Diener: A Novella

Seph's hunger grew and grew, and I could no longer feed it adequately, but the hunt for us was on and we dared not approach any potential sperm donors. Seph's skin was becoming darker and darker, until she was merely a black shadow walking hand-and-hand with me. I could feel the cold emptiness growing within her against my fingers.

I knew the end was coming, so I took Seph to the peak of the most beautiful waterfall I knew of in the area, Riverflow Falls, conveniently located in the back yard of Hank and Sophie Katz' spectacular ranch-style house over on Richfield Road. These falls were masterfully designed and installed by Kan-Do Ponds, Inc, Yorba Linda's leader in the design of fake ponds and waterfalls. Kan-Do Ponds has served Yorba Linda for over a 50th of a century.

Seph and I climbed to the summit of these falls, because I knew that this afforded the best view of this spectacular cataract. Seph was just a black shadow of emptiness now. But it was a pretty tightly-wrapped shadow if you asked me, and her present state of nothingness could only increase her beauty for a diener such as myself. Her sexiness was increased by the fact that her long flaming red hair emerged from the blackness from time to time. The beauty of those scarlet tresses reflected life's futile attempt to escape the shadow of death. Her black shadow soon ingested even her flowing crimson mane.

Seph's shadow essence seemed pretty naked to me, so I stripped off my clothes. What are they going to do, hang me? Hell no, the penalty for silver thralls in the Trans-California Caliphate was crucifixion and beheading by wind-power turbine blades. Much more eco-friendly than, say, the electric chair.

As for my state of nakedness, this was Southern California. No one is going to be taken aback by just one more nude nature worshipper. Especially at 11:30 in the morning, which is long before any of these tuned-in citizens would wake up.

I did not know if Seph had any ears or eyes inside that shadow, but I told her to look down at the beauty of Riverflow Falls, which plunged almost three and a half feet to the pond below. In the pond itself, we could see the exquisite beauty of the fake solar-powered robotic Japanese Koi fish that darted along the foot of the falls. This fish will never die (at least not before the red giant sun swallows the earth in five billion years or a group of young psychopaths, of which there are no shortage nowadays, cruelly stamp the life out of these cybernetic piscatorial wonders).

"Come inside me," Seph suggested. My throbbing boner seconded that emotion. I got the feeling that Seph's invitation was more literal this time.

She crouched down, primate style, looking down at the beauty of the Koi pond and hopefully hearing the thunder of Riverflow Falls. I entered her and her sheath received me as a long lost friend. At least there was some of the old Seph in there. I grabbed her trembling shadow's shoulders and hauled back and rammed into her the way I knew she liked. I pounded her hard and become more deeply intermeshed in her shadow self.

"Go all the way inside me," she whispered, and I knew that she is not referring to her cooz this time. I submerged myself into her shadow self, my fingers entering her black phantom fingers as if they were gloves, my head entering her head, my legs into her legs, my organs into her organs until there was no more me, no more her, just one self floating in a sea absolute emptiness. I knew that this was the perfect nothingness, the state of nonself, the nirvana that Buddhists seek, as well as the state of sunyata or emptiness from which they flee.

It was union with god and union with matter, a state of perfect nonduality, the false quantum vacuum that preceded the universe and would linger after its death.

Thus, there was no me, no Seph, no bodies or separate selves. Don't ask me how I'm writing this stuff with no self, no arms, and no brain. More importantly how was I going to get it published given the nonexistent state of my brain, body and mind?

Not to worry, quite a few people report memories of past lives despite the fact their old brains no longer exist? Perhaps the future me or some medium pretender could somehow channel these notes. That's the hard part. As for getting it published, I would just post it on literotica.com. Maybe call it "Diener" or something like that.

My (our?) thoughts had become fleeting now. There was only a nothingness that was greater than the universe and smaller than a quark.

The nothingness lasted for trillions of years or, in other words, no longer a femtosecond. Depends what clock you use.

And then,

the gleam of a single photon.

*

NOTES

*FUN FACT #1: The author was Tommy Lee Jones' housemate for three years in college. His face was almost as craggy then as it is now. He seldom spoke. In all likelihood he was already dead back then. Who was Jones' roommate? None other than the ecological crusader Al Gore, who is also briefly mentioned in this tale. As most of you undoubtedly know, Gore was elected President of the United States in 2000.

**FUN FACT #2: The author was one of Carl Sagan's first students, in a course called "The Planets: Their Environments and Inhabitants," which was a lot of fun and highly informative. Carl was a wonderful and charismatic teacher. However, Carl did like to go before the cameras even way back in the days before he became an international celebrity. He had to eat crow on a few occasions, most notably in regard to his conjectured "nuclear winter." In the end, Harvard denied him tenure, and he left for Cornell. He was also passed over for election to the National Academy of Sciences, as he was seen as a popularizer rather than someone who had made significant contributions to science.

FUN FACT #3. I know that many of you readers will inevitably be contacting me about optioning "Diener" for a major Hollywood movie. Before you waste my time or yours, please note that I will insist that Igor be played by Owen Wilson, Persephone by Jessica Alba, and Hesus by Danny Tjelo. Also the movie must be directed by Robert Rodríguez of "Machete" renown. Failing that, we would consider Quentin Tarantino.