Insertion

Ever since The Encryption began recruitment, there were whispers of a phenomenon called Insertion. It was initiated with a multifaceted, multidimensional language, gifted to us from another star system. A cyclical and infinitely varied language that incorporated sound, visualisation, movement and colour. A synergetic symphony between the four elements that allowed beings to insert themselves into any density or dimension whilst also having the ability to know their lives entirely, absolutely and assuredly in the past, present and future. To be born yet already know death. If you were highly skilled and well versed in the language you could also experience yourself in multiple parallel realities at once.

The Encryption was experimenting with their own formation of the language yet with a sort of synthesised version if you will. With that, when the tests on the public begun so did the attacks. We were hit with missiles of a biological, organic nature. One was a type of mycelium that devoured concrete and had virtually eaten its way through the majority of London within the week. The language was only intended for those it was gifted to. You cannot use it unless you have been given the gift via one of the three lineages. This was the singular rule we were given alongside the knowledge of the language.

Time had passed, no one knew how long as there was a constant cast of grey that encapsulated the city. The only borough of London left standing was tower hamlets, which was somewhat fitting as this little piece of London was built in the poorest of conditions by the poorest of people. The infestation didn’t touch this part of the city, it must have known it was tormented enough.

The majority of the city had dispersed or simply disintegrated after the final airstrike had landed. Still, there were little clandestine pockets of humanity dotted around the city. The energy was lonesome and melancholic, for a city which had been discovered in 43AD by the Romans with such a rich history had been totally devastated and so had its people. London had lost every ounce of her charm, she was berated and bruised and I doubt she would ever return to her former glory.

Lovene was one of the few left. A true east ender through and through, she was an amalgamation of celestial matter, pixie-like with a bewildering type of beauty. The intensity she purveyed in her eyes was not for the faint of heart, she was unlike any other young woman, with carbon hair that was wispy and whimsical and blood that was both Romani and Basque, she was an angelic anomaly in a very muted, mundane existence.

She had often been referred to as feral, however, Lovene would always shrug off the remarks of her critics. She compared herself to nature, as nature wasn't feral or wild, it was just simply the wilderness. She wasn't palatable to the average joe, nor did she want to be. She was always at the receiving end of peoples taunts and understood from a young age that she would likely always be misunderstood. She made peace with the fact it was always just her.

Bethnal Green still had a few old haunts open to the usual suspects, speakeasy kind of places where you could grab whatever was on offer. Today the offering was shandy. After The Encryption, we entered a prohibition-like period where alcohol was illegal due to the fact we had virtually no food and people significant thirsting for booze more than anything else and those that were left were handing their sanity and money to the spirits of whiskey and vodka.

Lovene sat alone, sipping away at her shandy until someone pulled up a chair and sat beside her. She looked up to see an older lady, with speckled green eyes, pursed coral lips and garishly striped grey and black hair.

Lovene glared at the woman for a moment or two, before gently asking, 'Can I help you?'

The woman grinned and proclaimed, 'I think it is I, who can help you!’

The lady stirred her shandy around in her mouth without breaking her stare, utterly unsure of the encounter she fiddled around nervously with the love heart locket. The locket was noticeably aged as well as tarnished, yet there was something about it that felt curiously familiar to Lovene.

Perplexed, Lovene asked her, 'Where did you get that locket?' as she quizzed the old crone she pulled hers out from beneath her blouse to reveal an identical locket. Lovene’s was still glistening and glaringly gold, a final gift she had received from her departed father. Lovene swore she would never take the locket off. It was all she had left of him and within it were positioned their two faces side by side looking lovingly toward each other.

As the woman edged closer, it drew in the rest of the crowd at the watering hole. The room could feel the magnetism between the pair. The maiden and the crone in close proximity, examining each other. The world was in a state of despair, humans were unsure of each other again, tribalism had been vigorously reinstated as humans simply no longer trusted each other. Yet between the two of them was an unbeknownst warmth. Lovene reached out and ran her fingers over the locket.

'Is it yours or mine?' she queried, the crone responded, 'It’s both of ours'

Lovene looked and began reciting a piece she had written about her late father, reminiscent of their bond which she always said was not bound by space or time, she believed they were infinitely intertwined.

'Seeing you, seeing me,

staring back at we.

Another external projection of my internal reflection,

is it you or I,

and who is really here tonight?

Is it me or you, who is even true?'

Halfway through the recital, the crone began murmuring the words and sentences in rhythm with Lovene. As if she herself had heard or knew the poem before.

The crone turned to Lovene, while holding both hands and staring intently into her eyes, ‘You need not ask who I am, for you already know. I am here to gift you with the one true gift. To exonerate your soul. You are needed elsewhere and only I could come back with the knowledge to teach and gift you.’

It was at that moment Lovene received her first offering of the gift, both the lockets opened to reveal a blend of iridescent colour she had never experienced before, within this fusion of light and luminescence were imaginings of herself singing a song in an unknown tongue.

Lovene embraced the woman and knew at that precise moment who she was.

Is it me or you, who is even true? Lovene wondered internally.

The crone replied, 'Together we are one. Unified we cannot die. For when I look in the mirror I am so stricken with absolute pride. That you had the ability to override, to overcome all that they said you wouldn't become, but you became a woman with such a formidable brain. A beauty and a boldness that isn't in the slightest of vain.'