Choice And Consequence
Boltor stood quietly next to the shop where they sold Earglaze, waiting for hours on end. His entire cohort had been buzzing about this wonder drug. Everyone who listened to the musical piece experienced hypnotic bouts of immense bliss and ecstasy, their eyes rolling upward followed by gentle yet deep breaths and slight trembles in body, and as they proclaimed, mind. The song, if you could call it that, had taken the world by storm eight months ago. Boltor would be the last person he knew to try it today.
The queue barely waned as people bustled to stay in line. Boltor waited till the queue was at its lowest — stillstaggering forty people — right before the shop closed for the day. He hoped it did, he was afraid of trying it, and falling into another addiction. Yet he couldn’t help but give in to his temptations, fanned by his friends and acquaintances. The shop owner hollered, “Ten minutes to wind up, folks! Come get your trip to heaven with the remaining Earglaze we’ve got!” Several of the customers had already started listening to the Glaze right there on the street, as soon as they bought it. Boltor would go home and try it out.
When Boltor got to the entrance, the owner slapped a chip into his palm and whispered, “You a rookie, ain’t ya? Once you get a sense of this sound, you ain’t going back to alcohol or them pills ya used to pop….” Boltor silently took the chip and inserted it into his smartphone. He signed a ‘thank you’ to the owner with his hands and walked back to his apartment. The evening had transitioned into twilight, slowly becoming night. Once he got home, he set his phone on the table, plugged his earbuds into his ears and played the file from the chip. The music softly began as any other song, gently tugging at what seemed like his heartstrings — He jumped.
His heartstrings? As the music proceeded, the beats synchronized with that of his heart, the plucking of strings seemingly tugging further and further at it. His heart beat faster as the music quickened its pace, entranced as if by an elegant enchantress, dancing with her in perfect synchronization. The beating slowed, leading to a series of glass clinking sounds paired with a blend of human voices, ranging from baritone to soprano, inviting him through the gates of heaven. Feeling relaxed and deeply joyous, Boltor opened his eyes.
He found himself standing in a gigantic throne room. His face scrunched up in shock as he saw the large figure at the deep end of the room get up and walk towards him with a majestic gait. The figure was cloaked in light, making it difficult for Boltor to look at it through squinting eyes, but he tried nevertheless. The figure stood right in front of Boltor, a gentle voice pouring over him like the touch of silk, “Oh dear, this one has strayed too far from the material plane. Yet, he perceives us as material. Whatever shall we do with one that can no longer return on his own?”
Boltor grew even more confused as the figure lowered its hand and touched Boltor with the light. “There, that should jolt you back,” said the ever so gentle voice. Instantly, Boltor felt a surge of heat, growing to the point of numbingly bright pain which shot across his body. He saw himself dissipate into light, blinding himself with it as he writhed in pain. The same excruciating pain woke him. Boltor sat up and stared straight ahead.
He saw a bright white, similar to the light. And that’s all he saw. He felt a horrid twist of pain in his gut as he opened his mouth to scream yet no sound was heard. He still had not gotten used to the absence of his voice. The Dolmarite addiction had given him this affliction. He could not surmise that he had been robbed once again. He tried washing, rubbing his eyes several times but his eyes still throbbed with pain. He spent the next few hours trying everything he could, growing frustrated with pangs of horror. Even Dolmarite had left him with a sore voice the first few hits, but took his voice away with the last. Why was it always him?
Outside his apartment window, across the streets on the rooftop of the opposite tower, two figures stood watching him. “He will never know, will he?” a gentle voice smoothly flowed in concern. “The Cursed are tied to their fate because of their temptation. Their oblivion is a part of their choice of desire,” the other figure cloaked in sheer darkness replied. Then both figures dissipated, one in light and the other in shadowy darkness.
Siddharth Joshi
