Descending Road - TRY TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH by Dana W. Paxson

TRY TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH

1550 4D

When the creature had gnawed Jeddin‘s body lifeless, death had been a sweet release. Returning to consciousness, years later, was not as sweet.

His left eye opened onto darkness and a numb world, and thoughts trickled into his brain like dirty water into a sewer. Did he have a name? A thought dried up and stopped. Where was he? The darkness said nothing; his nasal passage woke to the stench of decay.

Innerspace: he fumbled at a shadowed portal in his mind, and fell through it into a library, where he lay on a floor thickly carpeted in dark blues and reds; books of ancient, precious paper. Dark-colored bindings lined the walls to a high dim ceiling. A haze of smoke lay at chair-height, primitive hanging incandescent lamps warming its gray fog.

In a great, heavily-upholstered chair of leather, a young man, by his darker skin a human, sat with a cigar in his mouth, reading from a hard-covered volume with paper pages that bore the title AGE MORPHOLOGY OF PRIMARY TUBERCLES. He was dressed in a style that the andro somehow knew as one from long-gone Earth.

The andro crawled, dragging his still-inert body across the carpet, to where the young man could see him.

“Ah. It’s time, then.” The young man rose, removed the cigar, and stood over the andro. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Who am I?” It came out in a croak.

“You died two decades ago. Your most recent name was Jeddin. You had others before that. Do you want to use Jeddin as your name again?” The cigar floated up from the young man’s fingers, wavered, and disappeared with its smoke.

Memory stirred. “Yes. Something was very important. I was…"

“Andro.”

“Yes. It is important. Tell me–“

“You will remember. Now you should return to your body. Someone is there with you now.” The young man walked to the door of the library, his stature shrinking to that of a child. As he drew the door open, Jeddin glimpsed a vast hall beyond, filled with a cubical lattice of light: the Great Archive. The door closed; the young man vanished in a coruscation of silver.

Jeddin eased back through the innerspace portal, and hung in darkness and rot. His eyes and nose refused to open; something held him. Behind his eyelids, a pale greenish light glowed: microbes worked at his remains.

“Jeddin.” A soft voice. A woman. “It has been over twenty years. Try to open your mouth.”

He sent messages to his jaw muscles; pain ground into him.

“That’s not enough. Here.” Fingers probed his desiccated gums, squeezed, pulled.

He tried to cry out with the agony, but only rasped. His jaw seemed to come loose.

“Oh. We’ll have to fix that. Now I’ll get busy.” Sweet fluid ran into his mouth, and down his paralyzed throat, and he lost all awareness.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	TRY TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH 1550 4D When the creature had gnawed Jeddin‘s body lifeless, death had been a sweet release. Returning to consciousness, years later, was not as sweet. His left eye opened onto darkness and a numb world, and thoughts trickled into his brain like dirty water into a sewer. Did he have a name? A thought dried up and stopped. Where was he? The darkness said nothing; his nasal passage woke to the stench of decay. Innerspace: he fumbled at a shadowed portal in his mind, and fell through it into a library, where he lay on a floor thickly carpeted in dark blues and reds; books of ancient, precious paper. Dark-colored bindings lined the walls to a high dim ceiling. A haze of smoke lay at chair-height, primitive hanging incandescent lamps warming its gray fog. In a great, heavily-upholstered chair of leather, a young man, by his darker skin a human, sat with a cigar in his mouth, reading from a hard-covered volume with paper pages that bore the title AGE MORPHOLOGY OF PRIMARY TUBERCLES. He was dressed in a style that the andro somehow knew as one from long-gone Earth. The andro crawled, dragging his still-inert body across the carpet, to where the young man could see him. “Ah. It’s time, then.” The young man rose, removed the cigar, and stood over the andro. “I’m glad you came back.” “Who am I?” It came out in a croak. “You died two decades ago. Your most recent name was Jeddin. You had others before that. Do you want to use Jeddin as your name again?” The cigar floated up from the young man’s fingers, wavered, and disappeared with its smoke. Memory stirred. “Yes. Something was very important. I was…" “Andro.” “Yes. It is important. Tell me–“ “You will remember. Now you should return to your body. Someone is there with you now.” The young man walked to the door of the library, his stature shrinking to that of a child. As he drew the door open, Jeddin glimpsed a vast hall beyond, filled with a cubical lattice of light: the Great Archive. The door closed; the young man vanished in a coruscation of silver. Jeddin eased back through the innerspace portal, and hung in darkness and rot. His eyes and nose refused to open; something held him. Behind his eyelids, a pale greenish light glowed: microbes worked at his remains. “Jeddin.” A soft voice. A woman. “It has been over twenty years. Try to open your mouth.” He sent messages to his jaw muscles; pain ground into him. “That’s not enough. Here.” Fingers probed his desiccated gums, squeezed, pulled. He tried to cry out with the agony, but only rasped. His jaw seemed to come loose. “Oh. We’ll have to fix that. Now I’ll get busy.” Sweet fluid ran into his mouth, and down his paralyzed throat, and he lost all awareness.