A heavy summers rain sets in, and all too soon fills the sunken shallow stone passages to bursting. Water spills from the entrance to this stone labyrinth as oppressive dark clouds dissuade the remaining light from illuminating what few exits remain. Dancing shadows draw a maze of black twisting tunnels blocked and barricaded by cave-ins and mutant trees. At the centre of this Tomb Raider puzzle stands a small stone carving surrounded by four passageways leading off every 90 degrees. None has a visible ending, each twisting off to oblivion and I suddenly forget which one I arrived in, they all look the same.
A child’s laugh echos momentarily down the end of a tunnel, turning I run towards the melody, pelting down the causeway like a run-away train. I trip hard on an uneven stone and stumble through heavy wet green vines adorning a small covered opening and out to another world I fall, cameras and all. The jungle here lays heavily over the exposed red and green stone temple, a place of worship once devoted to Monks and their daily routine the entire area now lays derelict and beaten by zealous Fords and would-be Angelinas. Climbing the hewn steps I make my way up to the tree line trying to get a feel for the direction back out to civilization, I’m mildly lost, and it’s started to rain again.
A stark metallic bulge emanating from behind Tienanmen, the National Center for Performing Arts could very well be an escape platform for times of alien invasions, zombie infestations or an all-out meltdown. Skirting it's circumference runs a medieval moat that stops all but the brave, or stupid, from approaching the blemish-free paneled hull. Orbiting like satellites small electric police cars wizz by, chasing would be intruders who step too close to the water's edge.
A deep elemental connection ignites terror in us both. A terror that gives birth to mythical nouns and magical verbs, that plays out acts reserved solely for those couples you longed to follow.
This arcane force fusing us together will remain violently active while we grow and evolve, sing and dance, cry and hide. Our bond will remain while others' break, we will watch them struggle, watch their downfall, witness the chaos and destruction caused by lies and jealousy and envy and lust.
But we will endure.
This deep-rooted connection can never be severed, as together we are made of gold and silver and bronze, of salt and pepper, drum and bass, Bonny and Clyde, the moon, the sun, the stars and all that exists in between. Not even the catastrophic finale of our infinitely boundless universe could separate us now.
Metal drops. The sound of gravity ignites a dark lust for adventure, multicolored rays culminating through dilated pupils fueling the raging fire inside. Manufactured hope blinds the inevitable road to ruin. Dead ends, long descents, potential chain reactions that end in rejection, a relentlessly perpetual cycle. And then a touch of fate, of luck, of manufactured hope. Lights and hope and glory shine brighter than a supernova, an explosion of strength propels your beaten soul skywards. And you progress. Climbing upwards and onwards to Elysium you reach, a discord of haloed angels impelling you on to Utopian glory. A victory so historic it will be written in the stars, spoken on the winds, read in the sands of time. Today you will not lose.