Words and Art by Blacktooth

Among his kind, Cronin is something of an enigma – a whispered tale of mischief and folly, a pariah to his own scientific brilliance. Trapped forever within a prison of his own design, Cronin was sentenced by the elders for being too dangerous – a fool beyond his own intellect. Inside his prison, Cronin slowly circles the drain on eternity, waiting like a vessel on the edge of implosion. He bides his time with memories and grief, always shy of just the right formula which may break his curse.

As time slips, he reflects on his divine paradox, a perfect circle of misery and math, each grain of sand a millennium in the fold. He is trapped within a timeless timeline, with only the clicking of clocks and the ticking of tocks to remind him of his trauma. He observes himself, a shifting reflection in a liquid mirror which slowly ripples away into the edges of his conscience. He counts, one precious molecule after another, slowly, methodically, aimlessly. Cronin's only agenda is to escape, to ride out the clock and witness the dissolution of time. By then, his conspirators will have long since perished into the fabric of history. Consumed by grief, Cronin is devoured by the very facets of his own ego, every flavor of shame to be resampled with delight.

Reliving his mortality, Cronin reflects on his errors. He spends his time in conflict and memorizes the fault lines of his sin. He absolves himself of guilt, but struggles with redemption. Forgiveness is simply a theory, a plausible dimension within a germ. Perhaps he would be less cynical had his own wife not betrayed him, that witch who shoved a decimal point so far up the Governor's ass, he must have shit a vapor crystal.

Lest his punishment be reset, Cronin cannot die. Suicide is forbidden, a conditional statement written into his manifest only moments before his sentence. A victim of jealous conspirators who robbed him of his freedom, Cronin rots for eternity. He is dark matter, a myth of geometry and scripture. He is Cronin, heart of eternity, locked forever within a deep echo of nothing. If you listen closely, you can still hear his silence roar…

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