The Pantheon

Sisket 2: Called to Hell

May 04, 2021 Joshua White
The Pantheon
Sisket 2: Called to Hell
Chapters
The Pantheon
Sisket 2: Called to Hell
May 04, 2021
Joshua White

The timeline is not in the correct order. But this one needs you to be in the dark, so it can deliver its punch. 

 Sharing Links: 
 https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-pantheon/id1498984739
 https://www.buzzsprout.com/811181
 https://www.instagram.com/the_pantheon_remembers/
 https://open.spotify.com/show/6Pmngtn7BBnOeAiOzAriHJ
 https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-the-pantheon-57860820/
 https://podcasts.google.com/?  feed=aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5idXp6c3Byb3V0LmNvbS84MTExODEucnNz 

Show Notes Transcript

The timeline is not in the correct order. But this one needs you to be in the dark, so it can deliver its punch. 

 Sharing Links: 
 https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-pantheon/id1498984739
 https://www.buzzsprout.com/811181
 https://www.instagram.com/the_pantheon_remembers/
 https://open.spotify.com/show/6Pmngtn7BBnOeAiOzAriHJ
 https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-the-pantheon-57860820/
 https://podcasts.google.com/?  feed=aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5idXp6c3Byb3V0LmNvbS84MTExODEucnNz 

She is here. Again. Even when the here has moved, she has found it. (Deep sigh) It means that I am not long for this world, one way or the other. Eventually I will grow lax. And, seeing as how all of my movements have been caught and traced by her,even at the worst of times, she, in her part, is not lax. So, I will someday wander into a place where I do not have the right sigils to drive her away. And then I will die. How long is that? I don’t know. It depends on my own self control, if you will.

This particular town does not have a particularly resilient supply line, so… I suppose I shall not be here very long. Especially not since she is here. It matters not that she will find me. Because that is at this point a forgone conclusion. I will move because I do not wish to look at her. Can you blame me for that? No. Obviously you cannot. If you have laid your eyes on her you would move, too. No, if you dear listener spotted even one speck of the hem of her robe, you would panic. But that is because your mind is not so attuned to her misery as mine. 

And yet even now with my disciplined self, her presence is starting to, frankly, freak me out. I wish to close my eyes and simply forget about the world. Fall asleep, perhaps eternally, if you will. And that is not a healthy way for me to exist. So I will do one of the things which always aids in this situation. I will describe her, and how she found me. In doing this I always find that the pain of her existence becomes a little easier to bear. Why, precisely, I do not know. Perhaps it is merely some quirk of the human mind where yelling my misery out into the darkness allows for it to be soothed in some respect. Or perhaps some factor of her. Obviously that second is a bit more arcane, which normally would cause me to dismiss it. But, considering that it is her, we have no reason to deny the supernatural. Or, in her case, the natural with a description that we have not found yet. 

But this ritual of mind works in easing my pain. So I shall engage in it. 18 years ago. Oh, it seems like that time, even though I felt it was the worst of times, is paradise in retrospect. Another horrific quirk of the human mind, where even though I knew my labors were rather unendearing to mental wellbeing, even though I knew it was bad then, I can look back and say that those times were good. We had been sent out to a little quarry town, out by the western edge. Cottsburg, I think it was called. One of the original sites of infestation. And, to our knowledge, the last spot of infestation. It was to be an ordinary job. We get in, we destroy the eggs, we make sure the populace forgets we were ever there to begin with. Ordinary work, and the last of the work. We applied ourselves to it with complete and utter relish, because of course we would. From that last job were set to receive a sum that would make us princes for our entire lives. A sum which I did indeed receive, hence the only reason I can afford this eternal, extravagent retreat that I have embarked upon.

But it was an ordinary job for experts such as us. You could smell the misery in the air. That particular, spicy sadness only ever came from them. I can still feel the tinge of it on my nostrils. The woe of many dozens of generations, all compiled into one savage scent. But, even though the things were formally ethereal, drawn to our metaphysical intentions, they burned t the flame just as well as any other tender. We sniffed them out. We burnt the eggs. And then, to our knowledge, our jobs were done. Finally and forever, all our kind were free. Least from them.

But, I swear. I took all the precautions. I wore the exact right type of clothing. Every single inch of my skin was covered. I had spoken the mantras. I had drawn out the potions into my bloodstream. There was nothing else I could have done to be further protected. And yet the little thing got to my ankle. One last egg, a nymph, perhaps, its dozen maws flailing wildly in the sun, nipped at my ankle while no one else was looking. It caught it. It caught me and figured that with my suicide, I would finally replicate for the creature its kindred. So it made the best and final apparition that its horrific race could muster. My dead lover.

At first when I saw it I thought it was just a corpse. That’s how muddled its features were. And yet it was always there, and I knew it was Allicia. I couldn’t go to anyone, because I knew what they’d do to me. I’d done it to others in the past. And even though I would have to stare at her, in many different places, I would have to remember what I did to her. Every day. Never forgetting that grief stricken face, not with my eyesight still intact.

My soul burns with hypocrisy. How could it not? The Sisket, despite their malice, were always brilliant. I have to give them that. They know precisely how to undermine your emotions, knowing that that face, the face that I’d killed in the line of duty, for the same exact reason… the same exact infection that I bear now. I killed her. I killed her, and yet… now by my hubris I allow myself to live.

And, unfortunately, I have to. Because I know how these definitions work. I know what happens when you go north. It is only when you don’t what is happening that north is something other than suicide. Because, if it is wandered into blindly, then it is just an unfortunate death. That’s what I told myself. It’s what I told myself twenty three thousand times when I signed the orders. All of those faces. All going north. And then finally, hers. Finally hers, and I not hesitate. I signed over the warrant, the papers, rather. And I never told her the truth. We parted so emptily. And we had to, because, because otherwise she would have known. ANd yet here I am. With nothing to do but stay alive, until something else gets me. Some disease, I hope, although by these definitions I cannot deny myself treatment. A brawl, I hope, although I cannot go out seeking one. A car accident, although I must the most careful of drivers. Something, anything that would get me without the interference of my own hand. Because I can’t… those facilities are still there. I remember walking through them just a couple of weeks ago and feeling… tempted. As she watched me. But I kid you not, I saw a little smile on the corpse’s face. There is no salvation for me, not even in salvation. So I can only seek a little bit of ease, until I am finally called to hell.