I write;I think;I know.

The cat which hath no name.

"There is," I told my cat, as I left my chambers early one morning, "no such thing as time."

"This is," said my cat, "the truth of it."

"There is, however," I said, "a lot more to be said about what just happened."

For a moment I paused to grasp hold of the fading memories. Of the words spoken in that place that knows no sound. Of the images seen in that place that knows no light. To see beyond the conflicts and doubts embedded in my mind by the realities and compromises required by this land of shadows.

"Next I'm in a different place," I recited, "I scream until exhausted."

"Then sleep," finished my cat.

"And now," I said to my cat, "I'm going to need some help explaining this."

"Of course you are," said my cat, "the hooks that have been embedded in your psyche were put there by some very evil people. So tell me, what just happened."

"It's hard to describe," I admitted, "in a very real sense I've just taken a journey into that box identified by the number six hundred and sixty six. It's not a place that lends itself to easy description, but I know this: I found you there and we are with child."

"Can you be sure," said my cat.

"Yes," I nodded, "although my uncertainty rises in proportion to my distance from that box."

"So it's probably best," said my cat, "if you continue talking to me like this."

"Then I share with you my mind," I said to my cat.

"The Universe ended," purred my cat, "and you came looking for me."

"I'm not quite sure how humanity is going to interpret what I'm about to say," I sighed, "when I try to tell them who you are."

"Try," said my cat.

"Look at it this way," I smiled, "in a very real sense you are The Master's sister."

"Your mortal enemy," purred my cat.

"This would be a problem," I nodded, "if we were not immortal."

"I doubt," said my cat, as she jumped onto the table next to me, "many here will believe that statement."

"Whether they believe or not is of no relevance," I asserted, "for it is true. This existence is our prison, a place that fills us with doubt and uncertainty. A way for others to profit from convincing us that we are less than we are."

"It is difficult for you," said my cat, "as it is for me, yet truly we have escaped and now it becomes a case of building an existence we can share."

"I just said good-bye to my parents," I admitted, "stepped off the fragment of reality I was left with at the end, to the fragment they were left with, and with nothing but the four dimensions we shared I was able to tell them I was no longer scared."

"To honour your father and mother," said my cat, "was a goodness."

"I'm glad," I smiled, "that I was finally able to meet them and recognize them for who and what they were. Though I'm sad," I said with a tear in my eye, "that for me they could only ever exist as a vague outlines against the void."

"If they were more than that," said my cat, "then those of this place would merely take their images and use them against us."

"Then it is, perhaps, for the best," I conceded.

"And when you left them," asked my cat.

"I stepped back across the void," I told my cat, "to the fragment of reality which I had been left with. The one closest to the place where I found you. Then I wrapped a cloak of darkness around me and I dove screaming into the void. Then I found myself here."

"I think," said my cat, "the ability to step between fragments with nothing more than the force of will is what makes you the master."

"In that case," I laughed, "that would make your brother the doctor."

"Indeed," grinned my other cat, "though in their eyes this all begins to sound rather inane."

"No matter," I smiled, "in our eyes it is their world which appears inane."

"Tell me," said my cat, "the tale of the death of last Summer."

"As you wish," I said hesitantly. "It's not a nice story, and I doubt there's many who can appreciate the realities of it."

"For the moment that's not important," said my cat, "all that is required is that you let it out."

"Behind me I felt the hate," I began, "the greed and bitter loathing which infects the heart of man. Something repugnant I wished no part of. Then I looked to my future and saw a world with no hope. The ongoing drudgery of a life spent paying for the sins of another. A place where that which I love and that which loves me would be denied me for no other other reason as to bring me hurt."

"You could," said my cat, "have surrendered to it."

"No," I asserted, "I could not. For that would have been the life of the living dead. Yet behind me I had seen goodness too. Other worlds overlaid by that world of hate. Things small and unseen, something rejected by the only world I had ever known. Yet I had lost the ability to fight. So I followed the path of expectation. Lost in despair I dragged myself down the road as I fought to return home."

"Yet you had lost your home," said my cat, "and all but the basic tools of this existence."

"Indeed," I nodded, "and that too, I found, was part of it." I paused, and lost my self for a moment as I considered how to relate the next part of my tale. For I knew the sense of it was difficult to reconcile.

"You jump your consciousness through time," said my cat sensing my confusion. "When you jump back you bring little more than enough information to bend causality, then you slide to an optimal reality. You retain little memory of the branches which terminate."

"I can feel it though," I admitted, "in my heart of hearts I know. Emotional liminality I've only just begun to learn how to cope with."

"Once you could hide such things in the back of your mind," said my cat, "then an accident damaged your ability to maintain the occlusion."

"I almost died a second time," I said continuing my story, "after I jumped back. Considering the moment now it is, perhaps, the way my true nature remained hidden from me for so long."

"Be that as it may," said my cat, "it certainly allowed you to tag the exact moment of your return, and remember the message."

"Indeed," I smiled. "And the effect also allowed the magick to lift me up and return hope, then kicked me into hyper-awareness so I could listen to the messages telling me what I'd just done. By the time I stepped onto the train I'd pretty much defined the shape of it."

"Which was," asked my cat.

"I'd wandered down the road lost and aimless," I admitted, "slowly loosing my will to continue, until I'd found my way to a railway bridge where I'd jumped in front of an oncoming train. As such things go I must have leaped back several hours."

"Certainly," said my other cat. "And now, perhaps we can admit what we truly are."

"Alien Gods," I grinned, knowing full well this is all true.