The published version of Swell realises my original vision.
I was looking to create a story with no discernible plot, the only hooks, so to speak, being the characters and the flow of words. It was to be a story concerned with imperceptible reality entangled in ostensibly uninvolved mysteries. Each mystery being an alternative version of reality, much like “real life” actually.
Someone once said, it could have been me, I forget, that mysteries can only exist beyond the bounds of imagination. In other words, if a thing can be imagined it cannot remain a mystery.
How else can we explain the religions of the world? With few exceptions, religions have become strict enforcers of apparently arbitrary rules turning even the most benevolent faith into a Leviathan of human torment, whose teachings and promise of eternal life plug into the irrepressible human desire for self-destruction. Universally, religions require the destruction of their own followers in order for them to win the ultimate prize, to sample the delights of Paradise.
Trouble is they can only get to Paradise if they’re dead and Death is one mystery that only throws up questions, never answers.