While I walk, I see forgiveness within me. I glance afar, to the furthest star, and still, I see the nature that forsook me—a waking kiss, bliss filled with piss, a savage moon on an endless tree. The cradle worn, the silken dress aplenty. I stepped, I ran, I crawled, and I bawled. The distance grew shorter as I grew small, woven in furniture, hidden in bread, the novelties of forever. A grievance unspoken, words unread, my crippled persona I see, yet I am dead, or perhaps just hiding away, beneath my bed, hiding from the words that I said…
He stares down at the glass, feeling as if he’s been studying it for a lifetime. Every small ripple and wave cascades through the caramel liquid. He sniffs, drawing back a breath, purses his lips, and gently closes his eyes.
“You think anyone is really going to care what you do next?” a voice asks.
He opens his eyes, looking up across the table and into Claudette’s fiery green eyes. A smirk trembles across her lips as she gives him a playful wink.
“Miss me?” she purrs.
“Not really,” he states matter-of-factly.
She giggles softly. “Always the brute, but never the beauty, aren’t we?” she scoffs sarcastically. “Are you gonna drink it, or marry it?”
“What do you want, Claudette?” he grunts.
“Why do I have to want something? Can’t I just visit?”
“You never just visit, Claudette. In fact, you never visit at all. So again I ask, what do you want?” he grunts, looking back down at the glass.
“Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. What’s up your arse?”
“Would it even matter if I told you?”
“You could try and find out,” she purrs. “Maybe we could scratch each other’s backs.”
“We’ve done that dance before. We don’t need a repeat performance. Now, why don’t you ask your favor, so I can say no, and we can get this all over and done with, and I can get back to something more important.”
“Well, now I feel like a third wheel. What’s so important about a glass of whiskey?”
“It’s not just a glass of whiskey. It’s the glass of whiskey. The only glass.”
Her brow furrows, and her lips purse. “The glass? Big words, but still, what does it matter?”
“That’s the thing,” he says with a nervous smile as he looks up at her. “It doesn’t, but for some reason, it does.”
“Sounds like fun,” she playfully says as she grabs the glass. “Let’s try it!”
“NO!” he bellows as he grabs the glass from her hand and thrusts her away. “It’s NOT FOR YOU!” he cries, carefully placing the glass back down next to the bottle and settling himself in his seat once again. “I-I-It’s not for you,” he mutters softly to himself, as he runs a trembling hand through his hair.
“OW!” she exclaims as she awkwardly gets to her feet and stumbles back to the chair opposite. “You could’ve hurt me!” she snaps, as she runs her hands down her dress, flattening out the creases.
He looks up and stares into her eyes. His stomach churns, and he quickly looks back to the bottle. “W-W-What do you want, Claudette?”
“Like I told you before, I’m here to visit.”
“Why? Why now? W-W-Why not before? WHY NOT THEN!”
“I’ve tried, many, many times, but you’ve never let me in. You’ve never entertained the thought. But now, because of what’s in the glass—and we both know I’m not talking about the whiskey—you’ve finally let me in.”
His eyes widen, and a fresh sea of sweat breaks across his brow. “I-I-I, I wanted to visit y-you. I-I-I, I wanted to s-s-say g-g-g-goodbye…” he stammers as tears cascade down his cheeks, and he begins sobbing uncontrollably.
“I know, even though I needed you, I knew you were in no shape to be the man I needed. But it meant I died alone, without you, without anyone.”
“I-I-I, I’m s-s-so sorry,” he stammers, as he looks up at her again. She sits across from him in her hospital gown, a frail version of who she was a few moments ago—her eyes sunken, her skin pale, and her head void of hair. She smiles softly.
“I know you are, but then again, I also know you’re not really sorry, not for me, and that’s why I’m here—to watch, and to make sure.”
“M-Make sure of w-w-what?”
“TO MAKE SURE YOU DON’T BACK OUT!” she snarls, as she leaps forward and pries his mouth open, pouring the glass down his throat.
Steve digs his hands deep into his jacket pockets and rolls a curl of his lip along its length, licking at it with his tongue, before letting out a deep sigh.
“What’s got you so nervous?” a woman asks as she stands proudly like a fifties movie star beside the bright red speedster that’s parked outside the diner.
“N-Nothing,” he replies with a quivering smile.
“Does it have anything to do with a boy or a girl?” she asks with a playful smile.
He rolls his eyes and sighs loudly again as he shakes his head. “Neither.”
“Oh, both?”
“NEITHER! I MEAN NONE! NADA! NOTHING!” he spits through clenched teeth.
She holds her hands in the air. “Calm down there, chicken chops, no need to get on everyone’s bad side!”
“How about you mind your own business, Prue, and go do whatever it is you do when you’re not standing there!”
She tosses her head back, crosses her arms, and leans back against the car. “We both know that’d be a waste of brain power, and it’s easier for everyone if I stay here to make sure he doesn’t go in there,” she says, nodding towards the storm that’s slowly tearing its way through everything towards them and the diner.
“I-I-I,” he stammers as he looks back at the diner and swallows as a sea of sweat cascades down his brow.
“W-W-W-What’s happening, Steve? W-Why are we here, and what aren’t you telling me? But most of all, above everything else,” she spits, pointing at the thing tearing towards them from the ever-growing darkness, “what the fuck is he doing here!”
“I-I-I,” he stammers nervously as he looks over to her, tears running down his cheeks.
Her eyes grow wide, and she leaps forward, grabbing Steve’s arm and turning him to her. “STEVE, WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?”
“H-H-He’s in there,” Steve replies.
“W-W-Who’s he, Steve?”
“H-H-Him,” he says as he looks back to the diner.
“Oh, h-h-him,” she says softly, as she clutches herself and takes a step back. “W-What are you going to d-d-do?”
“I-I-I, I’m not going to do a-anything,” he says as he turns back to her. “But he is,” he adds as the tornado of destruction bears down on them.
“Y-Y-You can’t let him in there! And you can’t let him loose! H-H-He’ll make everything ten times worse, and he’ll still be walking around claiming he’s the victim.”
Steve lets a heavy breath escape his lips. “W-What am I supposed to do, Prue? I-I-I, I can’t forget it happened! I can’t forget he never existed!”
“I know, none of us can, and none of us will, b-b-but, sending that thing in there with him is asking for more trouble than it’s worth.”
“It’s too late,” he says as the world around them is engulfed by the tornado, and then he stands before them, chest heaving and eyes wild.
“T-T-THIS IS ALL WRONG, H-H-HE CAN’T GO IN THERE!” she cries desperately.
“I-I-I—,” he stammers as he stands alone once more, staring at the diner door. Then suddenly, his posture changes as if something, or someone, steps into his skin, wearing it like a suit. He stands upright and smiles broadly. With confident strides, he pushes his way through the diner door. The room falls silent, and all eyes quickly fall on him. His smile broadens, and he looks around the room, eventually locking eyes with his father. His smile widens into a grin that begins to tear the corners of his mouth, and he opens his jacket to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. “Happy Father’s Day!” he announces proudly as the explosion tears through the diner.
Darcy tucks his hair back beneath the rim of his hat. “I know you don’t wanna talk to me, and I definitely know you don’t wanna tell me what it is I wanna know, but,” he says with a heavy sigh and a twisted curl of his lips, “I’m gonna ask it anyway.” He digs his hands deep into his pockets and looks up into the night sky. “Why?” he calls out loudly. Seconds roll into minutes, and minutes stretch on endlessly. He allows his tongue to roll over his teeth and forces a smile. “You could at least acknowledge my question instead of ignoring me. It’s only polite.” The sky ignites, and a ball of white-hot light tears through it, disappearing off into the horizon. He nods his head and takes a deep breath. “Yup, okay, good job,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and forcing his hands deeper into his pockets. “Is that all you got?” The sky ignites again, this time littered with a hundred or more balls of light that shoot overhead and into the distance. He catches his breath and allows a muffled laugh to escape his grasp. “T-That’s more like it,” he says with an enthusiastic nod of his head. “Still not an answer though.” “Can’t you be content with a little victory?” she asks him. “Little victories don’t win wars.” “Is this what this is, a war?” He laughs and turns to her with a cheeky smile on his lips. “That’s what they keep telling me. That’s why I keep fighting.” She shakes her head and lets out an exhausted sigh. “Then you need to stop listening to them and start listening to yourself.” “How do I do that, when I don’t know what I’m saying?” he says as he turns back to the night sky, and swallows a stale breath of air down his dry throat. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you understand yourself a whole lot better than they do. You just have to be honest with yourself.” “And how do I do that?” “Well, to start with, you need to drop this charade and face the truth, the reality of what’s happening,” she says. “What if I don’t want to?” he says with a tear trickling down his cheek. “Then you won’t make any progress, and the next few steps will be harder than they need to be.” “H-How can it be a-any harder than it a-already is?” he says as he turns to face a mirror image of himself, his words trailing off as he quickly turns away. “I-I-I, I don’t want t-to,” he stammers. “But you have to.” He takes a strained breath, closes his eyes, and turns to face himself again. When he opens his eyes, the reflection that stands before him is no longer that of a young boy, but a pale, sickly-looking man in a hospital gown. He forces a pain-soaked smile across his lips, and gently nods his head, as they both start weeping gently. He looks back out over the horizon, wiping his nose vigorously on the back of his hand. “D-Did I do s-something wrong t-to deserve this?” he asks. “Why do you think you did something wrong?” “B-B-Because, I-I-I’m dying!” “Everything has to die somehow, and in some way. Everything can’t be forever, it just wouldn’t make sense. It’s how you live that’s the key. Hell, even gods die.” “H-H-How do you know that?” he asks as he turns back to himself, tears streaming down his face. He smiles, “Because, I’m yours, and you, you are mine.” “I-I-I-I, I don’t follow. How c-can I be y-your god, i-if you are mine?” He laughs and winks playfully. “In here, when you go, it goes, and so do I.” “S-S-So none of this is r-real? I-I-It’s just in my head?” He laughs loudly, “Darcy, none of this is in your head, and all of this is in your head at the same time.” He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed. “I-I-I, I don’t get any of this.” “You will eventually,” he says as he disappears, leaving the adolescent Darcy standing in the field alone once more. “I know you don’t wanna talk to me, and I definitely know you don’t wanna tell me what it is I wanna know, but,” he says with a heavy sigh and a twisted curl of his lips, “I’m gonna ask it anyway.”
Carl tightly holds the folded-up newspaper under his arm as he places the cups on the makeshift coffee table and gently lowers himself onto the couch. He lets out an almost exhausted sigh as he lays the newspaper on his lap, readjusts his glasses, unfolds the paper, scans the front page, grunts, and opens it up.
His eyes slowly scan the page’s headlines, drift momentarily through the articles, and then move on to the next page. He sighs once more before turning the page and repeating the process several times over.
His grip on the paper suddenly tightens, and his old, weary eyes widen. “G-G-Gloria!” he stammers softly through trembling lips, “G-GLORIA!” he cries out loudly this time.
“Carl, honey! What is it?” Gloria calls as she rushes from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“T-T-They’ve done it!” he says with excitement, turning to her, his eyes wide and glistening. “T-They’ve done it!” he repeats.
“They’ve done what, you silly old fool?” she scoffs as she plops down next to him on the couch, peering over the page of the paper.
“The door, they opened it! They opened it, and some of those scientists are going in today! It says right here,” he says as he slaps the newspaper.
Gloria lets out a frustrated breath and slowly reads the article, then looks up at Carl with a bothered glance and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why everyone is so infatuated with this door. After all, it’s just a bloody door,” she grumbles.
“It’s not just any old door, Gloria!” Carl exclaims. “It’s a locked door that appeared out of thin air in the middle of town. Now they’ve opened it, and it looks like it leads somewhere else, somewhere that might finally explain why it’s here in the first place!”
“Oh, I know, Carl. You don’t need to tell me any more about the bloody door. I’m tired of hearing about it, and I couldn’t care less that they’ve unlocked it and that it leads somewhere, and I think the papers don’t care either; otherwise, it would be on page one, not page seventeen next to the wanted ads.”
He blinks softly, and his lips twitch. “H-How can you be tired of hearing about the door? D-Don’t you want to know where it leads? D-D-Don’t you want to know w-w-why it appeared HERE, in our town of all towns?”
“No,” she replies matter-of-factly.
“R-R-Really?” Carl asks with a raised brow.
“Carl, I couldn’t care diddly-squat about the door, and neither should you! Whoever put it there, put it there for a reason, and I just don’t think we should be bothering to care for something so inconsequential as a door; it’s not worth our time.”
His face screws up, and he stares at Gloria, then back at the newspaper, and then back at Gloria. “Well, honey, we’ve been married for fifty-two years…”
“Fifty-four,” Gloria quickly interrupts.
“Fifty-four years,” he corrects, “and we dated for seven years before that…”
“Nine,” she interrupts again.
He nods his head and smiles softly. “Nine years before that, and the door, it’s been standing proudly in the centre of town for eighty-one years,” he pauses and looks over his glasses at her.
“No, not surprisingly, you got that right,” she says.
He smiles nervously, takes in a fresh breath, and clears his throat. “Right, umm.” He mumbles as a fresh wave of sweat cascades from his brow. “Where was I?”
“You were telling me how the door has been here longer than we’ve been together, and then you’re going to tell me that the door showed up the same day you were born, and there has always been this unsaid connection between the two of you, like the one Fido used to have for Jeff the postman,” she replies.
“Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” he says with a gentle smile, as he relaxes back onto the couch and begins to read over the newspaper once again.
For a few moments, they sit there in silence before Gloria sighs loudly. “And?” she asks.
He turns to her with an inquisitive look upon his face. “And what?” he asks back.
She rolls her eyes again, “And what else about the door?”
He smiles softly, places the newspaper on his lap, and gently takes her hands in his. “Well, honey, there’s something you need to know, something you need to know about what’s going to happen when they step thr…” but his words catch in his throat, and he explodes in a sea of red. Gloria screams as she scrambles back and stares up at the open doorway and the red-drenched scientist who stands in it.
“C-C-CARL!” she cries, as her eyes grow wider and wider. “C-C-CARL!”
Clive nervously grips the handle of his briefcase, sucks in a stuttered breath of air before rolling the sea of saliva that washes around inside his mouth, then swallows it.
“Nervous?” Gloria asks him, her smile warmer than he remembered.
“Scared shitless, to be honest,” he says with a muffled laugh.
“Why?” she asks with surprise. “What’s to be scared of?”
His brow rises, and his lips purse as his chin crumples. “Everything, and nothing. That,” he says as he nods towards the pulsating light that sits just at the edge of the garden path.
“Ah, that,” she says with a smile as she looks towards the light.
“W-What’s it like?”
“A mother’s hug,” she says without hesitation.
A soft smile whispers its way across his lips, and his eyes glisten. “That’s what I’ve always thought it would feel like,” he says as a tear cascades down his cheek.
“Why are you so sad?” she asks as she reaches up and gently caresses his cheek. His eyes close, and he takes a deep, stuttered breath.
“I-I-It’s been so l-long, s-s-since…”
“Since I’ve been gone, I know,” she says as her smile pudges up her cheeks, while her eyes well up with tears of their own. “But I’ve been here, waiting, not judging.”
He smiles and takes in a deep breath. “I-I-I tried,” he says as he looks to the ground.
She pulls his face back to meet hers. “I know. You did what I asked you to do, you lived, and now, now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.”
“H-How do we, all of us, m-move past this? H-How do we exist t-together?”
She smiles. “I-I, I don’t know. I guess we find out together, through there, through life’s final hug.”
His brow furrows. “Life’s final hug? W-Why do you say it like that? Why, why do you make it sound so final, like, like it’s over?”
“Because it is, isn’t it?”
“B-B-But, why come for me? W-Why wait, if there’s nothing t-to wait for?” he stammers desperately as he pulls away in confusion.
In that moment, her smile changes slightly, unlike any smile he ever remembers her lips displaying. And then, almost as if she was reading his mind, she quickly reverts back to the smile her lips always held.
“Y-Y-You’re not her, are you?” he nervously asks, as fresh tears well up in his eyes.
She quietly nods her head, her lips purse.
“I-I-Is there anything after this, through the light?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, I’ve never been through it.”
His brow furrows. “T-T-Then why are you waiting h-h-here for me? W-W-Who are you, i-i-if you’ve never been through it?”
She smiles, a more familiar smile, one he hasn’t seen for a long time, one that takes his breath momentarily away. “I’m you,” he says to himself, as Gloria’s image is quickly replaced by his own, but many years younger.
“Y-Y-You’re me?” he stammers softly, blinking with bewilderment.
“Yeah, well, part of you anyway, the subconscious part I think.”
“Oh,” he says as he turns to the light and swallows. “So, you really don’t know what’s on the other side?”
“No, but, if it makes you feel any better,” he says, holding out his hand. “I can’t wait to find out.”
Clive swallows one last breath, takes his younger self’s hand, and steps forward towards the light. “Neither can I.”
Each step he takes has more presence than the last. The sea of mirrors that surround him reflects countless angles back and forth into itself. His reflection, shattered and lost in the endlessness. He digs a hand into the pocket of his suit trousers and grips his wispy head of hair with the other. The crack of glass from somewhere in the distance behind him brings his march forward to a stop, and he gently turns himself around, and into the pathway of a figure who stands watching him a few feet away.
“It’s not going to be that easy, I won’t let it,” the figure calls out, resting an object on his shoulder.
He grins a sly, sleazy smile. “You can’t stop what’s already happened. This place, it’s just a corridor now. What’s done is done, so, FUCK OFF!” he slurs, as he turns back around and starts his march once more.
The sound of more glass shattering brings him to another stop. He closes his eyes, lets out a long, winded sigh, and turns back around once more. The figure is now closer; a sledgehammer can be seen clearly in his clutches this time.
“I can still stop you, and if that’s all I can do, well, that would be enough.”
“Fuck!” he grunts, as he takes another deep breath. “Are you really gonna make me kick your arse again?”
“You didn’t kick my arse, you kicked his,” he says, nodding his head back towards the other end of the corridor.
His smile wavers, and a small bead of sweat breaks out on his brow. “W-Who are you then?”
“We both know who I am, so let’s not cheapen the whole ordeal with a round of silly buggers.”
“B-B-But how is this possible?”
“How is this possible? Are you really asking that?” he scoffs as he takes a couple of steps forward, a smile across his lips. “You’re here, why can’t I be here as well?”
“B-But this is MINE! I-I-I, I built this, n-not you!” he says in a panic, as he pulls a small device from his pocket and starts to play with buttons, knobs and switches.
“Why couldn’t I have built one as well? You think you’re the only one of us who had this idea? Surely you’ve seen the sea and felt the tidal wave of the worlds upon worlds when you stepped into the mirror? I know I felt it, so you as SHIT must’ve as well.”
“I-I-I, I felt it, b-but I-I-I, I didn’t think, I-I-I, I didn’t,” he mumbles as his eyes frantically search the world before him, with no real purpose. He looks up into his own eyes with distraught desperation. “H-How many others?”
“How many others? What? How many other us’ are there?”
He nods, a nervous twitch running up the side of his face.
He smiles broadly. “Billions, upon billions. Each time someone thought a different thought, a new world was created, split from the ether, and went about its own path. Billions of people, billions of lives, billions of possibilities. Some so fucking close, you’d think they were the same, and others, completely fucking different.”
He raises a pistol and aims it at him. “T-T-That’s not the question I’m asking.”
He laughs nervously, “I know, I was just buying time for him to get into place.”
“H-H-Him?” he stammers, as he feels the warm breath on the back of his neck.
“Yeah, him, or me, or you, or whatever you want to call what we are.”
He slowly turns around to face the mirror standing behind him and stares at his reflection. Nervously he presses a hand up against the glass. For a few lost moments, he stares at the reflection of his hand as it meets his. Then he locks eyes with his reflection, and it smiles at him, its teeth yellow and rotten. With a trembling hand, he touches his own teeth, his image mirroring his moves.
“W-W-What’s w-w-wrong with y-you…” It’s then that he notices his other hand holding his pistol against his head. “W-WAIT!” he cries as his finger tightens around the trigger, and the bullet explodes out of the barrel, into his head, sending shards of glass in all directions.
The shadows of the room dance around them in the light as if it were given from the flame of a candle, while his eyes burn into his like a pair of hot pokers searing their way through flesh. His lips curl, twitching as they do.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” he spits, clenching his hands into tightly wound fists. “WHAT HAVE YOU MADE ME DO?”
He steps back in shock, aghast in surprise and confusion. “M-M-Me?” he stammers, touching his chest with a trembling hand. “What have I done? W-W-What have I made you do? A-Are you for real?”
“AM I FOR REAL? AM I FOR REAL?” he bellows, throwing his arms around like a madman, spitting a sea of foamed saliva from his lips. “YOU DARE NOT BLAME ME FOR THIS! I AM BUT A PATSY FOR YOUR FOUL MACHINATIONS.”
He lets a cascading sigh tumble free from his chest and tilts his head to the side, letting another exhausted sigh escape. “How can I be the one responsible when you are the one doing all these bad things?”
His lips twist and turn like a turbulent seabed, and his eyes narrow. “I,” he says, digging a pointed finger into his own chest. “I have only done what YOU made me do. I’m no more responsible than the unborn child is for its birth! I am but an afterthought, while you, you are the centre pin of this whole shoddy universe!”
He smiles awkwardly. “Are you trying to say I’m the core and you’re not?”
“I’M NOT TRYING TO SAY ANYTHING,” he spits. “I AM SAYING THAT AS FACT! YOU ARE THE CENTREPIECE, AND WE ARE THE CREATED PIECES OF YOUR SHATTERED MIND, HOLDING EACH OF YOUR SECRETS FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD. FROM YOURSELF EVEN.”
“I-I-I,” he stammers as he stumbles forward, catching himself before he hits the mirror’s glass. “I-I-I,” he stammers again as he looks up into the reflection of his own wild eyes.
“You didn’t know?” he sneers in jest.
“I-I-I,” he stammers once more.
“OH GET OVER IT, FRANKLIN! GET OVER THE BULLSHIT YOU KEEP TELLING YOURSELF AND FACE WHAT YOU HAVE MADE US DO FOR YOU!” he cries, casting a wayward glance behind them. As he does, the shadows draw back, and more of the room’s secrets are laid bare. At first, his eyes close in panic, but the vivid reds that have pooled on the floor around the lifeless bodies of people he once held dear have already burned into his mind’s eye, and he gently opens them once more. They lock eyes as a sea of tears cascades down Franklin’s cheeks.
He smirks proudly. “Do you see it now? Do you see what you have done? What you made us do?”
“H-H-How?” Franklin stammers.
“How? Is it not obvious how?” he says, bringing his crimson-covered hands up for him to see. As he does, the many splashes of red that adorn his own flesh and clothes come to life, and his bottom lip trembles.
“W-W-W-Why?”
“Why?” he scoffs. “Maybe you should be asking, why not?”
Franklin looks up into his own eyes again, “W-W-Why n-n-not?” he asks with a wicked grin upon his lips.
Electricity cascades throughout the room like waves of water, creating a miniature ecosystem as winds begin to tug and pull at the computer consoles. Thunder cracks, lightning strikes, and a black oily void tears open in the middle of the room; fire ignites around it, burning a hole in the very fabric of existence.
“T-T-THAT’S ENOUGH, JACOB, SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT DOWN!” Ezekiel screams as he shrouds his face from the relentless winds.
“I-I-I, I CAN’T!” Jacob calls back as he crouches behind the main control panel.
“CAN’T, OR WON’T?”
Jacob shrugs his shoulders while pointing at the countdown timer displayed on his watch. “BOTH!”
Explosions erupt around them as the winds start working their way into something more devastating, ripping the room apart, then the building, until the small area of the office that the two cower in is all that remains, with the winds circling like a tornado, and they are in its eye.
“HOW ABOUT NOW?” Ezekiel calls out. “DO YOU THINK NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO TURN THE DAMN THING OFF?”
Jacob peers over the console, spying on the void as it bubbles like a boiling pot, then sinks back down. Shaking his head, he says, “I-I-I, I CAN’T, NOT WHILE WE’RE THIS CLOSE! AND BESIDES,” he adds with a nervous glance over to Ezekiel, “I DON’T KNOW WHERE IT’S DRAWING ITS POWER FROM NOW, SO I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF PULLING THE SWITCH WILL DO ANYTHING ANYWAY.”
They trade a silent moment before Ezekiel drives a fist into his tattered desk. “BULLSHIT! STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND PULL THE GODDAMN LEVER!”
“J-JUST GIVE ME A FEW M-MOMENTS MORE, WE’RE ALMOST T-THERE!” Jacob begs.
Ezekiel shakes his head disapprovingly and rushes towards the console. “IF YOU WON’T END THIS, I WILL!” he screams as he reaches out to grab the lever, but before he can, an explosion erupts from the void, grabbing Ezekiel and dragging him into its murky, oily depths.
Jacob tears his eyes away and swallows nervously. “I-I’m sorry, old friend, but what we’re doing c-can’t be stopped, not until the pathway stabilises,” he mumbles, glancing at his watch. Sweat cascades down his brow, stinging his wide eyes. He drags his arm across his brow, soaking up the sea of sweat with his sleeve. “J-just a few more, j-just a few more,” he stammers, his eyes widening. He jumps back in fright as his alarm screams to life. For a few seconds, he sits in awe, then shakes himself awake, leaps up, and pulls the lever down. The room falls silent and dark. Then, as if rebooted, all the computers come back to life around him, the room whole once again.
“W-What have you done?” a voice asks from across the room. Jacob turns to see a figure standing in front of the void, as the liquid that fills it softly spins.
“A-A-Are you h-him?”
“I cannot be identified by your petty constructs. I am beyond that. I am beyond you,” the figure says as the world lights up around them, exploding in a sea of hot-white.
Jacob cowers, shielding his eyes in desperation. “I-I-I BROUGHT YOU HERE! I OPENED THE DOOR! Y-Y-YOU’RE BOUND BY RIGHT TO ANSWER MY QUESTION!” he calls out. The room suddenly grows silent again.
Wearily, Jacob slowly peers out from beneath his trembling fingers and gasps with horror, the breath catching in his chest. Before him stands the figure, towering above him with wings of flesh and flame, surrounded by endless stars and planets.
The being looks down upon him. “Then ask your question, my child.”
Dale takes a drag on the cigarette and closes his eyes tightly. The exiting breath flutters out in a sea of smoke, almost an afterthought of something else that has yet to take place.
“It’s not the end,” she says softly.
A wiry, awkward smile swims across his lips. “Yes, it is.”
“I know,” she replies as she drops herself to the ground in an effortless heap, arching herself back as she crosses her legs like a schoolgirl who’s been told to sit on the mat.
He takes another deep drag on his cigarette and allows a stuttered laugh to escape his lips. “Then why say it’s not?”
“B-Because I don’t want you to be sad.”
His eyes spring open, and he looks over at her, a fresh tear cascading down his cheek. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Her chin trembles as she tightly grips herself. “I-I-,” she stammers as she looks away, “I’m sorry.”
He takes another long drag on the cigarette before thrusting forward and flicking the still-lit butt into the darkness of the night that surrounds them. “FOR GOD’S SAKE! STOP SAYING YOU’RE SORRY!” he spits as he turns on the spot and stands over her menacingly.
“T-Then, what do you want me to say?” she asks softly.
“I-I-I, I want to know why?”
“W-Why?” she asks in an almost rhetorical way, furrowing her brow.
“Yeah, why!” he repeats as he casts a sideways glance toward her. “Why now? Why here? Why me?”
Her smile snakes across her face, and her eyes open wide with wonder and excitement. “Because it was time, this was the place, and you were the one waiting for me.”
“You know none of that makes any sense, right?”
“You didn’t ask for it to make sense, you asked why, and that’s what I’ve told you.”
“So, there’s nothing important about me? I’m just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“No, silly,” she says with a giggle. “You were in the right place, at the right time, and in my book, that makes you the most important man in the entire existence of all mankind.”
He blushes and shuffles his boot around in the dirt beneath him. “Y-Y-You don’t need to lie to me. I know I’m slow, but I’m not stupid.”
Her giggle explodes into a full-blown laugh. “I’m not lying, I swear! You’re neither slow nor a fool. Don’t you see, fate brought you here, as it did me. Destiny, yours and mine, has been intertwined; we just never knew it until there were no moments left to know. Now, as the very sun swallows itself, we are given our moment. Dare we not take it?”
“I-I-I,” He turns away, letting an exhausted sigh free from his chest as he casts a distant glance across the shimmering red waters before him and toward the decaying sun, as it continues to swallow itself. “When I was a kid, I used to think that when I got old, I’d have a chance to enjoy the silence.”
He lets the breath flutter from his trembling lips as he finally allows his eyes to slowly creak open. The world he once knew so well, filled with darkness and dread, is now suddenly alive, painted in all the colours of the rainbow. Another breath escapes, accompanied by a squeal of childlike excitement. His lips quiver and his hands shake uncontrollably. Reaching up, he gently grips the rim of the glasses and slowly begins to remove them.
Chad reaches out and grabs Stewart’s hand, momentarily holding him at bay. Their eyes meet, and Chad shakes his head in disapproval.
“I told you, once worn, they can never be removed, unless of course you want to go back to the world you once knew?” Chad purrs with a smile across his lips that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.
Stewart’s face crumples, and his brow furrows. “S-So, I have to keep these on forever? E-Even in the shower?” he asks in a high-pitched tone.
Chad nods, his smile broadening. “Yes, Stewart, even in the shower.”
Stewart’s nose twists into a ball, and his lips pucker up. “E-Even when I’m sleeping?”
Chad sighs loudly as his smile wavers. “Yes, Stewart, even when you’re sleeping.”
Stewart scratches his head and raises his eyebrows high. “W-What if someone else takes them off me? W-Will I never be able to go back then?”
Chad’s smile drops, and he runs his tongue coarsely over his golden teeth. “If the glasses come off, you are out, no matter when, no matter how. If those glasses come off your face, you are back in the boring world everyone calls normal, and we both know what that means for you, don’t we?”
Stewart sighs and nods his head from side to side, uneasily agreeing.
“So, then repeat it,” Chad asks.
“R-Repeat what?”
“Repeat what I just told you, repeat it from the start so I know you truly understand.”
“B-B-But I said I did, i-isn’t that enough?”
Chad raises his brow in curiosity, and a quiver of a smile washes over his lips once more. “Obviously, it is not. So, dear sir, please repeat what I’ve told you, and repeat it now!”
“I-I-I,” Stewart stammers as he awkwardly swallows a mouthful of air that feels like razor blades instead. He squeezes his eyes tightly closed and sucks another breath in through his nose. “I can’t take them off in the shower. I can’t take them off at night. In fact, I can’t take them off at all, and neither can anyone else.”
“And?” Chad asks, his smile now twisting wildly across his lips.
“A-A-And, and if I take them off, I-I-I’ll never b-be able to g-go back.”
“And?” Chad asks again.
“A-A-And I’ll be stuck in t-the normal world f-forever.” he stammers as colourful tears begin to stream down his face.
“And?” Chad asks once more, his face twisted and maniacal, barely resembling the face he wore so few moments ago.
“A-A-And y-you’ll s-swallow my soul,” he whimpers.
“Yes, yes I will,” Chad agrees proudly with a broad, toothy grin.
