Death is Eternal #397

Saturday. April 20, 2024. 2,500 words.

Saturday? Yes, Saturday. Why? Because I have a busy day tomorrow, so it’s better to write Death is Eternal one day before than a day later—since a day later means Monday, and Monday means working. The catch-22? I’m also busy today, but it’s a different type of “busy.” I think. Anyway... Shall we begin?

Contents

1. The Alchemy of Hope

2. Writing: Uma Estória do Mundo

3. Bye!

4. Life (from April 15 to 28, 2024)

5. Death is Eternal review #273: Torto Arado by Itamar Vieira Junior

6. The end

1. The Alchemy of Hope

I tread amidst the sombre landscape, my senses assaulted by the putrid stench of decay that clings to the air like a relentless spectre. Each step I take through the grim expanse of lifeless forms serves as a stark reminder of the cataclysmic event that has befallen us.

Once, the unearthing of magic held the promise of redemption. In the throes of our collective anguish—beset by pandemics, environmental degradation, social strife, and the spectre of conflict—we grasped at the slender thread of hope that magic offered. With but a whispered incantation, we believed we could mend the fractures that threatened to rend our world asunder.

Yet, in our fervour to wield this newfound power, we became ensnared by its seductive allure. The pursuit of enlightenment through scientific inquiry faltered in the face of the instant gratification that magic provided. Why strive to unravel the mysteries of the universe when we could shape it to our whims with but a flick of the wrist? And so, entangled in the web of our own hubris, we relinquished the pursuit of knowledge in favour of the ephemeral allure of sorcery.

In this age of enchantment, humanity flourished not through the acquisition of wisdom but through the manipulation of reality itself.

Amidst the tapestry of magic’s unfolding, a profound shift rippled through the fabric of our understanding. No longer were we mere spectators in the theatre of existence; we were now active participants, intricately woven into the very essence of nature itself.

With each incantation whispered and spell woven, we forged a deeper connection with the primal forces that bind us to the earth. Magic, we discovered, was not a mere parlour trick or a fleeting illusion. It was an intrinsic aspect of the natural world, as ancient and immutable as the stars themselves.

In embracing the mysteries of magic, we underwent a metamorphosis of the soul. We could no longer deny our kinship with the creatures of the wild, for we, too, were animals bound by the same laws of nature that govern all life on this fragile planet. The barriers between humanity and the natural world dissolved, revealing the interconnectedness of all living things.

And so, propelled by this newfound understanding, we embarked upon a journey of transformation. Like the graceful dance of the clownfish, we learned to adapt and evolve, shedding the constraints of our former selves with each passing day. The ability to change our very essence, to transcend the boundaries of species and form, became not just a possibility but a reality.

Yet, this journey was not without its trials and tribulations. The path to mastery was fraught with pitfalls and uncertainties, and our initial forays into shape-shifting were marred by imperfection. Many stumbled in their attempts, their bodies twisting and contorting in grotesque caricatures of the creatures they sought to emulate.

But still, we persevered, driven by an innate desire to commune with the natural world in all its splendour. With each transformation, we delved deeper into the mysteries of magic, unravelling its secrets with each passing day. And as our understanding grew, so too did our power until we stood on the precipice of true mastery, poised to transcend the limitations of our humanity and embrace the boundless possibilities that lay before us.

In the aftermath of our folly, the scene before me unfolds like a macabre tableau, a grim testament to the hubris of our kind. Amidst the tangled heaps of lifeless forms, the boundary between man and beast blurs, a chilling reminder of the depths to which we have fallen.

The air hangs heavy with the acrid stench of decay, a sickening miasma that clings to my skin like a shroud. In the dim light, the pallid faces of the dead stare back at me, their vacant eyes betraying no hint of the horrors they have witnessed.

Yet, amidst the carnage, a sobering truth emerges. The scourge that now ravages our once-proud civilization was not wrought by the hand of fate nor the whims of capricious gods. No, it was our own arrogance, our blind faith in the power of magic, that has brought us to the brink of annihilation.

We placed our trust in spells and incantations for too long, heedless of the consequences that lay in wait. Even as whispers of impending doom echoed through the halls of power, we turned a deaf ear, dismissing the warnings as the ravings of madmen.

But now, as I stand amidst the ruins of our once-great civilization, the bitter truth is laid bare. Magic, that wondrous gift that promised to elevate us to new heights, has become our undoing. The very forces we sought to harness have turned against us, unleashing a plague of unimaginable horror upon the world.

And so, as the bodies pile up around me, a grim reminder of the folly of our ways, I am left to ponder a question without answer. How can we hope to combat a foe born of our own arrogance, a scourge that defies the very laws of nature?

Spoiler alert: we cannot.

Amidst the ebb and flow of time, a silent menace lurked, biding its time until the moment was ripe. Across the ages, pandemics have stalked humanity’s footsteps, their origins shrouded in mystery and their tolls measured in lives lost. Yet, behind the veil of uncertainty, a grim truth lay concealed.

In the quiet corners of the natural world, unseen and unnoticed, viruses thrived, their existence a delicate dance of life and death. For centuries, they remained confined to their animal hosts, their potential for harm held in check by the barriers that separated species. But as the boundaries between man and beast blurred, so too did the barriers that kept the viral hordes at bay.

With each passing year, our interactions with the animal kingdom grew more intimate, a symbiotic relationship forged in the crucible of necessity. Yet, with this intimacy came danger, for the viruses that dwelled within our animal brethren lay in wait, poised to seize upon any opportunity to cross the threshold into the realm of humanity.

And so, as the centuries unfolded, the inevitable came to pass. Once confined to the realms of the wild, a virus breached the barriers that separated species, its genetic code mutating with a deadly efficiency that defied comprehension. In the blink of an eye, it swept across the land, a silent harbinger of death and despair.

As the world reeled from the onslaught, humanity faced a choice: adapt or perish. In the face of an enemy that defied conventional weaponry, we turned inward, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of magic. Yet, even the mightiest incantations proved futile against the inexorable march of evolution.

In the shadow of despair, a glimmer of hope emerged. Though few in number, those who survived the initial onslaught banded together, their resolve unshaken in the face of overwhelming odds. With magic banned and shape-shifting forsaken, they turned to science, delving deep into the mysteries of the natural world in search of a cure.

And though the road ahead was fraught with peril, they pressed onward, driven by a shared determination to defy the cruel whims of fate. For in the darkest hour, amidst the ruins of a shattered world, they clung to the fragile promise of survival, their spirits unbroken by the weight of despair.

As the harsh reality of our plight settled upon us like a suffocating blanket, we resigned ourselves to the inevitable, bracing for the cataclysm that loomed on the horizon. But in the depths of despair, a flicker of hope emerged from the darkness, a solitary beacon of possibility amidst the encroaching shadows.

It began as a whisper, a mere suggestion uttered in hushed tones among the remnants of our shattered civilization. If magic could not stem the tide of destruction, then perhaps science held the key to our salvation.

Once revered as the cornerstone of human achievement, science had become little more than a relic of a bygone era, its wonders relegated to the pages of children’s books and the punchlines of jesters. But now, as we stood on the precipice of oblivion, it emerged from the ashes of obscurity to reclaim its rightful place in our collective consciousness.

In a testament to the resilience of our spirit, we embarked on a journey of rediscovery, drawing upon the very magic that had brought us to the brink of ruin to unlock the mysteries of the natural world. Through the alchemy of knowledge and sorcery, we toiled tirelessly, unravelling the intricacies of science and the secrets of the cosmos.

And then, against all odds, a breakthrough emerged from the crucible of our labours. A cure, born of science, promised to deliver us from the clutches of despair and usher in a new dawn of hope.

It was a revelation, a triumph of human ingenuity that defied comprehension. Though the toll of the plague had been devastating, with less than a fraction of a percent of the world’s population left standing, it was a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity that any had survived at all.

And so, amidst the carnage and despair, I tread softly through the remnants of a once-thriving world, my senses assailed by the sickening stench of death and decay. But amidst the ruins, I search for signs of life, driven by a singular purpose: to offer the gift of hope to those who still cling to the fragile thread of existence.

The end

2. Writing: Uma Estória do Mundo

Cover by Matheus Kaplun

This will be a short entry today because I want to celebrate the anniversary of A Story of the World, but since it’s only available in Portuguese, it’s unfair to you, dear reader, for me to try to convince you to read it. But I also must celebrate the date, so...

I finished A Story of The World on April 24, 2015, so I’m celebrating its ninth anniversary. It was my second book, and just like The Alchemy of Hope—because, apparently, the universe has a sense of humour, or it simply loves synchronicity—it also mixes fantasy with science fiction, although in the book, instead of them working together to save humanity they ended up as excuses for people to kill one another in the name of what they believe—I’d typically be against spoiling my own book, but again, it’s not available in English, so it seems only fair to do it.

Anyway, I’m proud of the idea and the concepts of the book, but the execution is kind of blah, if I’m being honest. But can you blame me? It was only my second book, and I was merely 22 when I wrote it, so cut me some slack. I should maybe revisit it one day. But, at the same time, you know how I feel about self-editing and rewriting stuff.

Happy birthday, Uma Estória do Mundo! You’re a terrific idea ruined by an inexperienced writer! Still, you’re worth reading because I’m good at writing, and even when I ruin an idea, it tends to be flawed but entertaining. Also, you’re the book that showed me I could write. Writing a book is hard, but writing two? Well, that’s when I showed myself I was a real writer. So no matter what people say or even I say about you, you’ll always be loved!

3. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of Death is Eternal, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.