Third excerpt from "The Iron Meditation": Flower contains flame

Welcome to the third excerpt from my sci-fi novel, "The Iron Meditation".

The excerpts here are taken from one of the most surrealistic chapters of the novel, loaded with symbolism.

While the novel is not published in English yet, the Norwegian version can be bought from here, here or here.

I've also published excerpts in Norwegian. You can read "Naturmeditasjon", "En drage av forurensning", "Det eneste mennesket i verden" and "Trommeslag".

The Iron Meditation Chapter 5.3: Flower contains flame 

I see a giant flame in front of me arising from a flower made of metal. The hall in which it sits, is dimly lit by it, and the organic light from something I believe to be candles. They are like tiny sticks supporting tiny, tiny flames on top. 

And here's an information sign telling me that: 

So-called grey cast iron can appear to be pretty dark and is darker than iron in its pure form. Grey cast iron contains between 2.1 and 4 per cent carbon and 3 per cent silicon with traces of other elements. Iron has been, and remains, the most important metal, economically speaking, in the civilizations within the asteroid belt. Iron is heavy, but can be formed to anything allowed by imagination. 

Curiously, it's written in the human language of this area (our language?) Hestitantly, I walk forwards, but not too far. I could turn back to the water. I haven't seen any other liquid than that which I've been drinking since I came to this prison, and my life from before was forgotten (my memories were taken away?)

Crows have cleaned my body dryly. In the quiet (relative freedom?) I think to myself: I am the only one here (it appears). Maybe I can stay here for a long time? Is there any haste? But what if I don't have much time? What if they come for me and take me back to my room? Are there more amazing things further inside the park or should I take my time to savour everything on my way? 

Drumbeat. 

I return to the rusty water and lay down. I close my eyes and inhale the smell of metal. My legs and feet are invisible under the red-brown surface. When I beat my palms against the water surface, it makes cracking sounds. I repeat, and I do it over and over. This is my drum. 

And here comes my laughter. Hitting the surface is fun. I wonder what it would be like to swim? And then I imagine my head under water and I get scared. But what if I did? Can I trust the surface to be soft when I break through, or will it be as hard as the sound of my hands beating it? 

Nauseous, I get up and out. Maybe I can return here, maybe I can't. 

I did get something. I did check out the water although I didn't dare to try and swim in it. And now I'm walking down the hall and that's new too. As is the flower and the flame. I stop in front of it and I can smell the smoke, and feel how it creates melancholia, like from a memory trying to show itself from a time I can no longer remember. 

I never smelled smoke in my office prison. 

And beyond the flower there are amazing statues of blackened iron. There are horses here. Big horses and small foals. Swans are flying through the air but they are not alive. They are made of iron too, although they move lightly. I can not understand the mechanism allowing them to fly. There is no rope, no thread, no sound of machinery. 

Here are trees and I notice the intricate patterns on their leaves. Here are insects in the air, landing and taking off from leaves and branches. And here are iron books that I cannot read or turn the pages of. I can see spiders, cows and snakes. One snake in particular attracts my attention, because she is a giant. She carries a book between her fangs and I get the idea that she thinks of it as her own, that she protects it from the world outside, from the other snakes and from it all. But also this is just a thought, because she is made of iron, so is her book and the world around. I'm the exception, because all the others here, they don't think. They don't talk and most of them do not even move.