TheNeverPages Serialisation
Series 5, Episode 1

TheNeverPages - Series 5, Episode 1

To my darling Tesla,

Find here what happened to you in the majesty and tragedy of your most memorable hour.

I stood upon the crater’s rim looking up at the glass ball in Mother Motherland’s outstretched hand and I was in awe of the spectacle. The Aurora Borealis fell down from the skies, and gathered around the dome, hues of violet and green, washing over Mother Motherland like the flailing veil of a dancer. Everybody was there. The whole population of this great city. We stood around the rim of the crater and held hands and felt at once unity, hope, fear and energy. Our minds seemed to synchronise as one great feeling of power swept over us. The lights were hypnotic and seductive and I felt alive and did not spare a single thought for you, poor Nikola Tesla the literal lightning rod.

You stood in the centre of your glass prison as the waves of the Borealis swam around you. You were illuminated so much so that your great silhouette was projected high up into the sky. We could not see your face, but I imagined your expression to be calm and rested unlike any expression I have seen upon you before. I imagined the fierce look of concentration you used to carry to have been washed away. I imagined the crazed glint of discovery you bore to have been dulled back. Simply tranquil. As if sinking into a dream.

Slowly, inside the globe, you began to levitate. Gently you lifted up until you were in the centre of the orb, arms outstretched, legs spread also. You tilted your head back. Then, great tentacles of electrical light began weaving from your body, from the very epicentre of the dome. They began to lick the edges of the ball, charging everything. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I looked briefly at my hands and saw small blue sprigs of current leapt from my fingers and into those of the man whose hand I was holding and on from him to the woman next…and on and on. I could see the tiny blue thread of electrical life weave its way from person to person, connecting us and enlightening all.

Mother Motherland’s great sword began to glow a molten colour and her eyes became aflame! What a sight! What power you, Nikola Tesla were generating! What triumph Brekker was creating and the town was galvanised.

The glowing beams inside the glass ball continued to lick the walls in a free, chaotic motion. You remained still though, hovering in the centre of what seemed like the universe.

I was about to scream out my admiration and my love for you. I was about to offer up every inch of my soul for you, man of light. I inhaled to do so, and took in a lungful of hot, metallic tasting air. I began to shudder. We all did. A thunderous hum began to emanate from the base of Mother Motherland, ascending in pitch and timbre.

Then, a blinding flash and all was silent. My eyes took seemingly years to recover. After the all encompassing light of the Borealis, the glow of the Tesla Dome, and then the burst of light from Mother Motherland all sense of time and space were washed from us so I cannot accurately gauge how long it took to come back to my senses.


Sight came first. Focus returned, everything remained the same and the statue stood, the LHC still ran the circumference of the crater floor and the reactor complex in the centre remained. The glass ball in the palm of her hand shimmered in the light.

What had gone, however, was colour. Saturation came slowly back, as if reluctant to do so. Even as I write this, it seems that the sky lacks a certain vibrancy. I looked around at the townsfolk, they looked at me and at each other. An all-pervasive sense of melancholia hung palpably in the still, metallic air.

As silence reigned, we began to believe that our sense of sound had abandoned us forever. I know now that it was not a mass deafening but a shared melancholy that quelled within us all any desire to utter a sound.

I looked up at the ball, hoping to see your heroic figure standing there, arms raised in triumph, enticing us to cheer and toss our bonnets and hats into the air. You were not standing there. For a moment I thought you had vanished. I looked harder and I made you out. My heart almost broke. You were there, sitting against the glass dome, hugging your knees and gently rocking, like a terrified child or an aged man lost to dementia.

Slowly, the townsfolk drifted back into the town. I could not do likewise. I felt that leaving you, my lover, in that moment to be the ultimate betrayal. But I could not get to you. I could not fly up to your glass dome and I could not climb up the robes of Mother Motherland. I could do nothing and so I stood and watched you rock back and forth until eventually, under the celestial blanket, you laid down and fell asleep.

I walked back into the city, never once looking up, instead gazing down at the pristine concrete below. Muscle memory must have guided me back to our hotel, for I did not look up once to see the street signs.

My memory of that walk is nothing but the image of my feet trudging and the ocean of sadness I felt adrift in. There seems nothing more painful than to be in a glorious city but feel nothing but the ache of solitude.

My darling Tesla, I will find you again. I will see you alive, hold you tight, make love to you, taste you and listen to you spin your theories all night long. I will do this.

As a token of devotion, I have written this letter with the aim to paste it in your journal so you may one day know of what happened to you. It was, as you were, everything. It was glorious, awesome, tragic and empty all at once. I carry the faintest hope that this thought might somehow find its way into your heart and behind your eyes to once again ignite that crazed spark you once carried.

Your lover, for always.

Angeline


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