Blurred and Shattered

There lived a mechanical god. He is a head on the top of the paper hills surrounded by mist.

His heart, an underground cellar, pumped the ink of stories while his head is but an attic of thoughts and dreams.

The eyes were fragile windows, the ears are flapping portholes, and the nose a mysterious sort of ventilated room. The tongue, although twisted, is but a staircase of the mouth which is the exit of the unseen visitors who regularly arrive at some time in such clandestine passageway either through the cellar or the attic, although some visitors never leave when they enter as they choose to reside in the mechanical god or the mechanical god imprisoned them.

But in the mechanical god lived the Muse. No one ever saw Her before. No one knew Her routine, Her time of sleep in the mysterious ventilated nose, Her hours of hunger and eating in the basement and cellar, and even the potential end of Her life. What we knew was She just appeared one day in the mechanical god, in the mysterious ventilated nose.

She was there sewing. She was there going to the cellar, then going to the basement, then back and forth. She was either the controller of the mechanical god or the slave of it too. What was clear was Her existence and drive to do what She does.

But one day, the Muse saw a faceless being. That was the first time She wanted to leave the mechanical god. The faceless being, wandering, attempted to enter the mechanical god through the gaping mouth but it closed to deny entrance. It was entering the wrong way. Or perhaps, the mechanical god's clandestine passageways were too clandestine or just closed. Maybe, the faceless being just came in the wrong time.

It walked a small distance from the house then despite its faceless nature, it looked at the windows and waved to the Muse before wandering to the mist of nothingness.

The Muse continued living but this time, She was haunted by the face of this faceless being-- however could that be-- and even the wonders of the mechanical god regarding visitors and residents.

Time went by and the mist cleared to disclose more beings similar to the one that the Muse saw. The only difference was they have faces. She was certain that they were residents and visitors in some neighboring mechanical gods yet undiscovered.

Amid these beings were giant feet blindly passing the hills, stomping on some of the poor beings while giving some fortunate ones a ride upwards through their shoes.

The Muse grew questions. How come that Her mechanical god have unseen visitors and residents? How come that no one ever saw Her like the faceless being? Whose feet were these?

So every night, the Muse longed to go out so that She could seek answers but the eyes were too thick, or perhaps even too opaque. The Muse, for the first time, attempted to find her voice but she realized she was either mute or deaf.

But the Muse never gave up. Until one night, the Muse went out. She shattered the eyes of the mechanical god and the broken brittle pieces of the eyes scattered through the hills. The Muse approached the beings with face but they were ignoring Her as if she was invisible, or inaudible, or both. The giant feet might even stomp Her to death.

That was the time She realized that the only one who could answer Her was the faceless being she saw before. The Muse, afraid, attempted to return but the mechanical god could not recognize Her. The eyeholes of the mechanical god might either be blurred or blinded. She came into the understanding that she knew how to leave but not to return.

She needed to find not only the faceless being but even the shards of the windows. The Muse began her journey and in a few steps away, she found a bridge, half-started or half-finished.

She looked at the bottom of the bridge and saw the familiar sparkle of the windowpanes. She was certain that they belonged to Her mechanical god. When she straightened back Her look, there it was, the faceless being waving at Her at the other end which was an unknown dimension. It was curiously peering at Her, beckoning at Her to follow and upon finding out that it was impossible for Her, the faceless being turned its back to Her.

The Muse, frustrated, released a loud cry. The walking strangers and visitors around stopped. The giant feet paused. The faceless being did not take another step. The giant feet, the walking strangers and visitors, and the faceless being, were slightly trembling as if to signify that they would move again in just a couple of minutes.

Did they hear Her? Or did the mechanical god hear her?

Or was it simply the mechanical god, operating its heart cellar to pump ink of stories, and its head to manufacture thoughts and dreams, performing with utmost exertions?

Yes, it therefore heard Her.

It was trying to feed its unseen residents and visitors. Consider it a miracle but the mechanical god, using what was left of the sewing materials of the Muse, was printing faces into them, stuffing them with form, clothing them. They entered the mysterious ventilated nose and when they came out, they were alive and ready to go.

They were ready to go, ready to fetch the Muse, ready to help her find or maybe pick the missing shards, ready to halt the giant feet and even climb them as they would dare, ready to capture or perhaps befriend the faceless being at the other side of the hill.

The eyes of the mechanical god were blurred and shattered but never blinded.

The mechanical god in his blurred and shattered vision watched the new beings depart for their mission. They were alive and ready to go. The mechanical god would continue producing these new beings with the left-overs of the Muse.

I am the mechanical god. Blurred. S h  a  t t   e r   e    d.