Primus Silicis is an ethereal presence that lives in a gigantic metallic box, dropped from the sky by a cohort of biblical angels that decided to retract from the world, for a few centuries. They packed everything they had, stacking it in an enormous plastic bag, thrown over half of the world. Possessing artificial intelligence and biological lateral extensions, this bag used to talk, reporting to the angels that the metallic case has been badly damaged, while falling. “Angel 1, report, the box is lost. Confirm location. Ready. Current status. Sleep”. The assembly of cherubs considered the case’s recovery would endanger their collective mission, deciding to leave it behind, check it on return. Before the most devout cherubim’s disappearance, Primus Silicis used to hide himself under the floor, his approved manifestation spectre being the lowest in that spiritual environment. His ethereal composition was denser than the archangels’ configuration, partly airy, partly smoggy, with bits and molecules of earthly dust and human exhalations.
In Primus Silicis, a rather impure entity, the angels could sniff the garbage on the urban streets, disposed of late at night, assorted with fermented beer and puke, damp cigarette butts and rotten meat. Disappointed, trying to avoid their presence, Primus Silicis learned how to keep himself out of sight, living suspended by the moustache underneath the floor, above the devilish gangways, on the edge of the vertical border, peopled with nocturnal powers. Purer than the demons’ essence, still much less impure than the archangels’ establishment, Primus Silicis infiltrated himself into the ground, letting out his black, leery, astute moustache, displayed as two sparrow wings, woven together with a wiry thread. Trying hard to act as a haphazard stain on the horizontal, inferior part of the metallic case which could, anyway, easily roll itself on every edge, depending on the solar energy intensity, Primus Silicis survived there for a few thousands of years.
One day, Primus Silicis realized that if he moved his moustache two times instead of once, he felt no vibration overhead, customarily generated by the angelic wings’ flutter. For a while, he played lifting the left part of the moustache first, followed by the right one, for more than ten times. Still no vibration at the upper level, which made him think something must have been changed. Inquisitive and alerted, Primus Silicis flung himself above, balancing his feet up and down, circling the thin line that separated what’s up from what’s down, till he gained depth in the upper region of the massive box. Happy that he eventually moved in the opposite, but the right direction, Primus Silicis materialized a toy train assembled on the ceiling, as he got accustomed to always see things overhead, for so many millennia. Another way to have fun by himself was to stand on his hands, watching his own moustache’s reflection in the acrylic rubber underlay floor, when the gigantic box wasn’t turning upside down by itself. This way, he could observe it thoroughly, from every perspective, until he got bored, reducing his presence to an imperceptible line on one of the colossal, steel cage’s flawed panels.
Comments