The Mirrors

It was alive. There was no other way to describe it. It was mysterious, intricate, beautiful and alive.

The utter and complete blackness was everywhere surrounding it. And the veins of light pierced through the darkness like gold in the deep mines. There were no shadows, no gray areas. The tendrils of light extended to the outer reaches of the entity, where they led the assault against their invincible enemy. The darkness had always been there, and one wondered if it was in fact the light that was the void.

There seemed to be sources, but they might as well have been the destinations. There was no definitive order, and yet there seemed to be rules. There were shapes set in purpose and boundaries drawn between them. But they were all connected. And there was movement--ceaseless movement with perfect co-ordination. There were grids and there were circles. There were graceful curves and sharp edges. There were short lines and long ones. There was variety and symmetry. And most importantly, there was a blissful harmony that just made sense. It wasn't just alive, it was intelligent.

The electricity fired up and died down repeatedly. The pinpoints of light glimmered in their fundamental color, as if the stars themselves had mirrored their stories in them. The pulses of energy flowed from one end to the other and back again. It was pulsating with life and it was growing. And the energy was its blood.

It was a rough landing, but he was glad he had chosen the last window seat on the plane.