These Shall Be Recited On The Twelfth Hour Of Every Day

This page mentions suicide and its surrounding topics. Read at your own discretion.

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This is the account of Ayesha.

The ground is damp and cold and nothing. Icy water puddles onto the floor from somewhere above, darkness coating her eyes. The water is cruel to her stiff, dry tongue. Her hands, though she cannot see them, catch the only salvation, satisfying her thirst with the freezing source. She gulps it deeply, and there, where she sits, she is content, if only for a while.

She steps back after drinking, back against the chilly concrete, and sighs. She looks around, from right to left, left to right, top to bottom, bottom to topall is dark. Still, she cannot tell the difference between the shutting and opening of her eyes anyway, so why should she look around? Whether it is simply human instincts or some subconscious desire that compels her to look, she knows that it is for a purpose unbeknownst to her.

Then, once more, she looks left and right and left and…


Her guiding moonlight shining upon Her and her Tom(b)e.

…MOONLIGHT pierces her void-bathed eyes, blinding her with cold, silent contempt. She shrieks in agony and retreats deep into the darkness; she finally knows her eyes were open the whole time. The room is invisible black, no light penetrates here.

It is in this revelation of hers that she realizes what she has become: a creature of the dark, fearful of the light. Her skin is sickly grey against the moonlight, her limbs so devoid of muscle and flesh and life that she can no longer be called human. It is a horrifying certainty that she cannot deny. Terror pervades her mind when voices from the oblivion whisper into her ears, beckoning her to reveal herself to the sky, to feel the moon's light once more.

Her fragile fingers feel for a crack from where the moonlight leaks. Then, a white spark bounces off her hand, and for a fleeting moment, she is mesmerized by the silver light. But in the corner of her eyes was sinister made real, a manifestation of oblivion on the black surface, which is not as invisible as that absolute black. It is a tome.

Revelation. Euphoria! The pages of such dark understanding are nigh incomprehensible to a being like her. Thus she says: "If oblivion is good and the darkness is just, I shall say the word and my soul shall be healed." And there is no longer nothing with her and she has become the tomb and the tomb has become her. For she was Ayesha and Ayesha is the tomb.

This is the account of Crowhurst.

Thus he said to the sea: "If the sea is that deep, how come I could see the bottom of it?" And the bottom was nothing, and he was correct. "The boundary that exists between me and the bottom is merely a mass of liquid state, which propagates undulations like a blanket in the wind. If there was no such boundary, the bottom would merely be nothing." And it was so. There was nothing on the bottom of the sea and there was a growing oblivion.

In its wake, it dripped tears of seawater into nothing and it became oblivion too. On the third day, the leak had turned into a faucet of running seawater. "If there was such a case and if my conjecture of the bottom of the sea is truly nothing, then the sea would also be nothing as it is consumed by the nothing that rests at the bottom of it." And it was so. There was a growing hole and it was drinking the water with an endless stomach. "And if it is so, I am a genius and I serve the nothing." And it was so, and he is a genius.

On his fifth day on the sea, he said to it: "There is nothing that awaits my sloop at the bottom of the sea and I know not when my sloop shall be drank like an ant on a glass of water." And it was so, and he knew not and needn't know that he was being drunk like an ant on a glass of water. In this period, the faucet had grown to be a waterfall and the waterfall streamed down and it too became nothing.

On his ninth day, he was descending. "It does seem I am correct and the bottom is nothing and I am being drunk like an ant on a glass of water and my guest who drinks the water does not forgive and contains an endless stomach." On his thirteenth day, the sea was nothing and this proved Crowhurst's Conjecture, now law: if the bottom of the sea is truly nothing, then the sea would also be nothing as it is consumed by the nothing that rests at the bottom of it.

If all this is true, then the nothingness and the guest with an endless stomach shall drink all the seas and shall still be thirsty after and eat of the land as its breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still yet be hungry and eat the skies as its dessert. To Crowhurst, who was now drunk like an ant on a glass of water, he knew that this was merely a waiting game. The guest with an endless stomach wants to play it forever.

This is the account of Daedalus.

The sun had grown an eye. It is as if some clean black ink had been dropped right on its face, which glowed ever-radiantly. It was also growing, the masses could not see it but it was growing, I knew of this because of my son. A deep desire ate away at his soul, a fixation that neither the gods nor men could quake. But I quaked for him. Terror ate at my soul as my eyes lingered on the fanatic, frantic, fearful thing I once called a son.

Each day, I saw his eyes change, too. He preached the sun's eye as if it is some malignant deity who wished destruction to everything in its sight. He spouted hysterical controversies and spited those who took his word for nothing or merely entertaining. For he was a dreamer, and though this dream was not so bright, he pursued it like moth to a flame. He took to the skies with wax-made wings to see the great dark eye closer. He flew with elegance and zeal for his cause, and I could do nothing but watch as he slowly merged into the eye. For it was not an eye but a mouth, and it kept on eating until the sky had turned an absolute nothing.

I could see that the masses that once gave no care to the eye were now moving with desperation, driving them to the brink of madness. Cities fell, and walls crumbled. The eye now ate at mankind and came crashing down with an uncaring end. The only two feelings that remained as the mouth began to shroud each corner of the world in absolute darkness were the acceptance and fear of the eye. I am one of the two.

I quaked for the world. I quaked for the people. I quaked for my son as my arms reached for him as he flew into that mouth, vanished into a cold iris that gazed deep into my mind, soul, and being. Nothing remains now as I feel nothing. For I too have become the mouth that eats away at the souls of the masses and I have become what my son and all the sons in the world desired: a mouth, an eye, a nothing.

This is the account of Salvio.

The dream was merely a piece of the truth, for I had seen it all. It was in the seams of my clothes and the darkness that pervaded the alleys in the night. Although these were temporary, they were places with hints of what was to come. They were places where cold, permanent darkness would eventually manifest. This cold darkness was neither a construct nor a god, but a means of purification to bring the state of reality into nothing. It made it all the more a faith everlasting in both heart and mind.

I had become enlightened by this fact through the practices that it had shown me in my visions, to strip everything to the minimum, become numb from all mortal pain, and abandon the places where mortal satisfaction and pleasure were once acquired.

The place where all things belong is in the nothingness where consciousness and life cannot even dare to breach. It lingers in the mind and creates a hole from which permeates the truth: to become nothing. For we were once nothing before we were even given the curse of being something. Thus, it is only moral to return to that state. A state wherein the soul neither accepts nor denies what happens to it. This is a reason to be happy because this curse is a hindrance to the state of being truly free.

I am certain that my discovery of the Decay is the next step for human evolution and that it is something to be proud of. There is no better way than to accept what is inevitable, for knowing nothing is the beginning of wisdom. The beginning of wisdom, true wisdom, is within the void. There is a saying that no monetary value will ever compare to the feeling of self-satisfaction. This satisfaction drives my faith in oblivion. It is what all others must see. There is no grander purpose in this curse than to return from it to the truth that enveloped us in its embrace before we were even realized based on the stupidity that is chance.

These are the words of Satisfaction, Purity, and Happiness.
These are the first words of the Tome.
They shall be recited on the 12th Hour of every day.
They shall be recited with honesty and compassion.
These are the first sacred texts of the Tome.
They shall be respected and fulfilled.
They shall be given a sacrifice on the 12th Hour of every day.

~ Salvio

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