CRADLE
“Watch.” the voice told me. “This is where it all starts.”
I stared at the congregation of creatures, still seemingly unaware of my presence, with their gazes — if they even had eyes — focused squarely on the great, disturbed surface of an impossibly shapeless lake. My conscience still tells me it is not entirely fair to call them ‘creatures’, for they had arms, and legs, and clothes and a head and — and, without a doubt some kind of a culture to justify this bizarre ceremony. Some deep, deep instinct trying to convince me and say ‘not just creatures; they were of your kin’, even if I knew God would have never breathed life into such a horrific sight.
Yes, they had hands, but their fingers were misshapen and their count uneven. Yes, they had legs, but they had too many of them. Yes, they had clothes, but their threads extended far beyond the scarlet robes themselves: they were connected, all of them, through their clothes, and the sky — yes, the sky! — the threads went up to the endless blood-soaked sky! Where were the stars? Why was it all so bright? So peaceful?
They had no faces, for Christ’s sakes! Their skin was made of vines and black mold! The only way I could even begin to differentiate between some of them was the size of their antlers growing from where their mouths should have been, but the shapes were too complex to possibly remember who was who. Was there even more than one entity there, in that bizarre scene? Was it all just some kind of a hive mind?
They chanted. I remember they chanted.
“The King is coming.” the voice told me.
I begged him to wake me up.
“This is no dream.” he assured me.
I begged him, even so.
And from the depths of that boundless, shapeless lake, arose a mass. A mass covered in the same texture as the rest of them, but taller, thinner. It had antlers, too, but these extended from every part of the body’s surface.
I could not understand its language, but I knew this thing did not just merely arrive. It had been born.
“Behold the King. He screams.” the voice told me.
Yet the scream could not drown out the congregation’s chanting. The fervor of their unknown tongue only grew, as the King’s antlers expanded further and further.
In that moment, he reminded me of a tree.
The great, impossible Yggdrasil.
I asked the voice what the congregation was chanting.
And he whispered into my ear.
And I let it linger in my head.
Soon, I could finally make out the words as if they had been my own:
‘WHAT HOPE IS THERE FOR THE WEAKEST THERE IS?’
FROM THE GREAT BEYOND
I clear my throat. “I’m dead.”
Adam doesn’t even so much as flinch. I guess he hasn’t quite heard me. Even so, it feels good to say it out loud.
“It’s going to sound crazy,” I say, “but I don’t think any of this is real. I’m dead. I died six months ago. Up there.” I point to the night sky. “You’re not real. This field isn’t real. This wind isn’t real.”
He blinks. “What… are you talking about?”
“When I was… up there. Doing the repairs. And the safety cable snapped. And everything spun. And I couldn’t grab onto the safety railing and just — drifted off. I should have died. I mean, what were the chances Sandra, of all people, would have come out right at that time to save me? She had no maintenance work that day. And I’d told them — I’d told them that the fix was minor. I wouldn’t have even been in the back of anyone’s mind. When I’d stepped out into the airlock, they were all going to the mess hall.
“Do you understand? Nobody had any reason to come out right at that moment at save me. Certainly not Sandra, of all people. This was her yoga time. This was when you just weren’t supposed to disturb her. She didn’t even know I was out. So why was she there?”
“Lee — “
“It’s gotten worse. The nightmares, I mean.” I chuckle. “I mean, shit, I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”
He looks to his feet. “Lee…”
“I keep convulsing in my sleep, Adam. Even though I’m perfectly fine physically. Even though I’ve taken all the meds. Even though they TELL ME I’M STABLE. That I SHOULD be stable. I still keep waking up from some kind of a nightmare which I can’t remember. Which isn’t of much use to the therapist. Ha ha.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder.
I put mine over it. “Tell me the truth, Adam. I’m still up there, aren’t I? My suit is just about out of oxygen, and I’m hallucinating and trembling and cold and — and maybe there’s even a rip in the suit and my body’s being silently crushed by th — “
“Lee. Listen to me.”
“I never came back, did I? Sandra wouldn’t have been there.”
He hugs me. “This is real. I’m real. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”
My eyes fall on his shoulder. “She wouldn’t have had a reason to come out.”
“You’re alive.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m here. And I love you. And we’ll get through this. Okay? I’m holding you. You feel that, don’t you? This isn’t frantic enough to be a dream, is it? Breathe. Just breathe. I love you.”
The tears just won’t stop. “It was her yoga time, Adam.”
SACRIFICE
In spite of all the pleas — mine and his — they ripped into the suit.
No — ripping into the suit would’ve let me retain some hope. Their… instruments went far deeper than that. In an instant, the ground below was lathered in blood. In an instant, the screams beneath the helmet ceased, no doubt due to the gurgling. Those things had pierced the chest, firmly impaling the body, raising it high into the air.
Blood continued to seep, almost as if raining from the crimson-colored sky.
The body’s limbs began to rip as if of their own volition, falling onto the festering pool of blood below. Soon, nothing remained in the long, long arms of the impalers side from the poor thing’s heart.
Yet, they seemed to have no use for it, the heart. A simple squeeze, and it popped into a million pieces.
The attention of the forming crowd — when had so many of them come? — seemed more focused on the pile of gore below. The limbs, some of them still hidden beneath a half-torn space suit, continued to twitch. But it was the pool — the blood itself — that you couldn’t take your eyes off of.
It was expanding.
Larger and larger it became. I watched as the limbs slowly drowned, until all that remained was an indescribable, shapeless lake.
“Watch.” the voice told me. “This is where it all starts.”
SUPERPOSITION
The revelation of being dead — well, assuming this is all just a hallucination, I guess it’d be ‘being half-dead’ — still hasn’t really done much to change my day-to-day routine. I guess it’s in part because I haven’t made up my mind yet. Dead or half-dead; that’s the question. Am I still up there, dying? Or have I already died and this is some kind of bizarre purgatory?
The former implies that, when my last neuron fails me, this dream will suddenly end, without warning; someone just turns off the lights and I don’t even know that I don’t know anything.
On the other hand, purgatory implies that I’m stuck in this fake world, with no way out. If I were to play this out until I reached old age, I would probably just be subjected to a different environment. Or a different life. Or however this place really works.
Regardless of how this has come to be, maybe, now that I’ve reached the truth, the cracks in this reality will begin to show?
That’s what I’m counting on.
In fact, that’s what I need. Finding such a crack would rid me of all doubts.
I think all this, taking a sip of tea. Adam’s pouring syrup over his pancakes. He smiles as our eyes meet. I smile back.
I’ve decided that, regardless of what level of illusion this is, I can’t bring myself to treat him as a fake. Even though I know this isn’t my Adam, and that this can never be my Adam.
True, this is our house. True, his touch is the same as it had always been. True, the way he sees right through me as I try to pretend everything’s fine… Honestly, if there are cracks in this reality, they won’t be here.
Setting the teacup back down, I turn my attention back to my phone. I’m looking for anything — any sign that I’m right. Something undeniably bizarre to confirm my suspicions. The one thing working against me — and it’s a major one — is that my own perception and general understanding of this world might’ve been warped. Similarly to how one wouldn’t necessarily react properly to a cow in their living room if they were dreaming, I have no proof that my current state of mind is equipped to even register these flaws in reality.
But — the fact that I’ve even managed to realize that I’m already dead should be proof enough that I’m still capable of discerning what’s real and what isn’t. I’m going to have to believe in myself here. No matter how scary the possibility may be.
“What’s on your mind?” Fortunately, Adam’s question makes me lose that train of thought altogether.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“How’re you feeling? Since last night?” He looks at his pancakes. “I, uh. Erm. I’m not really good at this — obviously — but I’m here for you.”
“Adam — “
“You’re alive. I’m alive. And I’m here for you.”
“I remember.” I sigh.
“Have you thought about switching therapists?” The shift is sudden enough to make me just slightly annoyed.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry about last night. I — I don’t know what came over me. Probably just… a panic attack. Or a side-effect of the meds. I’m fine now. Really. The…” What was her name? “The current lady’s fine.”
“Dr. Koborkan.” he reminds me. “And, I know I’m not supposed to ask, but… how long have you… felt like this? I mean, did you talk about it with her?”
I chuckle. “I told you, it was a panic at — “
“Lee. C’mon.”
Right through me.
As always.
“I’m fine.” I’ll definitely have to figure out what that means in this situation. Even if I find definitive proof that this reality is not mine — what am I supposed to do then? Do I jump off a bridge and force the dream to end? Do I even want that? Am I even allowed to do that?
If this turns out to be purgatory, is there a heaven?
Is there a hell?
My fingers interlock. If this is not my world, then this can’t possibly be my body. My brain or soul or whatever is inside here to still make me ‘me’ is just sending out requests and this thing is kindly obliging to fulfill them.
That’s where the question of my own memories and perceptions comes back up. I can look myself in the mirror and acknowledge that the face I see is mine. But is it? Has that person truly always been me? Is that really my eye color? My nose? My mouth? Is the little beauty mark beneath in the same place it always was? Or are those precisely the differences I’m supposed to use to figure out this isn’t real, but my brain’s been tampered with not to acknowledge it as a change?
Even if it were a perfect copy, I know it isn’t truly mine, at least. I know this.
I can feel something deep within me trying to crawl out. These arms are just sleeves. The thing inside — the real me — is trying to break free, but it can’t. But at least I know that this body isn’t big enough for me.
It does hurt, though.
The way I press against the surface.
Come to think of it, were they always this thin? My arms?
“This is reality.” Adam says. “You’re safe.”
I blink.
“ — Right.” I say. “I know.”
There’s plenty of places where you’re safe.
But safe places don’t make a home.
THE GATE
“Go.” the voice said.
I stared at the door. I could see nothing but whiteness beyond. My curiosity had brought me this far, but it could carry me no longer. The only thing on my shoulders was the hand of fear itself, and I could not shake it off.
“Go.” the voice repeated, albeit no less patient. “You’ve come this far, haven’t you?”
I asked what would happen if I turned back.
“Nothing. You will wake up, just as you are bound to either way. You will sit at breakfast with Adam, just as you always had. He will kiss you and tell you that everything is fine, and at night he will hold you tighter than he ever had before. Not because he loves you any more, but because the fear still hasn’t let him go. But even so, he will say that everything is fine.”
But I knew everything was not fine.
“And it isn’t fine.” the voice said. “It can never be fine again.”
What had happened to me?
“You are dreaming.”
Where was the real world, then?
“Pass through the door, and I will show you a glimpse of it. I will show you what happened to you.”
My hand reached for the light of the door.
“Be warned, young lady.” the voice said. “Do not be fooled by the chants. There is no hope. And they know it.”
A SUMMER NIGHT
It’s the first time I’ve been out since I came back. I haven’t even told Adam, so I guess you could say I’ve snuck out.
I don’t know where I’m going. My legs are trembling. The strong wind knocks me off-balance every so often. I keep my eyes to the ground, away from all the dazzling lights above. Not the street lamps or the neon signs or the projector ones. Not those lights. I keep trying to cover my ears; the noise of sires and car horns and people and laughter and music is too much.
At a street corner, smoke rises from one of the openings.
I almost want to laugh.
I’d spent so much time looking for signs that I’m trapped in a different reality. Going online, looking for coded messages in news reports, talking with people on their weird little conspiracy forums.
But all I had to do was just go outside.
This world —
Where the hell am I?
What is this place?
“I’m dead.” My lips tremble at the declaration. “I’m dead!” So I say it again, this time with anger.
All this time, I guess I hoped it wouldn’t have been true.
How am I supposed to escape from this place?
Where is there to go?
“Ngh.” I find myself needing to sit down on a park bench, feeling light-headed. It’s been happening a lot lately.
Adam says I’m not eating enough.
TRANSMISSION
The job should’ve been simple enough. There was a small hitch in the communication module. Nothing system-breaking, but could have caused us some trouble later down the line if unattended. I was especially annoyed at the error’s discovery, since I kept telling everyone there was a small crackle that wasn’t there before whenever we got in touch with Control.
I guess, looking back, that’s why they told me to go and take care of it. I was the odd person out of their little crew. Talking was hard. Getting all their little in-jokes and references was hard. Some of them had worked with each other before, which didn’t help. And I didn’t drink. That didn’t help, either.
So, for every suggestion I made, it always felt like, even when I knew I was right, they hated to admit it. For some people — Sandra in particular — I could hear audible sighs whenever I walked over to ask about something.
We were all grown adults. So why was this happening?
What had I done to deserve this?
Nothing, of course. That was just how things had always been with me.
People saw me as weak.
As a whiner.
A child, maybe, even. I got upset a lot, after all. Quite easily, too. Not just with people, but at the work itself. I knew all this shit inside and out, so whenever something didn’t work, I got angry. At the technology. At the people around me.
Of course, the only reason I didn’t work was because I DIDN’T know shit. Inside or out.
But how can you convince a child of that?
I got into my suit and opened the airlock. Strangely enough, the vast emptiness of space didn’t scare me back then. It was, in some sense, comforting. The silence. Floating was like an out-of-body experience. The suit helped with it, too. It was as if you were nestled in someone else’s body, quietly giving commands.
The suits were heavy. But they made me feel strong.
I attached the cable to the safety railing and made my way to the hatch. The fix was simple enough. Nothing worse than tightening a screw, I was pretty sure.
I was so focused on opening the hatch that I hadn’t noticed that it’d gotten loose. That stupid cable.
That stupid, stupid cable.
I had only noticed something was wrong when, it was, of course, when it was too late. It was as if something had violently pulled me away from the station. My fingers had missed the safety railing by an inch.
Before I knew it, I was floating.
Screaming.
Hoping someone would hear me.
But who would? Nobody would have noticed me missing.
Nobody ever did.
Those are the things going through my mind, as I watch the world around me spin.
I closed my eyes.
And in the darkness, I saw a beam of light.
I heard a voice.
“You’ve come, at long last.” the voice said.
DRAMATIC REENACTMENT
“I’ve gotten tired of this.” Adam sighs. “I’m sorry. But I don’t know what else I can say or do. Yesterday, you just wandered off — not even bringing your phone — and when you came back you acted as if it was MY fault for worrying. Now, I understand you’re shaken up. I understand there’s — a lot to process. It was a fucked up, scary experience. I understand all of that. I really, really — “
“ — You don’t understand anything.” I murmur.
“ — But I can’t keep doing this. The — This thing about — I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I can help you anymore. I don’t know how to solve this.”
“I’m not your problem to solve.” I say simply.
He groans. “God, everything with you is — Why do you have to make everything so — so dramatic? All the time? Not just this, but — but — “
“But what? What, Adam?”
“God! You always keep saying and pretending like you’re the last person on Earth and how you’re all alone and how nobody understands you and nobody possibly could, but when I try to get you to talk to me, you clam up or get mad or SOMETHING. I want to help you, I want to know how you FEEL, I want you to feel GOOD, but every fucking time I extend my hand it feels like you slap it away and I — I don’t know what to do, Lee! I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I — I don’t want you to apologize.”
“You wouldn’t be talking like this if you weren’t angry at me.” I point out.
“I just want you to be happy and relaxed and comfo — “
“Relaxed. Yeah. Sure. Let me go and press my ‘relaxed’ button. Let me just get right on that. Let m — “
“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m not expecting you to just magically fix yourself, I just — “
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to KNOW HOW I FEEL.”
“…Is that it?” I wonder aloud. “Is that what you’re saying? That I make everything about me?”
“I — “ he stammers, his gaze dropping to his feet. “ — Honestly, I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all this relationship has become. Every day I wake up, and I keep wondering what kind of mood you’re going to be in. If I’ll say something that’ll hurt you. If I’ll come back one day and I find that you’re gone and I never find you again.”
“…I see. Well.”
“I keep thinking back to how we started. How good things were and I — I just don’t know how things got like this.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry for being so fucking dramatic.”
He scoffs. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t get passive-aggressive. I care about you and I want to help you, but — “
He stops.
And neither of us feels like saying anything more.
