The stone floor was unforgiving behind my back. My blurred eyesight didn't help to calm my wrecked mental state. I get fired from my job, now this? I don't even know what the world is anymore. My phone was gone, and it felt like someone drove a hatchet through my head.
There was a great rumbling before a wall of stone arrived. Oh god, it's gonna grind me into a mush. Make it quick please… Just before ramming into me, the wall stopped. There was a stone face engraved in it, split in half. On the left was half a man's face, and on the right there was half a woman's face—eyes closed.
"Greetings, my lost child. I am Ego Rex."
"What? How can you talk!?" I asked in a panicked voice, readying myself to run.
"Fear not, I am the mold that encompasses this place. I am the being of existence itself. You have been deposited here. Make the most out of your stay."
"What? Where am I? Help me leave, please!"
"Good luck. A small warning: Be wary of the librarian here. Her name is Es, if you were wondering. "
"No, help me! Please!" I crawled to the wall. But before I could touch it, it splitted in the middle, and dissolved into air.
Darn it… Now I was in the middle of literally nowhere, no food, no water. And there was a librarian for some reason. How more confusing could this be?
Before I could find something in this endless corridor of cold rock, something floated towards me. They were speech bubbles, it seemed. Huh, they're narrating my thinking.
I followed my impulsive thoughts and reached my hand out to touch them. They burst asunder with a satisfying "pop" and dissolved back into air. I popped a few more, and more, and more…
Huh. This was boring. The wall-person—Ego Rex, was it—did say something about a librarian, I recalled. I wonder where they are… I turned myself to the right, where there was a wooden antique door; pretty high quality if I were to wager. It wasn't there before though, was it magic?
Ah, no. It seems that I just have selective attention.
The engravings on the door were very elegant. They curved and crawled and jumped, framing the door—made of mahogany, it seemed—beautifully as if it were a renaissance painting molded for the heavens. Something pure, almighty, and beyond all other earthly folly. I put my hand on the wood knocked a few times in the way that I've always knocked doors. It felt like a normal door, and sounded like a normal door. Still, it was a very beautiful normal door. When there was no answer, I turned the shiny copper knob, and it clicked eloquently—yes, the knob was a very beautiful knob—before yielding.
[ — ]
There was a knock at the door, disturbing me from my reading. Huh, who could it be? Don't tell me it's the bothersome clump of rock again… Ugh, just thinking about it makes me throw up… I set my book in my lap, closed my eyes and prepared myself for the telltale rumbling warranting a series of nonsensical complaints from the wicked wall.
There was a gentle tapping of footsteps which was very strange. Hmm? Am I hallucinating now? I raised my head up to greet whoever came through the door.
Ah, a wanderer has come. Ego Rex did talk about him, though it almost revolted me that I remembered anything that wall said.
"Well, look who showed up. I grew tired of waiting, wanderer."
"Oh, hi—Uh, librarian Es. I was told by Ego Rex that you were called so. Nice to meet you, haha…" It seemed the young man was quite nervous. That was to be expected, anyone would be after being thrown into Ego Rex's dark stone corridor. I was starting to feel bad for this poor being already. Even a tardigrade would roll over and die when subjugated to the incompetent wall's good-for-nothing moral preaches about conformity and what-not (this was called "yapping" as she had recently learned in a dictionary).
"Um, so… May I ask a few questions, please? I really need to go home, and find another job for myself… I need to leave this place quickly."
"Do not worry yourself for nothing, wanderer. I will answer your questions if you answer mine. As for the matter of time, it does not have its usual grasp on this place…" The man was getting more internally panicked, oh dear.
"Sit down, now. I would rather you calm down before answering my questions. Help yourself to some tea." I poured him a cup of my perfectly brewed black tea. I'd gotten it down to a science; perfect tea every time.
"Oh yeah, thanks…" The wanderer was still a wreck of nerves, but relaxed noticeably after tasting my tea. I knew it. Not even the foul wall can resist the calming effects of tea! (the wall's limestone being wet prevented it from making noise, or talking)
"Now, we shall start. Answer my questions truthfully, I will guarantee absolute secrecy."
"Alright," the wanderer was finally starting to accustom himself to his environment. He was actually becoming a bit drowsy and his eyes slowly turned half-lidded
I… didn't use the opium-laced black tea… right? Ah, it would make him answer more honestly anyways. Whoops.
"Alright… Let the inquiry commence," I unfolded the parchment nicely folded in my desk compartment, consisting of 10 questions.
"Do you tend not to get emotional?"
"Nah… Not really…"
"Do you put up a front for others?"
"Hm, yeah. I think…"
"Are you easily influenced by others?"
"Maybe… Sometimes."
"Are your tastes easy to discern?"
"Yeah… I get read like an open book sometimes."
"Do you get jealous easily?"
"Hmm, yeah…"
"Do tough situations make you work even harder?"
"Yep."
Es: Are you often irritated by uncertainty?
"Not really… Life is a dumpster fire anyways"
"Are you unhindered by fear?"
"No way… Anyone would tremble against their fears…"
"Do you prefer things to be black and white?"
"Yeah… But life is never so simple, is it?"
"Are you often deceived?"
"I… I don't really want to be… But yeah, I'm easily deceived…."
"Do you like to be the center of attention?"
"No way… That would be so tiring."
"Do you ignore those you dislike?"
"It would be easier for everyone if I did… After all, hatred only burns, does it not?"
I noted his answers down; they would be very valuable.
"As for your question: I do not know the answer. This place may be somewhere far, or it may even be in your own mind. As a resident of this place, I cannot know." I turned my head up and answered the wanderer. He scrunched his brows and hung his head in disappointment. I definitely abused his mental state to fish answers out of him.
"If you wish to leave, simply go by the door. It would be in my interest to converse with you a bit more, but it seems you're in no state to do so. Please have some rest in your world and return when you are up to adequate health."
The wanderer mumbled something unintelligible and groggily limped across the room towards the door.
"Ugh… Bye, Es…"
"Goodnight, wanderer." I must take note not to spike the wanderer's tea next time. It would be rather troublesome.
[ — ]
I woke up on the floor. Why do all floors have to be so hard… Once I started registering information, my eyes fluttered open and landed on the linoleum floor. The smell of beer, cigarettes, and stale leftovers were to be expected, but I still recoiled internally nonetheless. My legs and hand slowly recovered feeling and I grunted before struggling up. A terrible headache was wrecking my mental processes, and the (read: my) awfully filthy apartment room didn't do much to help. I had fallen into a short lapse of depression this evening just after losing my job, which was basically how I managed to stay alive just after graduating high school in this wreck of an economy. Supporting myself on the chair, I hoisted myself up and subsequently dropped dead on the couch, as I couldn't manage to go over and lie on the futon.
The next morning was similar to many mornings before. My body felt like a rotten sack of potatoes with a side dish of gut-wrenching headache (it shouldn't be possible for headaches to wrench your gut, right?). Yet again, I was greeted by my own disheveled state staring back at me through the mirror. I would have shaved if I had an inkling in me to care, but I did not. So I opted for splashing some water onto my face instead.
What do I do now?
I don't have a job, and I don't think I can survive for more than a year with my savings… This was going to be a pain. Throwing on my flannel jacket, I escaped my dingy apartment and stepped out into a humid and overall depressing February Wednesday. The air seemed like it balanced itself on a knife's blade, a fraction of humidity away from breaking into a vicious downpour. Luckily for me, I wouldn't be alone in my brooding, though. As I trekked through the sloppy puddles of much towards the nearest job-offering agency, I could spot many in the same predicament as me: sleep-deprived and a hair away from drowning in the stagnant air.
The doors made way for a fuzzy welcome mat, introducing me to the sterile hallway. My footsteps clicked rhythmically on the linoleum floor. A dislodged sign posted on the wall led me to a room. The door to the room was a sickly pale grey. I raised my hand to knock on it. The door felt like a normal door, and sounded like a normal door. No, this was a sub-par normal door. After a few seconds of silence, I exasperatedly sighed and pushed the door open. Grey walls framed an almost completely furniture-less room save for a desk and a chair. Upon the desk, there was a man who was supposed to be awake, but he was snoozing on the table without a care in the world.
"Roland." I called out to the man as he rubbed his eyes and groggily raised his head to regard me.
"My old friend! Hah, I knew you'd come back to your job. It gets really lonely when all the new people die in mere days… It has been so long, you know? 10 years… but I suppose all must come back to equilibrium. Anyways, welcome back?" Roland finally broke out of his sleep trance, tented his fingers and sat up professionally. The first time since his birth.
"We can arrange a good pay for you. The confidentiality and protocols have still remained the same. Well, save for a dozen extra… We did have a breach a few months back, one so bad Mr. Big Bad Manager decided to throw a temper tantrum and murdered a good few in the facility. Poor newbies didn't know what the heck was happening. I do pity them greatly…" Roland apathetically recollected the absolute horror of Argalia's genocide in the corporation. Not like I could really blame him, being under Argalia's command usually meant shaving away all your empathy and those pesky things called morals.
"I'm going to apply. When can I expect a response?" All of that was none of my business. This is this, and that is that. What difference does it make if a few die?
"3 to 5 business days. As always, clean up after your job. Makes it easier to deal with, ya know?"
"Noted. Farewell, Roland. May God be with you." Roland scoffed at my sendoff.
"God has long left us… But I shall gracefully thank you, old friend."
The office doors creaked shut.
Before I had time to regret my actions, Mr. Cigarettes, Beer, and Stale Leftovers™ came out to greet me once again. I proceeded to fall flat on the sofa and decided to regret my actions later.
But my mind wandered back to thinking of a way to… find myself?
[ — ]
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in." Why did I say that? Rex would surely be absolutely baffled if he came in right now. But he wouldn't, because he wasn't behind the door. The Wanderer walked in and waved at me, looking very tired.
"Greetings, Wanderer. You sure look rather tired. Did you sleep enough yesterday?'
"No, no, I'm fine. I just needed some time to think…" The Wanderer closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the musty air before sitting down on the couch diagonal from my desk. I walked over and offered the Wanderer some tea. And no, I did not spike it with opium.
"Really. Do you mind telling me? I simply seek to understand you." It was truly so; I simply wanted to understand this Wanderer. It was not every day that I have such an interesting subject to hoist my interests into. Besides, I like the company that Wanderer provides. A fresh perspective that isn't Ego Rex would always be welcomed.
"Es, may I ask you something first? It's just that- I'm curious, a bit afraid, if I were honest…" The Wanderer was a bit apprehensive and tried to make himself smaller. I could tell that he was quite hesitant, but he did anyway. I did find it in me to be rather proud of him.
"Of course, you may ask me any question. I shall try my best to answer it."
"Es, excuse my brazenness, but who… are you..? Where am I? I know I asked you before but… Is this place my imagination..? A dream, kind of?" I closed my eyes and pondered about Wanderer's question for a good while.
"Hmm, I do not believe that this place is physical. Perhaps its existence is similar to a headspace, no?" The Wanderer looked to be deep in thought. He seems to have been happy with my answer, however I believe it to be inadequate if I were to admit it to myself…
"Hah~ I see then. But what are you, though? I think you have your own will..."
"Hmm, as for that, I cannot tell yet. How can I know about my own free will? I simply act as I tell myself. Where I take such desires from, I cannot know. Although I would wish for myself to have free will. I suppose that would only be natural, no?"
"Ah, I see." The Wanderer stood up and cracked his joints before striding towards the bookshelves around my desk.
"Es, why do you think empathy exists? Why do we find it in ourselves to feel sorry for others, even if we know that they might never meet us again? Let alone return our empathy? What even is the value of empathy?" Ah, the Wanderer had posed a rather interesting question. I didn't think he had it in him.
"Hmm, what could have brought this on, dear Wanderer? Did someone you know broach the topic?" The Wanderer was a bit startled and I saw him flinch and his hand traced the delicate fabric hardcover books.
"Well, I talked to an old friend of mine and he talked about a few events that well… happened. And I just got me thinking. Society hoists this idea of being empathetic on us, and I can't help but wonder. Is it simply because some people think that 'sharing their pain' could be beneficial to their recovery? Maybe I just don't get it…" Now it was getting interesting. The Wanderer truly put my brain-thinking-power to levels that books never have in my entire life. How exquisitely exhilarating!
"From my knowledge, empathy is—in its nature—a method of thought or emotional validation; and possibly supporting them in their struggles. It promotes understanding, does it not? To feel empathy, you must figuratively put yourself in others' shoes. Perhaps you may also think about it under a self-development perspective; such a process would require quite a lot of emotional intelligence. It also is in general belief that people in a cohesive society should be kind and considerate with each other. Generally though, sincere empathy is valued for a 'civilized world'---the aim of human life, the 'greater good'." The Wanderer stopped playing with the spines of the books and took a long time to process my ranting, of which I was secretly grateful for. Rex would always interrupt me with a rambling of his own, and usually we would get nowhere. The Wanderer was truly a welcome addition to this timeless space.
Day after day was spent like that. The Wanderer, although looking quite average, had quite a lot to talk about. His topics were interesting and took a lot of my mental capability to engage. And that was not even considering the times that he would comfort me. The insanity was rather getting to me, and I had seizures and nightmares often. The Wanderer was very compassionate and airways helped me to recover from them; a far cry from his rather dour appearance. One day though, he didn't come. So I read a book.
And one more.
And one more…
And… one… more…
[ — ]
"I quit, Roland."
The man sighed and grudgingly searched the file cabinet for the piece of parchment.
"I'm telling you man… you are taking the entirety of the consequences of your actions… I'm too withered down to even try anything anymore…" He hesitated as his hand brushed against the edge of the parchment sheet. Roland closed his eyes and released a long, tired sigh.
"You know, I'm not the typa guy to be mushy with his feelings.. But you helped a lot of people. You always care too much about others. It sometimes—well, most of the time—drives me crazy. I always thought, 'This man is insane, does he have no self-preservation?' But now I kinda understand, dude. You make your time worth it… I know it's not quite easy to ever retire from our line of work, you know? But, I get it. You think you did enough, and… I'm happy you finally figured it out." He extended his hand and offered me the piece of paper.
"But, if you decide this yourself, then so be it. You had listened to my warnings, right?"
I nodded, hesitation broiling in me, yet none ever showing.
"I… understand, Roland."
"Farewell, my old, old friend…"
I signed the piece of paper and Roland gave me a final, resigned goodbye,
"...May your god be with you."
[ — ]
I creaked the beautiful door open, and there was a woman snoozing peacefully on the desk.
"Hey… Wanderer." The woman peaked out from behind her arms and muzzily raised her head to give me a greeting.
"Ah, Es. I'm glad you recovered…" She was looking quite healthy from her figure a few days ago. It seems that all my efforts have at last, paid off. I was truthfully very happy.
"Wanderer… I truly thank you for everything. I have done my job here, and you have yours. I thank you so much for everything. You gave me a taste of happiness, however small."
"I see, I will miss you then… I hope you remember me, wherever you go."
"It's not like you to be so melodramatic, my Wanderer…"
And she faded into black mist, leaving me in the dreary, grey fireside of my heart.
[ — ]
Death, it seems, comes to everyone. No matter how rich, how powerful, or how privileged you are, death will always follow you. No matter how much you run, it will catch up to you; and you will eventually succumb to it. I suppose life is fair that way. It is perhaps a way life has been kind to me. In my case, things have led me to lie in a dark, decrepit hospital room. My poor health, age, and living conditions undoubtedly played a significant role, but ultimately, being stabbed was the primary cause. The doctors always tried to offer encouraging words as part of their job, but both they and I know that my time is nigh gone. Anyone could tell just by looking at my arms, which grow ever thinner by the day. I will wither away and die here. No one has come to see me, and chances are no one ever will. Saying I'm not afraid of death would be an outrageous lie… But that's that, and this is this. Against the inevitability of death, the cold march of time—any struggle would be meaningless.
"Wanderer."
A woman's voice called out from beside my bed. One I've not heard in a very long time, yet one that has been carved into my very being. All the other patients were sound asleep, and visiting hours had long since ended. Who could it possibly be?
That peculiar way of addressing me, and well, everything else really, narrowed it down to just one person. I squinted toward the voice and saw a woman with beautiful, braided raven hair smiling gently as she sat beside me. I look at her with a perplexed look
"...Why... how are you here?"
I had met her when I was still a bit healthier, way too long ago. I was in a very difficult place; my parents abandoned me around that time, and a general instability led me to a pretty terrible place. I don't even remember how I first ended up there, but I met her. She called herself Es, if I remember right. Her study contained nothing but books—no concept of time, no aging. Because of that, she could never leave. We got along well, and I visited her many times, usually by just thinking hard about "finding something". Eventually, she seemed to "find herself" in some way and thanked me for it. Upon self-reflection, though, I hadn't done much to deserve her gratitude.
Years passed, life happened, and my body deteriorated. For what felt like a short while in an old man's sense of time—though perhaps it was much longer—I hadn't visited her. Somewhere along, life piled too many things on me and I forgot about her.
Did I... Abandon her..?
Just like… No, no, no, no, no, no, she left of her own volition, I'm sure she was happy with it. Yeah, I'm sure.
I'm sure…
"How did you get here?", I forced weak words from my esophagus.
"I don't know. I couldn't see you for so long, but when I wished to meet you again, I found myself here."
Her answer was vague, too vague. Perhaps I was hallucinating. In fact, I was most likely hallucinating. The medication I'm on is known to have such side effects. Or maybe my body is trying to scrap back whatever was worth remembering from my pathetic life. Now if I think about it, Es would most likely be—no, she was—the best thing that happened to me.
But no, it didn't matter anyway. I was going to die soon, and whether she was real or an illusion made little difference.
"I see. Thank you for coming to see me, it has been long." I tried to move my facial muscles to form a long-unused smile, but it didn't come out quite right.
"Are you in pain?" She asked simply and waited for my answer. Speaking was painful—it had been a while since I'd done so.
"Yes, I'm in pain. Soon, I won't feel anything anymore, though. It's good to see that you're still doing well, Es."
The room fell silent, save for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside and their headlights flashing through the window.
Es gently held my frail, withered arm, her touch was soft, warm like sunlight, and I could swear I felt it beating. It reminded me of the warmth of the sun and many beautiful things that I hadn't felt in ages.
"I waited for you. I knew you'd come back. I had no choice but to wait."
"I'm... sorry." I didn't have any defense. I abandoned her, like everyone else did to me. I cannot even repay the kindness of an angel that God sent to me. Perhaps it was good riddance that I was going to die.
When I apologized, she shook her head.
"It's okay. You must've had your reasons. And we've met again now, haven't we?"
I tried to squeeze her hand back, but no strength came.
Once, I had held her hand before. She'd been distressed in a dream; she cried, and I held her hand and woke her up. She once told me that in dreams, she felt free, but she could never hold my hand, and it caused her great pain.
Was that event a dream, too? Did we truly hold hands, or was it all an illusion? Perhaps even now, lying here in this hospital, I'm nothing but a butterfly dreaming of being a dying man.
"What will I do when you're gone?" she asked.
"If I realize I'll never see you again, will I go back to being that lonely woman reading books all by herself?"
Before she could finish, she sighed and corrected herself.
"No, that's not it. That's not what I wanted to say. I don't want to blame you, but… you're the only other person to me, the only one that I've ever met. I don't know what to do in moments like this. I just—"
I couldn't squeeze her hand, so I met her gaze with my tired eyes instead. Though my eyesight had deteriorated greatly, I could still tell she had beautiful eyes and hair. Her voice wavered, and I felt her tears on my hand. She was crying, her eyes surely glistening like black jade.
"I'm sorry. I know I should be smiling and sending you off. I've read that in books countless times. But I'm scared of losing you. I don't even know if I can die. But being alone forever? I don't want that. Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me alone…"
Her grip on my arm was surprisingly strong, painful even. Though she usually kept her emotions in check, she occasionally let them burst out. I'd always liked that about her—the fragile, chaotic way she expressed herself. Perhaps I admired her for it, or maybe it was just cheap pity disguised as protectiveness.
"Even if my body disappears, I'll still be part of the same world. Maybe even closer to you than ever before." I forced out a weak sentence of faux-hope.
"That's nonsense."
I laughed weakly at her blunt rejection, knowing she was right. Still, I wanted to offer her something—hope, even if it was small and fragile and worthless.
"Es, you'll be okay. If I'm gone, someone else will come. Someone who can help you, just as you helped me."
"I don't want someone else! It's you I want! I want to talk to you! I want to be with you."
Her declaration filled me with bittersweet warmth, almost shattering me. Really, could I only find happiness, however fake or real, in my own delusions? Why should I bother with real life, when I can feel true happiness in my sometimes vivid, sometimes hazy dreams?
Yet there was nothing I could do. I was helpless, useless, a victim. Always.
"Then why don't you come to the study?" she suddenly said, her face brightening like a star shining its brightest before fading.
"If I'm here, maybe you can go there too, right? If you want to, of course."
It reminded me of a promise we'd once made a long time ago to find a way to spend time together in her strange, timeless world.
"That sounds like a dream," I replied, finally being able to smile faintly. "But even if I could go, I'm dying."
"That place doesn't follow ordinary rules. I'm sure you'll be fine. Even if you're not, we could still talk for a while longer."
Her words planted the tiniest seed of hope in me. If nothing else, it gave me something to hold on to.
"I'll wait for it, always…" I murmured and croaked a final feeble laugh, my voice strained with a fractured finality.
Her voice faded as I drifted into the beautiful grey darkness.
If those were my final moments, then I could proudly say that everything I've endured in life has been worth it..
[ — ]
So selfish, you are.
Your hand is still warm, a bit. It's different from mine, I think. Beneath your skin, blood still flows, and your heart still beats. Somehow, it feels a little reassuring. Strange, isn't it? How utterly strange I am.
Let me stay like this for a little while longer. I want to keep feeling, remembering you. Once you wake up, if you ever will, you'll disappear. After all, I'm like a dream to you; oh, maybe I'll even disappear with you. That would be nice. It would be quite lonely without you.
Do dreams have dreams of their own? I saw one. If I'm nothing more than a dream to you, then this is a dream of a dream dreaming. It's a little ridiculous, isn't it? …Is there a place for me in the dreams of your dreams? I'd be happy if there were.
When you leave, wherever you go, remember this dream. I'll always be here waiting for you if I can. Forever, and ever, and ever, till the end on time.
I mumble a quote from a book I'd read, or perhaps I made it up long ago:
"When man is born, he comes alone. And throughout his life, he will meet many people and make many memories and feel much happiness. But when the time comes and he must leave for death, then he shall leave on his lonesome."
And I must remain. How cruel God is.
Good night, Wanderer.
[ — ]
"I have nothing but my sorrow and I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me.
Why should I begrudge it, since during the hours when my soul crushed the depths of my heart, it was seated there beside me?
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets.
O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart."
— Francis Jammes