My footsteps echoed through the metalic hallway as I flipped though 200 pages of material so boring it made me want to jump ship.
Ugh. This is going to take me eons to get through. Even the tri-dimention reality emulations were dull. At least I got to leave class early, I guess.
I barely looked down to swipe my room key, "Fif, help me out with this would yo–"
The book left my hand mid-script, thudding on the floor of our bunker doorway. Much more muffled now, it droned on about welding safety, but I was no longer listening.
I couldn't listen. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even breathe. All I could do was stand, as still as moonrock, and stare straight ahead.
Fifty's mouth was moving, but all I heard was a ringing, like when you drill too close to your ear, or when an unplanned sonic boom startles you awake.
They both looked shocked, worried, ashamed and pleading all at once.
Fifty suddenly lunged toward me, eyes widened. An attack I didn't see coming. He was my only friend. I trusted him through everything. Is this how it all ends? Is a struggle, a murder perhaps, really worth keeping the secret I had just witnessed? Perhaps. The Thou would make both of their lives a living Hell if they found out. Does he not trust me to keep a secret?
Instead, he kicked the book aside and hit the 'door close' button by my waist.
"I said shut the door dammit!" Fif spit, his face just milimetres from my forehead. He was annoyed? Confusion overwhelmed me. The sliding door pushed my heels forward and I danced onto all fours. It's taking 100% of my brain to decipher what has happened in the last six seconds.
I flip the book closed, shutting up the lecturing voice omitting from it's pages, and use it to prop myself upright.
"Section C." I manage to blurt out, "They'll send you to Section C."
"Ree, I'm going to be okay, but you have to promise you're not going to tell anyone."
I shake my head and look up at him. So he doesn't trust me, then. "What? Why would I tell anyone? I'm not an idiot."
I push the book into his chest, offended, officially making this the most emotionally-diverse minute of my life.
As I push past him, I lock eyes with Zeta. As a Thou, his skin is a much more beautiful, darker tone than anyone within 300 floors of us. I could see more of it now than ever. As I step over two shirts on the floor, my eyes move to the rest of his face. Sharp, postured, poised–everything a leader should be.
"Zeta." I state from my side of the room.
"Yes, Three?" He talked to me the way Thous talk to eachother. Formal, and weird.
"Fuck you."
Three. As in thirty-three. As in the seven-hundred-and-thirty-third baby to be born on lower-ship during this particular mission. From birth, we're assigned floors, education, jobs, and, well, bunkmates. And The Thou, living from the 1000th floor upward, get to dictate it all.
"I did not implement the system."
"Well you didn't break it, either."
"I am only doing what is told of me. That does not imply that I morally agree with it."
"Yeah, and so am I. Does that make our lives the same? Let's switch! I'll sit on a big chair all day and play with the lives of others, while you can go into the engine room and breathe in dirt from who-knows-what-planet while oil drips all over you."
"Ree. Stop." Fifty's tone was harsh.
"What are you doing? Why HIM?!"
"I love him, Ree. He's different than the others."
I wheezed my way through a laugh, "Then how is this the first time I'm hearing about this?!"
"I couldn't tell you... I'm sorry."
"This is suicide."
"Maybe."
"There are rules, Fif, and not mixing with the upper floors is like, number one." He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. "Listen, I'm all up for a revolution, and I've broken some pretty big rules myself, but this..."
"We know," chimed in Zeta.
"What's your plan, then? Steal an escape pod and live out your lives on the nearest planet?!"
They looked lovingly at eachother and smiled, so genuinely. Their hands interlaced and Zeta put his head on Fif's shoulder.
Well, shit.
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Individuality is a made up concept by over-evolved monkeys who think they're the centre of the universe, if you ask me. As if the human experience is the only one that could possibly matter. Time works like this, the definition of life is that. It's selfish–and just embarassing. The need for control of everything in sight, the relentless striving to replicate what's already present... Always missing the point.
What would happen if the rules of gravity suddenly shifted? If days slowed to a crawl, or the moon left orbit? Do you think it would help? The human reaction is to find logic, reason. To figure out the details. But that's not the point.
Understanding life isn't about microbiology or astronomy. The secret isn't in power, it's not a dollar figure or a percentage. It's not knowing the most, doing the best, trying the hardest. The evolution of the brain was always just another survival mechanism. I wish people would understand; 'Intelligent' isn't a synonym for 'better'.
Instead, it's an oxymoron. The further one digs into the details, the further from the meaning of life he gets.
I've tried everything; religions, communes, great philosophers... but, nothing seems to take. It's like they want corruption, they crave chaos. Like a villian.
They only learn through punishment: Grave events that end in massive death. The only times they've come close to transforming into a collective is in times of mourning. So close, yet still so far.
So, this is what it has come to. I'll have to bring them together myself. Do something I promised I wouldn't. Something forcing them into peace through miracle. Something no one could explain away, though I'm sure they will try at first. It will be an undeniable sign from something bigger than them.
Finally, an acknowledgment of my existance! And the joining of spirits. Yes... If they won't do it themselves, I'll have to do it for them. Even if their soul is mangled from years of abuse, even if they're incomplete from all the non-believers, I just want them to be whole again. I'd do anything to bring them back to me.
Honestly, I guess I'm selfish, too. We were supposed to watch over the Earth, not force it into submission. I know he was just trying to save them, It's just... ever since my brother split his spirit into seven billion pieces, it's been so lonely here.
"Okay, pro: Free food."
She's got a point there.
"Con: Madison Rivers." I say, scrunching my nose. She's always hated my guts. I'd call her homophobic, but this actually all started from when I still thought babies came from storks.
"Fair enough..." Em squints her eyes in thought and I zone out thinking about the third-grade girls soccer team I got kicked out of for punching Maddy in her stupid, shit-talking face.
"Oh! Pro:" I'm startled out of thought as I see Em's smiling face light up at the end of the bed, "You can bring your camera. Parties are good practice for like, low-light-aperature-contrast-whatever, right?"
That's what I love about her. Whenever she doesn't know something, she just spits out a bunch of words she's heard other people say about it. You should hear her when she gets an oil change. It's like, 'I think the piston's brake-transmission-tire-pressure fluid is low". It drives men insane, which is one of her favourite pastimes.
"Oh my god. At least you tried." I give her some credit, but she just shrugs.
I had already decided beforehand to go to the party, not just to make Em happy, but because I think it'll be a good time. So, this list is now just to have some fun.
"Con: Hot chicks".
"Pffft! As if you'd ever put that on a cons list!"
Yeah, she's right.
"Okay, okay... Con: Tomorrow's hangover." I take notice of how uncomfortable our second-hand mattress is, and think about how much worse it would be with a blasting headache.
"Oh c'mon, everyone knows the pro to that con is the getting drunk part." If her eyes could roll any further, she'd be looking out the back of her head.
"Okay, fine. Con: Getting drunk. What if I break my camera?!" I say, matter-of-factly. It's not a real concern, I can always just put it in the car. Honestly, I'm just trying to match her energy at this point.
I can feel her death stare on my face, "You can't just spin my pro into your con!" She blares, much higher-pitched than before.
Oh no, now I've done it.
"Says who?!" I say, attempting to be more assertive than her; an impossible feat.
"The! Rules!" She crawled up from the footboard and came to stratle me, hoping to change my mind.
"What rules?!" I ask, trying to hide a smile.
"The same rules that say you should pretty please stop arguing with me and go change into something nice so we're not late!" Her face was hovering over mine now, her playful smirk and body pressed to mine made for a very convincing plead.
"Nah, I think I'll show up naked." I joke, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Ha! So you ARE coming!?"
"On one condition..." I slowly look her body up and down. Damn, if I wasn't already convinced, this would have done it for sure.
Em leans in closer, her hand starting to wander, and whispers into my mouth, "Anything".
I pull her ear to my lips as her hand reaches my waist.
"You're driving".
I spin out from under her and her jaw drops as I head to the closet to pick out an outfit. All I can feel are her eyes death-staring two laser beams into the back of my head.
Yeah. It's gonna be a fun party.
Spring-loaded doors slam shut Locked from the inside.
70, 80, 90 years each. Barreling forward Lost. Never content.
An intrinsic need for something intangible. Just out of reach. Something less lonely than 7 billion people.
Homesick, for a place unrecalled. Always on the tip of the tongue. A truth impossible to swallow:
The idea of oneself is an oxymoron.
How can souls collide, When experience is personal? When existing in boxes? When isolation, exception, denial Are ever present?
Maintain the facade of togetherness Don't bring it up. Don't say a word.
Some hope to build a tool strong enough to cut through springs. Others try to pick the lock. Kick down the door.
But it’s useless. It cannot be opened. Not through strength, Pride, Or power.
Some will forever have tunnel vision. They cannot look around. Doomed to never find the secret:
It’s not a key at all.
Beside the scratches, Stains, And chips in wood From attempts of brute There's something on the wall:
A lightswitch.
Flicked off, Pieces of the whole Gradually pulled from the darkness. A piece with thoughts, feelings, a name– But this is just a piece.
Choose to trun it on, and the ego disappears. Touch. Sight. Emotion. Memory. Thought.
You.
Gone.
A choice few can stand to ponder.
To stop claiming ownership over this soul fragment. To release the hostage. To return this small piece of soul To the rightful owner;
The collective.
To end the search. Finally; Relief.
Skin to skin will never substitute, Deep conversations or psychedelics Can't quite scratch the itch. The yearning to return to the whole, To live in harmony. It lives deep within each person. The realization; We are just one piece.
Then, we understand This need To rejoin. To go home.
We understand.
To turn on the light Is not to kill the soul, But the ego That holds it back.
“So, what then? What’s the plan?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“Well, I’m coming, so it does.”
He stopped his angry march down the path and spun around.
“Like Hell you are,” he spit, cross-armed. I stared at my brother, crossing my own arms in protest. We looked more like twins in that moment than we had since the womb.
“Go home.” He started walking again.
“Make me.” I followed behind.
“I’ll tell mom.”
“Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to go home, too?”
He just kept walking.
“Where are we going?”
“Away.”
“You don’t even have a plan?”
“Leaving is my plan.”
“Shit plan.”
“Go home, then. I don’t even want you to come. You’re like a lost puppy.”
“You’re the one acting like a toddler.”
“Yeah well you won’t have to put up with me for much longer.”
“You can’t just run away from life. It doesn’t work that way.”
He slowed down. I couldn’t see if he was crying or not, but his voice started to shake.
“I just want to start over. My life is ruined. I’ve fucked everything up.”
“You really think that? We’re 17. Our lives haven’t even started yet.”
“You don’t get it.”
“I think I get it more than anyone.”
“Then no one gets it. I can’t live here anymore.”
“We just have 1 more year. That’s it. That’s like, one 80th of your life. In a year we can go anywhere, do anything we want.”
“A year?! I can’t even survive another second!”
He turned around and his hands were in his hands. I held my brother on that path that morning and felt closer to him than I had our entire childhood.
“When things feel like the end of the world, they never are. The world hasn’t ended yet and it’s not about to. Your whole life is unfathomably long. You could run away and have a story to tell about sleeping in a ditch and starving for a week and coming home with a lost pride. Or, we could go home now, and you can tell me everything that happened last night.”
Damn, I should be a therapist.
We stood there for a while, the only sounds his uneven breath and the chirping birds.
“Let’s go home.”
He nodded, and we turned around.
God, I’ve got to quit this job. I hate it here. I hate it here. I hate it here. “I’ve got one tall caramel macchiato for Jessica!” This is the worst job. People suck. “Thank you! Take care.” We’re short staffed. Our manager is passive aggressively giving us side eye for not smiling enough. “Have a great day!” I would do anything to get the Hell out of here. “Hey there!” Why is it always so busy? “And Brad, yours is coming up my friend!” I’m about to explode.
“Is this mine?”
I don’t look up from the espresso machine. Too busy. I’m making 6 drinks at the same time. Maybe if I just ignore him and pretend I didn’t hear he’ll realize that the name is written on the cup. What, is it his first time ever in a Starbucks or something? He should have been listening when I called the drink. “Grande iced vanilla latte for Brad!” Why is he still staring at me? I haven’t even looked at him but I feel his gaze on the top of my head. Jesus there are like 10 regulars standing behind him someone just tell him to pull down the sleeve, it’s getting creepy at this point.
I do a 180 to the cold bar and start making a Frappuccino.
“Excuse me?”
I don’t turn around. Figure it out, man.
“Is this my drink?”
Not unless your name is Carol, like it says under your thumb. People are so arrogant. I don’t think I can take another day at this job.
I slam the empty frap cup down and roll my eyes before turning on my customer service voice.
“That depends, sir, is your name Carol?”
“What?”
“It says Carol.” I spin the cup around and he leans back to read it. A lady old enough to be the crypt keeper comes and grabs her drink, looking annoyed that this man was caging it for so long.
“Oh. Well where’s my drink?”
“I don’t know, what is your name?” I hate when people do this. As if I’m supposed to know who you are. Now I have to pause my flow and check the name of every single drink for your dumbass sugar-filled cup.
“Really?”
Excuse me?! The audacity of this man to think I would—
I finally look up at him. It’s fucking Caleb Went. Caleb fucking Went. I’m mortified.
“Holy shit.”
He stares at me, smiling expectantly, still waiting for his drink. He’s a lot taller in person than he looks from the posters on my childhood walls.
“You’re Caleb Went.”
“Yeah, I had a grande flat white.”
“You’re Caleb fucking Went!”
My manager’s head snapped around and he came barrelling toward me. I already knew I was going to be fired. Not swearing at customers is like, the number one rule.
I couldn’t care less.
“I was like, obsessed with you when I was in high school!”
“Yeah,” he laughed, “I get that a lot.”
“Oh my God.” I didn’t know what to do with my hands “Can I get a picture? Or an autograph or something?”
My manager was behind me saying something about all the other customers waiting.
“Yeah, of course,” he seemed so cool about everything, I bet this happens to him all the time. “I actually have a box of signed vinyls in the car if you want one.”
What the fuck? Really? He’d just give it to me like that?! He must have seen the look on my face.
“In exchange for a flat white, of course.”
Shit, right! I scramble to pour the steamed milk into the cup and my hands are shaking as I put the lid on top and hand it to him.
I vaguely hear my manager spewing some bullshit about no phones on the floor as I pull mine from my pocket and walk past him. I start taking off my apron.
“It’s not your break yet.”
“I quit.”
“What?”
I wasn’t going to answer. No way was I going to let my manager— ex-manager— ruin the best day of my life. I just walked around the counter and followed Caleb outside, sipping on Brad’s overpriced iced latte as I walked out of the gates of Hell.
“Woe is me” she said mockingly, the back of her hand on her forehead.
“Shut. up.” I glared at my sister with a look that I hoped cut through her laugh. It didn’t.
“Oh, I’m so hard done by! What a hard-knock life!”
“Fucking stop.” I raised, slamming my fist on the table. I knew better than to complain to her in the first place, she never takes anything seriously. How did I ever expect her to feel sorry for me? This is the most embarrassed anyone has ever felt in the history of ever.
“Starving children? Pathetic. Holocaust? Doesn’t even come close. The worst thing to ever happen on earth—“
“Yeah I get it, there are bigger problems in the world—“
“Is Kyle being rejected by a waitress.”
“If you don’t shut the fuck up…” I said though my teeth, worried that she’d hear us, “I’m not afraid to hit a girl.”
“Yeah, just like you hit it off with— what was her name? Oh, right, you didn’t get it.”
“Fine. Drive yourself home, asshole.”
A different woman came with the bill, thank god. I didn’t want to face her again, but I hope she’s not so uncomfortable that she asked someone else to come finish our table.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
I looked up from the debit machine, but my sister wasn’t talking to me.
“Sure” the new waitress said, with a customer service smile.
No no no no no no. What was she doing? Oh fuck. I swear if she was a dude I’d knock her god damn lights out right now. What a jerk.
“What do you think about corny pick up lines?”
The new waitress scoffed and they both giggled. This was my worst nightmare.
“All I’ll say is that in my 10 years of waitressing, I’ve never seen one work.”
I put my head on the table, not caring that it was covered in ketchup.
I’m such a fool.
“Nope. No way. Not a chance.” I countered, determined to shut down whatever this was immediately.
“Aw, why not sister?” He teased.
First, he shows up— completely unannounced, I should add— going on about how he heard my promise (as if I’ve so much as uttered his name in the past century). Now he’s asking me to come to Hell with him?! Absolutely not.
“Because this is ridiculous!” I burst, a little louder than I intended.
“But you promised!” He begged. Ugh, this again.
“Lucy, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Hold on, I’ve got it here somewhere…” He pulled out a blood-smeared notebook from God knows where. “Ah, yes, here we go. In 1744 AD at exactly 10:08pm, Ramiel said to Michael, and I quote,” He cleared his throat and insultingly mimicked my voice, “Yeah, and I’ll forgive Lucy when Hell freezes over”.
“That was ages ago!” I screamed, not caring how loud I was anymore.
“sh sh sh sh shhhh,” Lucifer pressed his palms down urging me to lower my voice so the other angels wouldn’t hear. “Yes, well, it took me a bit to get up here. You know, pearly gates and all.”
“Lucy, did you break into Heaven?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well I had to! How else was I supposed to talk to you?” He asked, moving closer.
I instinctively backed up, fearing what would happen if he touched me, “You weren’t.”
“You’re the one who made a promise to the devil,” He said, playfully, as if I’m the one to blame here.
“I wasn’t even talking to you. How did you hear that?!”
“Oh come on, Rem. You know I can hear when anyone mentions my name.”
“I thought you couldn’t do that from Hell!”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly in Hell… That’s why I’m here! Great news: You can forgive me now! All is well, yeah?”
“Lucifer, you better explain what’s going on right now.” But I already knew what he was going to say next. Had Hell really frozen over? I didn’t want to believe it, but if he’s telling the truth, who knows what that means for the damned, or the demons.
“Rem! It’s fine, it’s fiiiiiiiiineeeeeee, it’s just a teensy little bit of ice, that’s all.” He said, unconvincingly.
“And how, by God, did ICE get into HELL?!”
“Well…” He began. “To no one’s surprise, the ones closest to Dad are always the worst of the worst…”
He told a long-winded and overly self-centred story about an earth priest’s cult of witchcraft trickery to “purge the sinners”, of which I’m sure he’d left out all the parts where he failed miserably at his one and only job of keeping Hell burning.
“So what now?”
“That’s why I need your help! You’re an expert on this sort of thing. You’ve got all that angel-y voodoo or whatever.”
“… You mean blessings?”
“Yeah, yeah, so c’mon sister, whatcha say? Come to Hell with me? Work a little mumbo jumbo then come right back, no one even knows you’re gone!” “Yeah, everyone but Dad. Not to mention it took you 300 years to get up here.”
“More or less, let’s go!”
“NO-“ Lucifer grabbed my wrist before I could move away fast enough, and suddenly, we were in an icy dimension. Everywhere the eye could see was completely covered, the red beneath only seen though the transparent layer.
“Lucifer! What the fuck!? Get me out of here!” I tried to use my powers, but it was no use. Blessings don’t work down here, in the land of the damned. I looked up toward the portal to see it covered in ice, like everything else. I flew against it, pushing as hard as I could, pushing for my life, until my wings started to bend and I fell to the ground.
“What in Hell is wrong with you, then?”
“My blessings…’
“Oh right right right, I should have guessed that would happen. Oh well. Guess now you’ve gotta help me. Good to have you back on my team, Rem!”
I would have cried if they wouldn’t have turned to icicles on my cheeks.
Misery sure does love company.
