A deep voice cracked from the dry rotted speaker of the circa 1970’s appliance that stood solitary and sacred on the ornate textile covering the alter. It smelled of old dust and a whiff of ozone filled the monastery. “I have felt this come to pass. The horizon of the next Ripple is upon us. The fate of the gateway to The Intergeist is now uncertain.”
The room returned to its original silence and a stillness, as if no living thing filled its walls, gave extra weight to the already tentative disposition of the solemn pilgrims. Wind chimes in the distance would be the only reminder that everything in this place was not forever frozen in time. A small bird landed on the old television and was immediately scared away by the discharge of static.