’s treasures, the lone survivor of the cycle of destruction and creation.
Fantasy worlds, realer to him in those precious moments of safety within the library walls, refining and strengthening his imagination, so that when he closed his eyes, it was as though he could walk down the parapets of those cities’ walls, looking in on the majesty of their construction, watch the lives of individuals unfold, and even become a part of that world.
Every time he entered, a new world unfurled, and he began to believe that this was not merely the work of his imagination, but rather his tapping into something larger than himself; moving beyond the boundaries and rules imposed upon him by life, by physics, by his father. A way to escape the unbending, unrelenting reality that would bleed from his nose with a single strike, the dull aches that forced his eyes open when all Raymond wanted was to fall asleep. Within a year, this newfound world would be terrorized. His imagination began to take on a life of its own. Among the uncontrolled a monstrosity of a man seeking vengeance for ills yet wrought, stalking young Raymond from dream to dream, calling out threats, aching with rage to bite off his flesh from his bones. Raymond’s persistence in existing was an affront, an unworthy successor that needed to be felled before he took root; the tenacity of which forced Raymond, who only briefly had known what it was to be safe, to abandon his last refuge of peace, lest he allow Saturn to devour him whole.
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