"If you want something done right you have to do it yourself," Annabelle said snatching the needle out of my hand and storming down the hall towards the still open operating room. Her blond hair swishing behind her as she strode.
Henry stared down the dingy hall, brown water stains slithered from ceiling to the floor, the damp moldy smell choking the the air with its heaviness. He couldn't believe Annabelle was so bold an confident. He has known her since he was eight years old and always thought she was so meek and mild. He never could have imagined the fire in her.
Annabelle's head popped back out of the operating room down the hall, "Are you coming?"
Henry made his way down the hall, the tiles squeaking under his sneakers.
"Hurry up," Annabelle said turning back into the room and out of Henry's sight.
As Henry got to the room, he edged his head in, Annabelle was standing over a man, the syringe sticking out of his arm.
"You don't have to be scared, he is passed out now, he won't hurt you," Annabelle said with a strange amount of calm and compassion in her voice.
"I am not scared," Henry walked in chest puffed out, his eyes still wide, not hiding the terror that was vibrating through his body.
Annabelle wasn't fooled, walking over to Henry she took his head into her hands. She looked deep into his eyes. He noticed a twinkle of mischief before she kissed him.
Henry stumbled back. He was at a loss for words, they had been friends for so long, and sure he had thought about kissing her before, but the time never seemed right, they were friends. This was not Annabelle, at least not his Annabelle.
She looked at him, a smirk in her eyes, "I have wanted to do that for a long time, and now you're surprised and not scared, now help me get this guy off the table and we can get the next clue and get out of this hell hole."
Henry stared back again, still dumbfounded, watching Annabelle walk back towards the unconscious man on the table. She began to unstrap him from the hospital bed. He rushed over to help her, she was right, they were almost done with this, and then they could talk about that kiss.
Underneath the man was a card, with a small key affixed to it. It looked like it belonged to a door from hundreds of years ago, but miniature. The card was small and blue, and in cursive blue script it said: Find the exit.
Annabelle turned the card over in her hands, "That's it, no clue, just find the damn exit? Isn't that what we have been trying to do this entire time," she said flinging the card across the room, the key clattering to the ground as it slid across the floor away from the card.
Henry grabbed Annabelle by the shoulders and kissed her this time, she was less surprised than he was and leaned in to him kissing him back. As they parted Henry said, "We have this, we made it this far, we will get out of here," he walked over picked up the card and the key, and returned to her. He took her by the hand, and whispered into her ear, "Let's find the exit."
I opened my eyes, but I saw nothing, I panicked thinking I was blind, but reaching for my eyes, I felt the blindfold bound around my head. My fingers roamed over the rough canvas fabric feeling for where it joined together. The back of the blindfold I felt the metal lock binding it together. I began to cry knowing that there was no way to get it off, the tears soaking into the fabric.
A crackle over a speaker, brought my attention back to the present. "Hello Alice, welcome to my labyrinth, if you can find the exit you are free, it won't be easy," with a final crackle silence surrounded me.
I screamed out, pounding my fist against the stone floor. It was cold, and hurt my hand. When I get out of here I am going to find and kill whoever did this to me. My anger burned I was going to get out of here. Crawling along the stone floor, my hands reached out in front of me, my fingers roving over the grooves in the stone, feeling for a way out.
I edged along for what felt like hours, the cold making my body ache, my knees sore from crawling around. I had to take a break, and think about this for a bit. I moved off to the edge feeling for a wall to sit against. I rested. I listened for any sound. I strained to hear, imagining my hearing pushing out further than it ever had before. Water. I heard water, or some liquid, a drip, I had to find this drip.
I began moving again, renewed following the sound. It got louder as I fumbled along. It wasn't long before I knew I was close, it smelled different, the dampness filling my nostrils. Coming to the edge of a puddle, I inhaled, there was no smell, only dampness. My mouth watered in anticipation of a drink. Moving my hand with caution I touched the liquid. Searing pain shot ty hand, I wiped the liquid was on my pants. and backed away. It felt over the burn, it had blistered, and continued to hurt. I pounded my hand against the stone again.
I sat and cried again, listening, sniffing, but nothing new came to me and I resolved to keep moving forward.
The storm rolled in a few hours back, it was the middle of the day, the clouds were dark and heavy with rain it looked closer to midnight. I was stuck coming back from a weekend conference, and looking forward to home, the storm had other ideas. My headlights on high, windshield wipers full blast, and I couldn't see a thing. I thought about pulling over and waiting it out, but how long would that be.
I drove on, not another soul on the road. The radio went static, and even though I had driven this road at least a hundred times before I wasn't sure where I was, or how much further. I slowed, the torrents of water, and gusts of wind made driving difficult.
I looked at the clock, knowing I would have been home by now if it weren't for this storm. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, sweat glistened as I pulled it away, my knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. I pulled over, to get my bearings back. I took a deep breath in trying to relax. Fishing my cell out of my pocket, but as expected, no signal.
Tap... tap... tap.
I thought it was the rain before the passenger side door opened. I turned my head and screamed as a soaking wet hooded figure started to sit down.
"Oh, sorry, sorry, I thought, I am so sorry, I thought you stopped to pick me up, I was hitchhiking right back there," he said pointing behind the car.
"Jeez, I, wow, no, I didn't even see you, you shouldn't be wearing all black when you can't see ten feet in front of you, you are lucky I didn't run you over, man you are soaked," I rambled.
"It's alright man, I can get out, I thought you were gonna help a guy out in this mess," he said, opening the door again. The sound of the rain beating down on the asphalt filled the car.
"Get in, it's fine, you are already in here, I need a minute, it was stressful enough driving in this without someone scaring me to death," I said. "I'm Corbin, and you are?"
"The name is Sam," the stranger said pulling back his hood, to reveal a mop of curly blond hair. He turned to me brushing the hair out of his eyes, and flashing me a brilliant smile before putting his hand out to shake. I had never seen a man so handsome in my life.
I reached my hand out to shake his, "Nice to meet you, so how did you get stuck out there in this?"
We sat in the car, chatting, he told me how he was hitchhiking across the country, working odd jobs here and there, planning on making it to California, and from there he wasn't sure. A loose plan he came up with and thought it would be cool to try out. He had packed up about a week ago and set out with his pack, some food and the small amount he had in his bank account.
I told him about my life, as boring compared to his, working an office job, the conference was the most exciting my job ever got, and it is dry. The more Sam told me about his life, the more I began to admire him, and wished I could have the gall to pick and go like that.
We talked through the storm, and as the rain let up and the clouds parted the sun beamed through the windows. The warmth radiated through the car, I turned to Sam, he smiled back at me, and said, "You can come with me if you want to, you don't have to stay in your boring life."
I looked back at him, his eyes glinting in the sunlight, "I wish, I could."
"You're wish is granted," Sam said snapping his fingers the sound reverberating around the car in a cacophony thunder.
Sam and I have travelled the world now, odd jobs here and there, life has never been boring since.
The moonlight shone between the headstones, shadowed crosses decorating the grass shimmering with the evening dew. Delicate glints of light, a grassy sea of stars. Florian walked home through the graveyard enjoying the peace and quiet. He knew that most people found it creepy, but to Florian it was soothing, there were better ways to get home but there was something about the graveyard that drew him in.
Florian wasn't ready to get home yet, so he decided to take a seat beside his favourite angel. The moon was full so Florian pulled out his sketch book and began to draw the big willow in the centre of the graveyard. The long weeping tendrils bending and swaying in the wind, brushing above the ground.
"That is a beautiful drawing, you captured the sombreness so well."
Florian let out a scream his sketchbook flying into the air. He tried to spring up to run, but a gentle but forceful hand kept him on the damp grass. He turned to look up following a porcelain hand, a smooth arm, slender shoulders to the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life. Her face looked down at him, a kind smile creating little dimples in her cheeks.
"I didn't mean to startle you, I see you here often, coming through, but you rarely stop, and I thought this was my chance to introduce myself. My name is Parisa."
Florian gawked at her, trying to remember how to speak. "I..I..I'm Fl..orian," he managed to spit out.
"It's my pleasure Florian," she said reaching her hand out to greet him.
Florian got his bearings and they began to talk. First about art, and the graveyard. Florian couldn't believe how easily the conversation flowed between them, they talked about family, and hopes for the future. But as the sun began to rise, Parisa said that she had to go.
"When will I see you again?" Florian said.
"I am always here," she moved her arm to gesture to the top of the mausoleum that they had been sitting beneath. That is when Florian realized the beautiful angel he had admired so many times was not resting on top.
As dawn came into fruition Florian squinted in the sunlight, and Parisa disappeared. The angel once again watching over the graveyard. Florian began his walk home, not sure if the night had actually happened of if he had fallen asleep in the graveyard, but one thing he knew for certain was that he would be back tomorrow night and every night from now on.
Looking out the window, Michael stared down at Earth. He revelled in the weightless sensation, but it paled in comparison to being alone. It was the first time in his life, and it was glorious. He let out a loud cheer and stretching out his arms filling up the space around him. He was on his final rotation as they call it back home. To help keep the population in check, when someone gets to 60 years old, they jettison you into space, one final adventure before you drift towards the sun.
As the climate changed and temperatures around the equator began to soar people migrated to the poles to avoid the sweltering desert. The world changed almost overnight, everyone crammed into what remained of the livable space. From space looking down at the Earth, he could see the drastic the changes to once blue marble. The scar of desert banded around the Earth squeezing the life out of it. The land changed completely by the rising seas. It was unrecognizable from the world that it once was.
Six billion people survived the first wave, five billion the second. Crime and illness from living packed together reduced the global population to 4 billion. People learned to be comfortable enough, but you were never alone. Michael grew up in a cramped studio, with his parents, and his grandparent, before they took their rotations, and after that his wife and his kid, as well as his best friend Andrew and his family.
A tear ran down Michaels cheek, he brushed it away and it floated. He watched it drift around the capsule, before he noticed the flashing red light refracting throw the water. He knew this was his time was coming to an end. He took one final look at his home of the last 60 years. He thought back to his friends and family, he was the first to go. It was never easy but they always found time to enjoy being around each other. He smiled down to his family, hoping they were smiling back up at him. The world wasn't pretty anymore, but it was home.
Michael let out a cheer, closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh goodbye before laying back, floating. The sound of gas venting into the capsule began, it smelled sweet almost of cotton candy. He relaxed into the lull of space. His body became heavy in its weightlessness, he knew he didn't have much longer, a smile crossed his face, he took a big breath in, and let out his final whisper goodbye. His hands clutched a photo of his family, and he faded off, full of love.
Strolling down 3rd street, lost in my world, humming along to music, getting into my groove,. I was looking up at the sky, taking in deep breaths of the city around me, when this man bumped into me. I stumbled back before I turned to apologize for not watching where I was going, but he didn't stop, he kept walking, as if nothing had even happened. Ignoring me like a leaf had glanced off his shoulder.
I shook my head, brushing myself off, reminding myself to pay better attention. "Shake it off," I said reassuring myself and continued on my walk, my mood tarnished but not broken.
In a few blocks my composure regained. I felt at peace with the world again, I had turned up my beats, my head bopping along. Cocooned by the song the world faded around me, my eyes closed as I enjoyed the melody. Remembering I was walking down the street my eyes opened in time to see a woman walk right into my shoulder. Her red with black polka dot dress flashed as strode by, not wavering from the contact.
Twice in one day is a bit much, my day was not going the way I had hoped. My head slung low, I decided to head home, taking more care to watch for anyone coming my way. At home I could crawl into the bath, relax, get lost in my music, and forget.
Rounding the corner of my block, third times a charm, my boyfriend Jamie slammed into me. I fell to the ground, my hands stung, I looked down to see them scraped and bleeding. Expecting him to stop and help me up, to apologize, I sat there. It wasn't long before I realized that he was gone. My face immediately flushed, I sprung up, turned to him striding away already half a block away. I yelled his name, but he didn't slow. I sprinted after him, reaching for his shoulder whip him around and make him notice me, to see that he hurt me. My fingers grazed the soft denim of his jacket, a drop of blood formed a red spot on the light blue. It was the last thing I felt before him and the world around me began to disappear in wisps of smoke. The colors wafting and pooling around me becoming the blackness that surrounds me now.
For a long time, possibly a short time, I can't tell. I have thought about trying to get back, but there is nothing, and I know that I am now part of that nothing too.
It had been a normal day, and that terrified her more than anything, the days where she had nothing planned were daunting, Elizabeth knew she had to get used to being alone since her breakup, but days were long. When she was alone for a day she became restless and paced around her apartment, she might watch a tv show, but that only lasted so long to stave off her loneliness. She wasn't ready to get out there and date again yet, and she did spend more time with friends, but still couldn't fill every day with friends and distractions.
She resigned to getting comfortable, working on herself, being more creative, rediscovering passions. She had been trying to journal, but her mind felt cloudy and she would end up writing about the same thing every time, being alone and lonely, and how she was going to be ok. It became her journal of reassurance, writing little encouragements to herself hoping that if she wrote it enough times it would become the truth.
She lay on her bed waiting for something to come to her, but she felt numb, there was nothing to do, she questioned why she was a person that always needed entertaining always finding it difficult to be content with the world around her. Even as a child she was always trying to convince her brother to play with her, though she was great with people, she was a homebody, and to be a homebody, part of you has to be ok with being alone, so why, she wondered, was it so freaking hard?
She continued to stare at the ceiling and looked for shapes in the popcorn plaster, constellations above her head. A rabbit, a dragon, a mouse. She listened to the clock in the kitchen ticking, the gentle tick of the second hand moving, the minute hand moving a little louder, the sound mocked her, dragging along, a constant reminder of how long a day actually is. She went to the kitchen and made some coffee, and began staring into the face of the clock, her face in a grimace, watching the seconds pass by was even more painful than the sound. The clock face shattered brown liquid pooling on the floor. She looked down at her hand and realized that she had flung her full coffee mug into the clock. Silence, she took in a deep breath and started to cry.
She grabbed a dishrag and knelt down cleaning up the mess that she created, happy to have the reminder finally removed from her house. She picked up the broken pieces of her clock and put them in the trash, the glass making little tinkling sounds as it bounced off the ceramic mug. Tears were still streaming down her face but she was smiling anyways, she finally felt like she could breath like a weight lifting off her chest. She poured herself a new mug of coffee, grabbed her journal and sat down to write. It was more of the same thing, but it felt less like she was reassuring herself and she felt the truth in it, she will be ok.
Samson finally had everything put away, he left the city to escape. He decided to move to a small town in rural Arkansas, he bought a small home, and was planning on settling into a simple life with fewer distractions, and more relaxation. No sooner had Samson sat on the couch and put his feet up, his lips feeling the cold coming off of his Heineken there was a knock at his front door. He stopped lips pursed for that first sip of well-deserved beer, he could feel the vein throb at his temple. He beer clinked as he set it down on the glass coffee table. Taking a deep sigh, he forced himself up to answer the door.
He wished for solitude and instead he got intrusive knocks at the door. Samson opened the door not knowing what to expect on the other side, he moved to this town not knowing anyone, and not looking to know anyone any time soon. A handsome beaming smile greeted him, "Hi, I just wanted to come over and welcome you to Cavanaugh, I am your next-door neighbor Edson."
Samson stared, his brain burning trying to figure out why Edson sounded so familiar, still silent he looked closer at his hazel eyes, that warm but crooked smile. This was Edson, he had grown up, and was it possible more handsome. Realizing he was standing at the door dumbfounded and had yet to say anything, he stuck out his hand, "Hi Edson, you aren't Edson Chang from Renton, are you?"
Edson stared at him now a puzzled and creeped out look on his face, "Umm yes I lived in Renton when I was younger, how did you know?"
"I'm Samson Rogers, we had class together in junior high before you moved away. Remember I sat in front of you in Math."
"Jeez that was a long time ago, sorry Samson, I don't remember you, but that is a crazy memory you have, how is the move in going, looks like you are mostly settled in."
"Ya, it's coming along, did you want to come in, I just cracked a beer if you want to join me."
"Sure, why not?"
Samson left Edson in the front room and went to grab a beer for him from the fridge. He stopped and checked himself in the mirror fixing his hair before taking a deep breath and heading back.
They sat and talked, Samson learned that after Renton Edson had moved out to Arkansas with his family, and after graduation had stuck around, and worked odd ranch jobs for the locals. He seemed happy in his simple life, and that gave Samson at least a little hope for his decision. He also seemed like a pretty nice guy, and even though he hadn't planned on rushing out to make friends, the world seemed to have other plans.
After Edson had left Samson continued to unpack a little, but he couldn't get Edson out of his mind. Feelings kept rushing in, and though he could tell Edson was a nice guy, he didn't think he was aware of the fact that Samson remembered him was because he had a huge crush on him from the first time, he saw him in the 3rd grade. Samson decided he should go to bed sleep off the beer and hope the feelings for Edson would dissipate before morning.
He took an ambien to help him sleep, he was dead to the world in 20 mins, until he woke up at 3AM soaked in sweat. He reached over and turned on the lamp.
"What the hell are you doing in my bed?" Edson yelled, startled awake by the light.
"I, um, sleepwalk, I took an ambien, I didn't mean to, I am sorry," Samson said.
"Dude, just get out of my house, go home," Edson said, luckily, he had calmed down, though the tension in his neck told Samson that he was still freaked out.
Edson left offering profuse apologies.
On his walk back to his place hand on his head sighing, he mumbled to himself, "Well at least I didn't kill this one, that's progress."
Match looked behind him down river, he couldn't see them coming but he knew they were there. If he didn't keep going, they would catch him. In the distance he heard a howl. He had run down the river, hoping the wolves would lose his scent in the water, it didn't work as well as he hoped. He figured they were about a mile and a half off his heels.
His legs were burning, he wanted to stop but he knew that if he did, they would kill him, they wouldn't take kindly to him first taking advantage of their hospitality, but then stealing from them. He knew it was wrong, but this was the only hope Match had left of saving his ma. Match was so lost in his own thoughts trying to keep his legs moving he skidded to a stop peering over the edge of Carrier Falls. Match stopped to catch his breath and looked into the leather satchel that he had slung over his shoulder, making sure the glowing red stone was still there. He had stolen the Sanguine Stone from the Moni tribe. He did feel bad about it, but his mother was dying, and this was his last chance to save her.
The Sanguine Stone, worshiped by the Moni for its healing properties, he had heard about it from a friend last year, and spent the next 6 months researching. Legend has it that the Moni live for hundreds of years, never dying of illness, they are fearless, strong and warriors. They lived in the high mountains of Seecon province living off the land, raising wolves as their hunting companions. Match thanked his luck that he was able to sneak away in the night and get a head start.
He looked down again over the cliff, the water rushing beside him him watching it crash down below him into the lush green of Seeconsee forest. Time was biting him, and if he didn't jump soon, the wolves would be less gentle. He clutched the satchel to his chest, pinched his nose, took on final deep breath and then he jumped
The wind rushed past his ears with a whirring sound, time both expanded and contracted as he felt himself diving towards the glassy surface below. If he saved his mom this would all be worth it, he would return the stone back to the Moni as soon as she was better. The water rushed him, cool and icy spreading with fervour from his feet to his head. The undertow thrashed him around, and he lost his sense of direction. Match felt a blinding pain, and the world around him went black.
Match rubbed his eyes as he came back to consciousness, his head was throbbing. He was thankful he was alive, but also came to the realization that he wasn't in the river any more and he was warm and naked under a heavy fur blanket. As things farther away came into focus he realized he was in a large tent, firelight glowing outside the wall was bright enough to light the area and warm inside. Then he remembered the satchel. He leapt out of bed, but dizziness brought him back down to sitting beside it. He took deep breaths to regain focus, and rose again, looking around the tent, the satchel hung on a hook at the front of the tent. He limped over to the bag, his head making him feel very unsteady on his feet. When he opened it, the stone was gone. He grabbed the blanket off the bed and made his way to the opening of the tent. He stepped outside and realized that once again he was in the care of the Moni. He knew he wouldn't get another chance with the stone, but once again was thankful the Moni had kept him alive. Match made his way back to the bed and sat on the edge. He thought of his ma, wishing that instead of this failed attempt, he might have been better off to spend some time home with her.
Nick took a step back admiring his work. He had been restoring a painting of a very handsome man, circa late 1800s England, and he was almost finished. He had stitched the canvas back together and the only thing left was a few minor touch ups. The artist was a little-known fellow by the name of Basil Hallward who went missing some years after this painting. It was a gorgeous painting, and the subject was so striking, he had an innocence and a charm about him.
Nick righted the painting, wiped his brow, and looked over his work. "Well buddy, it looks like you are all done."
No sooner had he finished saying this, a blinding light burst from the painting. As it the light faded, rubbing his eyes Nick regained focus to an immediate shock.
Nick stumbled backwards knocking a jar of paint brushes off the table. The jar shattered and the brushes scattered around the room, this didn't even register to Nick. His mouth was agape as he stared right at the most beautiful man that he had ever seen, the man from the painting.
He stared back at Nick with a calmness that did not suit the sudden appearance in the restoration room of the museum.
"Hello, good man, can you tell me, where exactly I am," the man said his eyes darting around the room speaking in a not-so-subtle English accent.
"You, you were there, now, here," Nick said making even less sense verbally compared to what was rattling around in his head.
"Calm down sir, if you can just tell me where I am, I am sure I can find my way home, I must have been a bit overzealous last night and lost my way."
Nick took a deep breath this time before he spoke, "You are in New York, but you didn't get lost, you appeared," Nick shook his head trying to get his bearings again. He pointed to the painting, "you were in the painting, I restored it, you appeared."
The man turned around and looked back into his own face. He took a step back, admiring the likeness. Nick watched as the man gazed at the painting.
"My friend Basil painted this for me," he said, then turning back towards Nick stretching his arm out towards him, "forgive me I have been quite rude, I am Dorian Gray."
Nick unsettled took Dorian's hand, "I am Nick."
Narrowing his eyes at Nick and not letting go of his hand, "Do you mind telling me how you came to have my painting?"
A cold spread over Nick, he down trying to avoid the searing beauty of Dorian, "I am commissioned to restore it, there was a nasty gash, it looked like someone had cut it with a knife."
At the mention of knife Dorian released Nick's hand, looking up he saw a flicker in Dorian's eyes, though he wasn't sure of what.
Dorian turned back to the painting, after a moment he said, "I am so sorry Basil, I will do my best to keep this one looking better than the last."
Nick looked around the room edging towards the door.
"What year is it?" Dorian stated not taking his eyes off the painting, his hand's clasped behind his back.
"It is 2015," Nick said.
"I have been gone a long time, there must be so much to experience after a hundred years, a wrinkle or two couldn't hurt, right Basil?" Dorian said to the painting.
Nick wasn't quite sure what was going on, but this guy definitely seemed to have a screw loose, not to mention he still couldn't rationalize how Dorian was here at all. All things considered he might also have a screw loose. He realized he was at the door, and as he was about to turn the handle, Dorian swivelled on his heels and started walking towards him.
"Get your coat, Nick you are going to show me all that New York has to offer," he said putting his hand on Nicks and turning the door handle.
Nick held his breath at the soft hand on him. Dorian turned to look him in the eye. Nick at that moment realized the intimate proximity he shared with Dorian.
Then with that charming smile, and hand still on top of his, Dorian said, "Well, shall we see what trouble New York has waiting for us?"
