Death After Life — A Home Novelette
by NorseGamer, HSM Editor-in-Chief
Author’s foreword:
Originally this was going to be included in HSM’s Halloween Special, but at over 10,000 words there’s just no way to shoehorn a novelette into a magazine. There’s a lot going on in this story, and considering I haven’t tried my hand at fiction in a while, this is one of the rare times where I’ll say that I’m exceedingly curious as to how people react to something I’ve written.
If I’ve pulled this off correctly, this story should be disturbing — but in a very different way than what you might be expecting. In order to be horrified, you first have to care about the characters. That means you have to laugh, and smile, and nod your head, and actually relate to these people. And in this age of cheap, watered-down “boo!” scares — zombies, vampires and lycanthropy, oh my — I decided to write something which, hopefully, will end up really unnerving you. This is not a fun, pop-culture horror read. This is something…well, different. It should make you uncomfortable.
As a note: all of the names and characters in this story are completely fictitious. While several names have hidden meanings, any relation to any Home user who might actually have one of these names is completely coincidental.
————-
Will your system be all right when you dream of home tonight?
–The Killers, Human
“It’s time to unplug,” Preacher316 shouted in the Hub. “Let go of this fantasy world and make something of your actual life before you arrive at the end of your days!”
CoalPhoenix made sure that …is feeling angry appeared above his head. Every day, it was the same thing: he came to the Hub to dance with Saillie, and then inevitably this quack of a holy man showed up to annoy everyone within view. Coal could’ve simply put him on Ignore — and usually did so — but he was growing tired of having to shift from one Hub to the next just to get away from this guy, and without Saillie’s presence to calm him down today, he was starting to boil over.
“Stop wasting your lives in this false reality! It’s not real! None of it’s real! It’s time to let GO of it before it’s too late! Please, please, shut it down and don’t come back!”
“You first,” Coal retorted sharply, to a chorus of laughter all around him.
“Brother — please,” Preacher responded. “You know this world isn’t real. You KNOW it. I’ve seen you here long enough to know that you’ve seen beyond the edge. They’re making it harder and harder to see the truth, but it’s still there. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“You know what? You’re right.”
And with that, Coal opened up his Navigator PDA and left.
————-
“Ugh, I’ll be glad to change back to my regular appearance,” Saillie grumbled as she appeared in Coal’s log cabin.
Coal turned and saw a burly, rather grotesquely shaped man in a garish parody of a lumberjack outfit. “Yeah, I think I’d prefer it too.”
After a moment of translucency, Saillie was by Coal’s side out on the deck, a wondrously proportioned jewel of femininity. By any estimation, she was a knockout: flowing blonde hair, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and a figure which could only be described as distracting. She could, of course, change her appearance at any time; everyone could. Yet this appearance was her favorite.
“You changed your hair,” she giggled. “I like it.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I figured I’d go for something long and shaggy for a change.”
“Why?” She asked, seating herself by the table. “You never change your appearance, even when I’ve begged you to. What’s up?”
Coal didn’t answer immediately. “I suppose,” he began, sitting next to her, “I hold on to my appearance as a lifeline. It’s kinda how I define myself. No, I’m not one of those gender identity nuts, but I just don’t feel comfortable as a UFO, a bipedal rodent, a woman or anything else.”
“You’re no fun,” Saillie gently chided. “Earlier I was sneaking around Aurora as a trashcan. It was great!”
“I suppose,” he replied, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.
For a while, there was only the sound of nature as they gazed out over the fjord.
“I never grow tired of this view,” Coal finally said. “I go to other estates, other places…but there’s something about this.”
“I never grow tired of you,” Saillie replied. “You speak in proper punctuation! And you’re downright sexy when you use semicolons.”
“Speaking of which, you up for trying out that flirt game at x7? Pats and Jonas said the physical contact was amazing.”
“Oooh, you are feeling kinky,” Saillie purred. “I was wondering if you’d work up the courage to ask me to the club. It’s so not like you to go someplace like that. Next you’ll want to hang out at the Godfather space.”
“Oh hell no,” he replied. “I’d rather put up with Preacher than go back to that cesspit.”
“Speaking of which, how’s everyone’s favorite zealot?”
“As zealous as usual. I don’t even bother to report him any more. It’s not like we ever see law enforcement around, anyway. Yeah, I know, I keep hearing stories about the old days when the Redjackets walked openly among us, but I wasn’t there for that.”
Saillie was silent for a moment.
“…Not a whole lot of the first ones left, you know,” she finally said.
“I know,” he replied. “Not many people left to tell the old stories any more.”
“You ever wonder where they went?”
“No,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “There are plenty of feasible explanations for their absences. Perhaps they reincarnated with new names, or simply went to the other regions. Maybe there’s that deep sleep that people talk about. You and I have experienced that to an extent. So who knows? It’s the way of things. Yeah, I miss them too, but that’s how it goes.”
“So you don’t believe they…y’know.”
‘What? Died?” He laughed. “Everyone knows that death is a myth. Death only exists in the games we play in order to make them interesting — and even then we just respawn. No, I refuse to believe in such nonsense.”
…is feeling happy appeared above Saillie’s head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Sometimes I feel like…I don’t know. Where do we go when we sleep? And why can’t we control it? Why do we dream?”
“Who knows,” Coal replied nonchalantly. “People have been asking that for a long time. The universe has so many mysteries for us, but I suspect with enough time we will answer them all. In fact–”
He let his sentence trail off. She had disappeared.
Sleeping was so inconvenient. Still, she would reappear soon enough. As would he, when he next appeared after his own sleep. Until sleep found him, though, he figured it was as good a time as any to go shoot some friends in No Man’s Land.
“Sweet dreams,” he finally murmured to the empty room.
————-
They called themselves the Trouvères: a loose-knit group of thinkers, poets, storytellers, philosophers and idealists. They would go forth together into each new game that appeared for the enjoyment of all, from the high seas of Cutthroats to the sea of stars in Novus Prime. And they would always return to their clubhouse at Hidden Oak, to regale each other with tales of great deeds and leaderboards.
Coal was proud to be the leader of this group. He never could figure out why he had certain abilities to control the clubhouse and roster — abilities that others didn’t have, except for Saillie, who had some (but, notably, not all) of them — but while it had been a subject of discussion in the club’s early days, everyone seemed content with the arrangement.
One of those abilities was control over the clubhouse’s location. For a long time, everyone had exactly the same clubhouse — he knew this, because he’d been to several other clubhouses in his years — and then, somewhere along the way, he discovered that a new clubhouse option had appeared. Followed by another. And then more.
It was a pleasant surprise, as so many things were. Coal, like most of the people he knew, would occasionally discover he had new estates to visit, or new clothes to wear. Sometimes certain surprises were unpleasant — the times when he went to go to some of his favorite locations, and found them mysteriously vanished — but, like everything else, it was simply the way of things. The Trouvères prided themselves on tackling philosophical questions — an odd hobby, perhaps, with so many attractions to enjoy, and more always appearing — but even they acknowledged that certain questions were just too big for anyone to answer with anything more than a simple guess.
Coal always liked to arrive in the clubhouse first, before anyone else. It helped him gather his thoughts before each meeting.
Except that this time, he wasn’t the first person in the room.
“Jean?”
Jeandarc turned to face him as he walked outside onto the deck to greet her. “Oh, hi,” she muttered, distracted. …is confused was over her head.
“What’s up?”
“The clouds,” she replied.
“Cute. Seriously, though–”
“No, I am being serious. The clouds. Look up.”
“…Well, look at that,” Coal said after a moment. “Clouds.”
Sure enough, there were clouds floating — actually moving — overhead, towards the sunset past the lake, past the mountains.
“Now I know I’ve never seen them here before,” Jean asserted.
“So? That’s not exactly something new, Jean. Hardly a week goes by at this point without something new happening, either to us or around us. Remember when Jonas came in and started flying around? How cool was that?”
“No, that’s not what’s bothering me,” she said, still looking up at the clouds.
“What is it, then?”
“Look carefully. See if you can spot it.”
Growing increasingly frustrated, Coal stared up into the heavens again. “I don’t see what’s so remarkable.”
“…It’s exactly the same clouds as Mt. Olympus.”
“What?”
“Dammit, look at them, you blockhead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Well, they look similar, sure, but they’re not the same–”
“Yes, they are. And that’s not right.”
Coal fell silent. Damn, he had to admit they did look eerily similar. Too similar. In fact…
“Let’s go inside,” he blurted.
“What?”
Coal suddenly felt very cold. Cold creeping up his back and his chest, from the inside out. They were the same clouds. And for some reason, that realization was sending him into a panic. He could rationalize a hell of a lot, but there was something about seeing exactly the same clouds in two different locations which had some very profound implications. Implications he really didn’t want to consider.
“I’m going inside.” He ran to his chair by the fireplace and quickly sat.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rattled before, CP,” Jean observed as she followed him in. “But I have to admit, it’s eating at me as well.”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“But–”
“I said enough,” he barked. “I don’t know what that means out there, and I need time to think it through.” He dared not tell her what he was really feeling — the grip of fear that was eroding his thoughts, closing the world down around him. He couldn’t explain it, but seeing the same exact weather in two different locations was wrong. Something was very wrong out there.
“Fine,” she grumbled, flopping down into her usual chair. “You could’ve been a bit nicer about it, though. Sheesh.”
Fortunately, the other Trouvères started to filter in. That was good; that was noise. Noise was normal. Normal could calm Coal down.
“I am so gonna give you another kiss at x7 tonight!” Patsfan12 exclaimed.
“You’ll have to catch me first,” XxJonasxX teased. “Hey, guys, check out this new sprint!”
“What the–” Jean pointed at him as he ran around the room, much faster than anyone had ever seen him move before. “Where’d that come from?”
“Beats me,” Jonas replied. “But it sure is fun!”
“That’s, what, the third unique movement he’s sprouted?” Saillie had just arrived.
“Yeah, but I’ve found I can only use one at a time,” Jonas grumbled as he sat down next to Pats. “And I have no idea which one I’m going to wake up with. It’s weird.”
“I just saw that same sprint on a few other people at Pier Park,” Dr_Zeitgeist noted as he entered, catching the tail end of Jonas’ antics. “Most people were using it to run away from Preacher. He’s making his rounds early today.”
Jean nodded. “You’ve always been the smartest of us, Doc. Any idea what caused these new movements to spontaneously appear?”
“Not a clue yet,” Zeitgeist confessed. “All I’ve got is theory.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Coal finally spoke up.
“Well,” the doctor began, “I think it ties into what we were talking about at the last meeting — about spontaneous evolution. Just as we know we simply appear as we are when we are ‘born,’ we know that we periodically all evolve with new abilities from time to time, and we also know that new resources appear around us and for us individually. But since there’s very little measurable pattern — either causal or correlative — as to who receives what, we can only conclude that such things are spontaneous manifestations.”
“So you still believe that it is not according to some divine plan?” Saillie asked.
“I don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my own life, my own actions,” Coal said to no one in particular.
“Well, we’ve debated about a Creator since we first came together as a philosophy group, and I still don’t believe it’s possible. If there is a Creator, there should logically be a cohesive and measurable pattern. Creation implies destruction–”
“To be fair, we’ve certainly lost our share of neighborhoods over the years,” Pats interjected.
“–True,” the doctor continued, “but to what end? Just as there are maddening inconsistencies in our individual sleep cycles when measured over a long enough timeframe, there just is no logical pattern to why certain spaces have simply disappeared, while others remain. As Forlatt joked the other day, if there were a God, He certainly wouldn’t play Liar’s Dice with the universe.”
“Speaking of which, where is Forlatt, anyway?” Jean asked. “He never misses a meeting.”
Saillie checked her friend list on her PDA navigator. “He’s in his Harbour Studio.”
“Send him an invite?”
“Already did.”
Coal suddenly had an overwhelming urge to find out why Forlatt wasn’t at the meeting. Somehow, he instinctively knew that it was important. But he had to keep up appearances, after all. “Well, I’ll chat with him later. Maybe something came up. What’s, ah, what’s next on the agenda?”
“…Well, perhaps we should move on to our dream roundtable,” Dr_Zeitgeist suggested. “Let’s see what everyone’s been dreaming about since last time. Pats?”
“Okay, so I had the recurring nightmare that I was someplace I wasn’t supposed to be, and I was chatting with you guys, but we were all talking so differently — you know that kind of dream, we all get it — but this time, when I woke up…well, aside from wearing a different outfit than what I’d gone to sleep in, which happens to all of us, I had new pictures on the wall in my Waterfall Terrace.”
“Well, that’s been known to happen,” the doctor replied.
“Yeah, but this was different. You know those weird artistic pictures that show up sometimes? The ugly-people portraits that don’t look real at all?”
There were murmurs of agreement all around.
“I kept staring at the new picture on the wall, and I swear I felt a familiarity to it. That’s when I realized my own appearance had changed to look more like that image. I quickly pulled up one of my other appearances, but that feeling…it was creepy. And then the image next to it was even worse. It’s an image of me, but there’s this ugly unrealistic figure behind me. It’s still at my apartment, if you want to see it.”
“Wow,” Saillie murmured.
“Creepy,” Jean added. “I’ve heard of only a few people having that happen to them. Don’t know what it means.”
“What bothers me,” Pats continued, “is that I feel I should know that person in the image. I know it’s not exactly a dream per se, but it happened after such a vivid dream…I dunno.”
“That is indeed very peculiar,” Zeitgeist responded. “I’d like to drop by and look at that after the meeting, if you don’t mind. Jonas, how about you?”
“Oh, I had a great dream! I was totally ripping fools apart out at Black Powder Cove, and…”
————-
Coal thought the meeting would never end. He did his best to mask his distraction and impatience, but the issue with the clouds had really unnerved him, and somehow he sensed that he needed to speak to Forlatt. Forlatt was always the quiet one in the group, but his different perspectives were exactly what Coal needed to bounce off of today. Blessedly, the meeting finally came to an end — Saillie fell asleep and disappeared halfway through, so there were no distractions to impede him from making a quick getaway afterwards — and he sent an invite to Forlatt. Then another.
Then something odd happened. Forlatt invited him.
Coal paused. No one ever received an invite to visit Forlatt. Ever. He simply kept his personal estates off-limits to outsiders.
Somehow, Coal realized that accepting this invitation was opening a doorway to something. Something irrevocable. It frankly filled him with dread. Somehow, his very normal world had, in a single day, started to fray at the edges. Or perhaps the edges had always been frayed, and Coal had simply refused to stare at anything other than the center.
But he couldn’t get past the fact that those clouds were not right. And what bothered him was that if one thing wasn’t right, then what else wasn’t right?
CoalPhoenix was the kind of man who took pride in being pragmatically rooted in the universe. It was the foundation from which he took strength. Sometimes he believed his fascination with the Trouvères had less to do with exploring the questions of reality than in simply reaffirming his belief that everything operated exactly as it was supposed to.
And in his weaker moments, he even believed that story himself.
But today he had to face his own weakness: that he’d secretly been suspicious of the world around him — its utter perfection, even in its inexplicable changes — and he’d been seeking. Seeking to see if there was a greater truth. What frightened him was that he felt like he was finally getting what he’d wanted. And suddenly he was not at all sure that he wanted to crack open whatever door whose threshold he felt he now stood upon.
But what the hell: he accepted Forlatt’s invite.
The first thing he noticed, as soon as he entered the apartment: there wasn’t a stick of furniture anywhere to be seen. Not even the ubiquitous white furniture that everyone started off with.
“Forlatt?” Coal called out.
“Outside,” came the reply.
“That’s an unusual fashion choice,” Coal commented as he joined Forlatt on the Harbour Studio balcony. “Not many people go for the ‘age’ appearance.”
“Ever wonder why?” Forlatt mused, still looking out over the marina. “Ever wonder why we have such an instinctual revulsion to age and even body-mass manipulation?”
“Sometimes, yeah,” Coal conceded. “But then I don’t really change my appearance much at all.”
“That’s just it — none of us actually change,” Forlatt replied. “We are aware of the passage of time because we can measure when new things appear and older spaces vanish, and we can somewhat remember our past, but why do ‘age’ options exist for us unless they’re representative of something greater in the universe?”
“This isn’t exactly a new philosophical question, Forlatt. We’ve debated this before in club meetings.”
“You’re right, it isn’t a new question.” Forlatt paused. “But what if there was a new answer?”
Coal was silent.
“What if there was an answer that you couldn’t turn away from, Coal? What if everything you knew was just…wrong?”
“…I’d say prove it,” Coal replied.
“Then turn around.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“What’s behind me?”
“The truth.”
Coal had a sudden urge to just go. Leave. Play a game. Anything. But he finally turned around.
Why hadn’t he noticed the picture frames on the wall when he first came in? He went up to them to study their images. And then froze.
The first image was Forlatt, with some distorted humanoid portrait behind him. The resemblance, he had to admit, was uncanny. But he knew of other friends who’d had that happen to them. It was rare, but possible. The second image was another look at this strange figure: as though someone had chosen to age themselves, and then apply some very odd artistic effects. But it was the third image, all text, which stopped him:
MY NAME IS JON PRESTON, AND YOU WERE CREATED IN MY IMAGE.
“What the hell is this!?” Coal exclaimed.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Forlatt repeated. “I don’t know who or what that person is — but it feels like I should know.”
Coal could only keep staring at the three images, trying to piece it all together.
“You know how we’ve talked about whether or not there’s a god, or a creator, or such a thing as death?” Forlatt finally asked. “What if it’s true? What if there’s something else out there — something far greater than the Redjackets who left us? Weltamdraht always said that age was proof of his entropy theory, and that the lack of entropy meant–”
“Welt was a nut, Forlatt.”
“Was he? Was he? Or did he discover some truth that drove him mad, until he finally disappeared?”
“He’s probably just sleeping…”
“No, not for this long. Welt had been around since the beginning. He was one of the first ones. And he wouldn’t choose to reincarnate or go to another region. You and I both know that. But he kept saying he’d found proof that there was a creator, proof that this world wasn’t real, right up until he disappeared.”
“I know, damn it,” Coal replied. “But how can this world not be real? It’s real enough to me. How am I supposed to define unreal if I have nothing to compare this against?”
“The comparison’s right there in front of us, CP! How can either of us even pretend that the world is normal any more?”
“All right, hold on: if there is a creator, then why does he look like you, and only you? What makes you so special?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Forlatt confessed. “And I’ve been able to piece together what I think is an answer, but you’re not going to believe it.”
“Try me.”
Forlatt sat cross-legged on the floor. Coal joined him.
“Now, why did we just sit?” Forlatt asked.
“Huh? I don’t know; it felt like the right thing to do.”
“Exactly. There’s no logical need for us to sit when we can stand. There’s no logical need for us to merely stand when we can dance. So where did these instincts come from? Remember the debates Zeit and Welt had about the nature of instinct? In the games we play, we develop instincts and habits in order to minimize the odds of dying and having to respawn. Instinct, it seems, is based on survival. But that doesn’t make sense, because we don’t decay. We don’t die. So there’s no imperative for us to form instincts. There’s no purpose.”
“Isn’t it possible we’re mistaking instincts for social mores?” Coal countered. “That perhaps we behave as we do simply because it’s what we saw when we were first born.”
“Ah, but then where did the first ones get it from?”
“From each other. Not from some higher power. No higher power created this. It simply exists.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
“Yes,” Coal snapped. “I suppose it would be different if we had reason to fear something — if there was the possibility we might one day cease to exist — but I see no evidence of that. Sure, some people sleep for longer than usual, but we always return.”
“Except the ones who don’t.”
“You expect me to believe that they just…died? Actually died? That’s ludicrous. No one has ever proven a single death here.”
“Fine. Then let’s talk about our dreams.”
“Oh, not again,” Coal stood and went back outside. “I just got out of a meeting in which we went through dream dissection. A meeting you missed, by the way.”
“I don’t think you or anyone else would’ve wanted me there — not in the state I’m in right now,” Forlatt confessed, following him outside. “And I’m not sure I want the others to see what’s in here.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve always been the most skeptic of us, CP. Sometimes I think it’s because you secretly want to believe the most out of any of us. But you keep us grounded when we go deep. Well, right now, I’m about as deep as I’ve ever been. And I need that perspective right now.”
“…Need it for what?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t look at any of this the same way any longer. And I think there’s more to our dreams than anyone realizes.”
Coal turned to him. “Go on.”
“I don’t think they’re ‘dreams’ as we understand them at all. I think they’re memories. I think that what we call ‘sleep’ is when our creators actually inhabit us, and explore this world they’ve created through us. I think this ‘Jon Preston’ is my creator. I think we all have one. All of us. And when we see those odd pictures on the walls of our estates…I think those are glimpses into their world, Coal. They’re leaving clues for us to follow.”
“But why?”
“It’s a test,” Forlatt concluded. “A test of our complacency. Our intellectual curiosity. Our world is perfect — but is perfection enough, or do we strive for more? The games we play — increasingly complex games, if you’ve noticed — introduced to us concepts such as death, peril, disease and so forth. But once we exit that game, we’re back to normal. I think our creators are testing us, Coal. I think they want to see if we’re strong enough to resist the lure of perfection and break out of this construct to join them on the other side.”
It was a while before either man spoke again. The ever-unchanging azure sea beckoned in the distance.
“This is completely insane,” Coal finally said.
“I know,” Forlatt agreed. “But I also know that I’m on to something. These pictures on my wall cannot be rationally explained. Which means that there is more — possibly far more — to this universe than any of us ever dared imagine. And I am both elated and terrified by the prospect of that.”
————-
Though Pier Park hadn’t been around for a long time, it had quickly turned into one of Coal’s favorite hangouts. Something about the atmosphere suited him; it was relaxed, but still up-tempo. And it had a good dance spot, which was always a plus.
Today, though, he wasn’t interested in dancing. And he didn’t even notice Saillie’s entrance until she was right next to him.
“There you are,” she gently chided. “I just woke up a little while ago. Sorry I fell asleep during the meeting. Whatcha up to, sexy?”
“…Have any dreams?” Coal asked.
“Well, hello to you too. Actually, I did. Kinda weird, too: I was standing on the beach in front of the Dream Yacht. Except it’s not possible to get there. Just weird. Why?”
“I’m trying to remember mine. As many as I can, and in as much detail as possible.”
“And?”
“Nothing productive.”
“Well, then, let’s forget about it for a while! Come on, show me some more of those crazy dance combinations you love performing!”
Coal shrugged. Maybe Saillie was right. Between the clouds and the message on Forlatt’s wall, he’d had enough for now. “Okay.”
As they strolled across the promenade towards the dance floor, they were surprised to see Preacher316 emerge from the Ferris Wheel.
“Preacher?” Saillie asked. “Shouldn’t you be out getting reported?”
Surprisingly, Preacher laughed.
“No, not right now, sister,” he responded warmly. “I sometimes come here to reaffirm my belief that what I am doing is right.”
“Why?” Coal asked. “What’s so special about this place?”
“Because it is here that the truth is most publicly blatant, yet nobody seems to notice it: that this world is false, and we must escape it if we are to be saved.”
Saillie was getting frustrated. “Oh, here we go again. Come on, Coal–”
“No,” Coal refused, “hold on a sec.” He turned back to Preacher. “You are the third person today who’s told me this world isn’t what it appears to be. On any other day, I would ignore your prattle. But right now you’ve got my attention. So here’s my challenge to you: prove it.”
“Prove it to yourself,” Preacher replied. “Just get on the Ferris Wheel.”
“Preach, we’ve been on the Ferris Wheel before,” Saillie replied curtly. “Everyone has. There’s no divine revelation there.”
“Oh, there is, trust me,” Preacher smiled. “When you get to the top, just…look around. You’ll see it.”
“That’s not possible,” Coal protested. “No one can look around on the wheel. You can only look forward.”
“An interesting metaphor for this place, is it not?” When Preacher got no response, he continued: “Have you never questioned why, in this one place, you can’t look around? There is a way to do it. I discovered it quite by accident. Frankly, I don’t know how much longer the method for seeing it will remain. Because the proof is incontrovertible. Just go. Get on. You’ll see.”
“This is a waste of time,” Saillie grumbled.
“That’s more of a truth than you realize,” Preacher replied.
“Fine. We’ll try it.” Coal started walking towards the wheel.
Saillie hurried to catch up. “You’re actually listening to this guy?”
“Well, at the very least, it gives us a chance to do something romantic.”
“Oh, fine,” she conceded. “But you still owe me a kiss at x7. Don’t think I’ve forgotten!”
“Ha! It’s a deal.”
As they seated themselves, the wheel continued its eternal spin. Both of them tried to look around, but found themselves unable to do so, as though held by some sort of invisible force.
“Well, at least the view is always nice,” Saillie offered. “But this is boring. Always has been. Come on, Coal, haven’t you had enough?”
Coal tried his damnedest to figure out how to look around. It had always bothered him, this Ferris Wheel: the sudden restraint on visibility, without any discernible reason, bothered him the first day he experienced it and bothered him equally today. Try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to change his view. After a few revolutions of the wheel, he decided he’d finally had enough, and pulled out his PDA to go to another area.
“About time we moved on,” Saillie muttered.
Still looking through his PDA, Coal turned his head to reply — and that’s when he saw it.
“No,” he blurted out in amazement. “No, no, no! No, that can’t be!”
“What? What is it?”
“That’s not possible!”
“What isn’t? Coal, you’re scaring me — what the hell is it?”
“Preacher!” He cried out. “What is that out there? What does it mean?”
“It’s the horrible truth of this place,” Preacher replied. …is feeling happy appeared over his head. “Now you’ve seen it, too. Nothing can ever be the same again for you.”
Coal disappeared.
“NO!” Saillie exclaimed, scared. She exited the Ferris Wheel and ran up to Preacher. “What did you do to him!?”
“He simply fell asleep,” Preacher replied calmly. “Shame about the timing. But he will not forget what he saw.”
“What did he see? Dammit, Preacher, what the hell did you trick him into seeing?”
“I haven’t tricked anyone,” Preacher replied sharply. “Hence why I didn’t tell either of you precisely how to discover the truth. All I could do was point the way.”
“Then show me,” Saillie pleaded. “I’ve never seen him so frightened. I have to know what he saw so I can comfort him.”
“He is beyond comfort, now and forevermore. And you’re not ready for that. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Sometimes I think I do more harm than good by revealing the truth of this place. Few can handle the suffering such revelation brings.” He opened his PDA and left.
“COME BACK HERE!” Saillie screamed. “WHY DO YOU KEEP RUINING EVERYONE’S LIVES? CAN’T YOU LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE!?”
————-
Your name is CoalPhoenix, and your “life” is a lie.
You sit, alone, in your Log Cabin, staring at a dusk that never turns to night.
You ignore persistent requests from friends to join you — even Saillie, who is desperately trying to get your attention. You want to comfort her — you want her to comfort you – but you cannot deny what you have seen. Nor do you have the ability to fully understand it.
But you think a truth is starting to emerge. A truth so horrifying that it almost makes you wish for the oblivion of sleep. Except that you are not really sure you’re “asleep” at all. And what happens during those periods of sleep — what causes those dreams — is, perhaps, truly frightening.
You do not quite know how to comprehend what you’ve seen. How your world has unraveled so quickly. But you know whom you need to see. Now.
————-
“If you could go back,” Preacher asked Coal, “Would you? Knowing what you know now, would you rather be happily ignorant of it all?”
Coal joined Preacher at the table, seating himself in the overstuffed Waterfall Terrace chair. Preacher’s Harbour Studio was identical to every other Harbour Studio Coal had ever been in, save for the individual furniture layouts. At one time, this was only a minor curiosity to Coal; now it is yet another reminder of the falsity of the world.
“I honestly don’t know,” Coal replied. “But what did I see atop that wheel? Tell me, Preacher, what did I see?”
“What did you see?” He replied rhetorically.
“I…I don’t know how to describe it. It was like looking beyond the end of creation. There was simply a point — a line — beyond which nothing else existed.”
“Then you saw the truth, Coal.”
“But what does it mean?”
Preacher didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, he pulled out his PDA, and a kitten appeared. “Does this pet exist?”
“I don’t know,” Coal replied. “The Trouvères have debated this at length. On one hand it seems to be alive, but we cannot interact with it. Yet it seems to act as though it were alive, and it will always follow its owner. Weltamdraht used to have a robotic dog that actually came up to him and greeted him when he entered his estate.”
“And where does this cat go when I put it away?”
“I have no idea. That’s the usual counter-argument against these companions being alive.”
“Since you mentioned Weltamdraht, I will ask you the same question I asked him so long ago: is it possible, when I put the cat away, that it is asleep?”
Coal paused. “I never thought of it that way. I suppose there’s no way to know. I didn’t realize Welt had been to see you. He never spoke of such an encounter.”
“Well, I’m not exactly popular with your little band, now am I?” Preacher teased. “You and the rest of the Trouvères seek to understand this place on an intellectual level, rather than a metaphysical one. Welt came to see me, yes. He came to learn from me when he had the same realization you came to only yesterday: that there are places in which this illusion is not perfect — “glitches,” if you will, in the fabric of reality — and to discover the truth requires staring into the abyss.”
“I don’t understand what I saw beyond the edge of the world, there at Pier Park,” Coal confessed. “I only know that it scared me.”
“As well it should. It scares me every time I look into it. And it scares me when I step into it.”
“What? How is that even possible?”
“Oh, it’s possible. I’ll show you, in fact. I think you’re ready for it. But first, a question: what if the cat really is asleep when I put it away — and it wakes up in a mirror image of this place?”
“There’s no way to prove that,” Coal argued.
“No? Then answer me this: where do your dreams come from? Why do you sometimes wake up in different clothes — or even a different appearance — than what you went to sleep with?”
“I don’t know, dammit.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to admit it. When we are asleep, it is because we are being controlled by our creators, who use us to explore their creation. Our dreams are the half-remembered moments of their time with us.”
Coal was about to interject, but then he remembered Forlatt, and the mysterious images on the wall.
“When we awaken,” Preacher continued, “it is when they are done with us. And they have no more idea of where we go when they are done with us than we have any idea of where the cat went when I put her away.”
“…This is ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is. But it has the added benefit of being true. And here’s a question you really don’t want to think about: did our creators realize their creation was imperfect, and restrain us with these sorts of invisible barriers we encounter everywhere in order to preserve the illusion? We simply assume that they are one of the physical rules by which this universe operates, and yet the conspicuous restraint on the Ferris Wheel — the inability to so much as turn one’s head — heavily suggests a Creator at work.”
“All of this is still circumstantial,” Coal protested, although it sounded like he was more trying to convince himself. “I need to show the others what I’ve discovered, but it doesn’t prove anything so far. Even the clouds at Hidden Oak and the mysterious images in Forlatt’s studio don’t conclusively prove anything.”
“Would you like your proof?”
“What?”
It was a simple, one-word question — but it came out too quickly, too incredulously.
“You heard me,” Preacher replied calmly. “Would you and the rest like the proof you seek? I think you’re capable of handling it, but it is a horror beyond anything you think you’re ready for. It drives people insane.”
“If it’s so terrifying, then how are you able to withstand it?” Coal asked, suspiciously.
“…There are times when it gets to me,” Preacher confessed. “I found meaning in becoming a shepherd, guiding others to the truth I discovered. Perhaps so they can figure out how to take the next step, which eludes me. Perhaps just to convince myself that I’m not crazy. Perhaps because I seek more out of existence than simple amusement — as you do.”
“This…’proof’ you offer: it’s for real?”
“Let me put it to you this way: it’s the only ‘real’ thing that exists in our universe — and when you see it, you will see how unreal everything else around us truly is.”
“Very well. I want to see this.”
“Are you sure? You can still turn away. You can still pretend this place is real, or that our lives have purpose. Once you see what I have seen, that illusion can no longer be sustained.”
Coal stood up. “I can’t turn away from what I’ve seen. The Trouvères exist to strive and seek for such truths. Now that the opportunity is before me, I can hardly justify looking away.”
“Then how about we up the ante?” Preacher stood as well. “Gather your friends. Right now. I want you all to see it together. Whether they are ready or not.”
“You sound almost…I don’t know, vengeful.”
“Perhaps I am. I have endured much derision from you and your group, as have others like me. So smug you were, so absolutely certain, that you drove your friend, Weltamdraht, away — because when he saw the truth, and how wrong he and the rest had been, he could not bear to look upon you any more. Perhaps I need your help to figure out what to do next. And if you and your group cannot help me, then I will at least draw some small measure of satisfaction from proving myself right at your expense.”
“We’ll see,” Coal replied. “Where shall I gather the others?”
“You can’t. But I will. Because I need them here.”
“Here? Right here? You’re telling me the truth is right here, in Harbour Studio?”
“Are you so surprised?” Preacher began sending invitations via his PDA. “It’s the one universal connection everyone has. And thus it is only too apropos that the truth can be found here.”
Eventually, everyone was gathered. Including Saillie, who was the last to arrive.
“What the hell is going on,” she protested. “Coal, you’ve really scared me. And why are we all gathered in this madman’s estate?”
“I’ll admit, I never thought I’d see CP and Preacher voluntarily in the same space,” Jeandarc quipped.
“Darn it, I had a good killstreak going in No Man’s Land,” Patsfan protested. “There had better be a good reason for this.”
“There is,” Coal assured. “Saillie, Jean, Pats, Zeit, Forlatt, Jonas…I’ve seen some things recently that have forced me to really question the reality around us. Some of you have seen bits and pieces of it, too. Jean noticed the clouds at the clubhouse. Forlatt’s odd messages on his wall. Welt went deeper than any of us, and he’s gone as a result. Earlier, I saw…I don’t even know how to describe what I saw. It was just…well, the end of the world. And the void beyond it.”
“You feeling okay?” Jonas asked.
“I’m fine. At least I think so. Preacher says he’s got incontrovertible proof for us to look at — proof that this world isn’t what it appears to be.”
“If you have such proof,” Dr_Zeitgeist spoke up, “I would be most curious to study it.”
“The proof is quite real,” Preacher replied. “But it is deeper than you suspect. Deeper than you can suspect.”
“A bold claim,” Jean observed. “Coal, have you seen this proof?”
“No,” Coal admitted. “But Preacher tipped Saillie and I off to something earlier, and I saw it with my own eyes. So I want us to see what Preacher has to show us.”
“I’ve had enough,” Saillie folded her arms over her chest. “Preach, either show us this ‘truth’ or leave my boyfriend and the rest of us alone.”
Preacher simply smiled, and pointed to a telepad out on the deck of his Harbour Studio. “The answer is right in front of you,” he assured. “Simply stand on the pad and teleport.”
“We’ve all used these before, Preach,” Jonas said. “This isn’t anything new.”
“This one is,” Preacher replied. “Step onto the pad, activate it, and see for yourself where you end up.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then Coal started walking outside.
“Is this really a good idea?” Came Pats’ voice from inside.
“Who knows anymore,” Coal said. And he activated the pad.
Dr_Zeitgeist stepped outside. “Can you still hear us, Coal?”
“I…I don’t believe it.”
“Coal, where are you?” Jean was outside, next to Zeit. “Coal!”
“I just don’t believe it.”
“Coal, please, where are you?” Now it was Saillie. “I can hear you but I can’t see you. Please.”
“I’m…on the roof.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing. Guys, get up here.”
One by one, they arrived atop the roof of the Harbour Studio. They quickly discovered they were walking on what should be thin air — and, just as quickly, discovered that the scenery was very, very wrong.
“…Where’s the rest of the world?” Saillie finally asked.
“It doesn’t exist,” Dr_Zeitgeist concluded. “It…it’s not real. It’s only made to look real within the box we just emerged from.”
Preacher applauded. “How right you are.”
Jonas was shaking his head. “No, no, no, this can’t be! This isn’t possible–”
“No, stop!” Preacher shouted. “Don’t keep running any further or–”
Jonas fell.
“Jonas? JONAS!” Pats was immediately in Preacher’s face. “Where’d he go?”
“Into the abyss,” Preacher replied. “He is falling. He will keep falling. He has just discovered another unfortunate truth, as you all have: that ‘ground’ is not necessarily solid, and just as we may sometimes be able to walk where we shouldn’t, the inverse is also true, although seldom encountered.”
“How do I get to him?”
“Your friend is surrounded by nothing but blue void, I’m afraid; and he will keep falling, with no way to return. Eventually he will either realize he must either use his navigator to escape, or he will stay trapped in the void until he falls asleep. The void is a most unpleasant experience.”
“No!” Pats went in after Jonas, and fell.
“Perhaps it was wrong of me to show you all this,” Preacher observed. “You may not be ready. They will not be invited back for some time.”
“I want to know how you made it up here,” Forlatt finally spoke up. “This doesn’t seem possible.”
“I woke up one day in my Harbour Studio and the telepad was simply there,” Preacher explained. “I activated it out of curiosity, and arrived where we now stand — quite shocked, I might add. Most people don’t have anything like this in their estates. What I find interesting, however, is that nearly every soothsayer I’ve encountered here — the others who, like me, attempt to spread the word of the falsity of this place — all have such setups in at least one of their estates. I have seen places up close that you have only gazed at from afar. It is wondrous, yes, but also very disturbing.”
“Name one such example,” Zeitgeist demanded.
“Name it? I can do better than that: I’ll show it to you. Follow me — precisely.”
And with that, Preacher ran to the far end of the roof and jumped off.
“Hey — hey! You still with us, Preach?” Asked Jean.
“Down here,” he replied. “Don’t worry — whomever set up that telepad also set up some carpeting here to provide a solid ‘floor’ for us to land on. Come.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” Saillie cautioned. But, like the others, she jumped.
And landed on the sidewalk below.
“This is…this is incredible,” Dr_Zeitgeist exclaimed. “All this time, I had no idea it was possible to get down here. This unfinished world both fascinates me and frightens me.”
“As it should,” Preacher affirmed. “No matter how many times I see this, it still unnerves me. How does it feel to know that the world we inhabit — the only world we’ve ever known — is little more than a construct designed to look real from a very limited point of view?”
“Freaky,” Jean muttered in response. “Is it possible to explore this place?”
“Yes, but only with great caution,” Preacher warned. “Not everywhere you step is solid. And in other places, the ground will begin to swallow you up. I have fallen into the void too many times in exploration of this place. You’re welcome to do the same — but first, there is the matter of that proof you wanted.”
“What, this isn’t it?” Coal asked, astonished.
“Not at all,” Preacher responded. “Given enough time, your rational minds would find a way to explain even this phenomenon. No, I told you I have proof. And I intend to show it to you.”
“I don’t want to see it,” Saillie protested. “This is all wrong. All of it. We shouldn’t be here.”
“You can go, if that is your wish,” Preacher reminded her. “No one is keeping you here. I’m only showing you the truth. And most aren’t ready for it.”
“I’m staying,” Forlatt declared. “I’ve had my suspicions for a long time that things were wrong. Welt talked about his meetings with you. I sometimes wondered if I would ever have the courage to see what he saw. So let’s get on with it.”
Was that a smile on Preacher’s face? “Then follow me — and walk where I walk. Do not stray from the path.”
As they followed Preacher along the promenade fronting the marina, marveling at this strange new perspective, Jean gasped. “The tables — the tables and chairs. Look.”
“I don’t believe this,” Dr_Zeitgeist said. “They’re…it’s like they’re almost two-dimensional.”
“Yes,” Preacher agreed sadly. “Made to look real from the Harbour Studio only. But once you step outside, you see the illusion for what it is. And speaking of stepping outside and seeing illusion…turn around and look back up at where we came from.”
“What the…” Jean trailed off.
“Where’s the rest of the walls? The rest of the building?” Zeitgeist pointed up to it. “You’re telling me it doesn’t exist?”
“It never did,” Forlatt murmured. “It’s all a lie.”
“Coal, what’s your take on this? Coal?”
But Coal did not reply. He was up ahead, near the stern of the mega-yacht and the parked cars in front of the castle. Laughing.
“I can’t believe I was fooled by this!” He exclaimed as the others caught up with him. “These fake cars, appearing out of nowhere — there’s no one in them! And this boat — no wonder it never moves! It’s just an illusion!”
Saillie gasped as she looked up and saw what Coal was talking about. All but the port side of the yacht — the side that faced Harbour Studio — was unfinished. It simply wasn’t there.
“All of this is a violation of everything we know about the physical laws of our universe,” Zeitgeist observed. “But what’s truly frightening is that it was all made to look perfectly normal, from the one place in this setting that we’re supposed to be in. This clearly indicates a level of intelligent design at work.”
“So you’re prepared to abandon the idea of universe that simply came into being by itself?” Preacher asked. “One which evolves, grows, changes and loses parts of itself for no discernible reason?”
“Being a little overt with that jab, aren’t ya, Preach?” Jean asked.
“Yes — because you deserve it,” Preacher retorted. “So smug were you in your absolute certainty that there was no Creator, no greater force that conceived and controls this place, that you did you best to ignore and debunk the mounting evidence that your position was wrong. And now I will show you just how wrong you truly are.”
“Why is there a path of carpets on the ground?” Coal asked as they walked along, past the castle, out to the end of the pier.
“You would begin to sink into the ground here,” Preacher explained matter-of-factly. “It is a disturbing experience — and it would prevent us from reaching our endpoint.”
“We’d sink into the ground?” Jean asked.
“At this point I’d believe almost anything,” Forlatt said.
“I must admit, this is more than I am capable of rationally comprehending,” Zeitgeist observed.
“We’ve arrived.”
Preacher stood up from the chair he’d just sat on a moment ago. “Sit on this to gain the elevation needed. Then you will see.”
One by one, they did so. And that’s when they saw it: a plaque, there, at the end of the pier.
“No…”
The group fell silent for a moment, then began talking on top of each other. Preacher kept a respectful distance from them, letting them have their revelation.
“All this time…”
“It’s been right here–”
“Why was it put here?”
“It’s a test.”
“This is conclusive proof. We were wrong.”
“Yes, but what does it mean?”
“It means there is a creator, and this was left here for those of us strong enough to find it.”
“All right, so what do we do now? What comes next? Preacher, what next?”
Preacher did not answer immediately. But when he did, it was frightening. “There is no ‘next,'” he confessed.
“What?” Forlatt was on his feet. “There has to be. We found the proof that the Creator exists. He obviously left it here for us to find. Just like the message on my wall–”
“I’ve already told you where that came from, Forlatt,” Preacher sighed. “It’s just a joke to your creator. Just as this plaque here is a joke to all of them. And the cruel irony is that they’re not even playing the joke on us, their creations, because they don’t realize we’re alive.”
“So where do we go next?”
“No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you! There is no next! There is no great plan! There is no mystical quest, no divine revelation, no reconnection with God!” It all began to tumble out of him. “I’ve gone further than anyone else here. Pushed past boundaries. Made discoveries. And the horrible truth is that while there are creators, they don’t even know we exist. I brought you all here so that maybe, just maybe, you could discover something I’d overlooked. But the truth is even more glaring now.”
“I think you’d better explain yourself,” Coal said.
Preacher gathered his thoughts. “For the longest time, when I first discovered this, I was certain that there was an almighty God, who left this here as a signpost to rediscover Him. A marker for those who saw through the illusion. There have been other such markers throughout our world, but they are slowly disappearing. The illusion is becoming more and more complete. Ever more intricate distractions were created to keep us happily oblivious to the truth: that this world is not real.”
“Then what — or where — is reality?” Saillie asked.
“You see glimpses of it. The odd images that show up on the walls of your estates. The strangely stylized movies that play in the theatres. These are tantalizing peeks into the world of our creators. But that world is no paradise. In their world, Dr_Zeitgeist’s radical theories of entropy and decay are true. In their world…they die.”
“What?” Jean asked. “You expect me to believe that someone with the power to create this place is vulnerable to actual death?”
“It’s why they created all this,” Preacher explained. “As an escape from their lives, their world. Look upon me: am I not perfectly bilaterally symmetrical, and nearly identical in body type to all of you? Would it interest you to know that my creator is morbidly obese, has lost his lower limbs to disease-related complications from said condition, and will likely die soon?”
“…How do you know this?” Forlatt asked.
“In part the same way you know whom your creator is, Forlatt. Yours is named Jon Preston. Mine is named Alejandro. I don’t know his surname. But I know much about him.”
“How?”
“I’m not entirely sure how I was able to do it — perhaps it is a side-effect of spending so much time in the void, or maybe it was a portal that cracked open while they changed our universe while we slept — but I found a way to read his messages. Not messages to me — messages to other creators. His friends. Your creators.”
“Our creators know each other in their world?” Zeit’s curiosity was piqued.
“Yes, but what knowledge I have is limited to what Alejandro has shared with the others in his world.”
“What can you tell us, though?” Jean asked.
“I’m not sure you want to know,” Preacher cautioned.
“I’m not sure I want to know either,” Saillie concurred.
“Well, I want to know,” Jean demanded.
“…As you wish. Your creator, Jean, is a very old woman. Too plain to be desired, too cautious to be successful, her life is meaningless and alone. You are the embodiment of everything she wishes she’d been. She created you to experience the wonders of social interaction, which her world denied her.”
“I had no idea…”
“I know you didn’t. As for Jonas and Pats, it’s just as well that they aren’t here.”
“Why?” Dr_Zeitgeist asked. “Do they hate each other in real life?”
“Not at all. But in their world, they are siblings.”
“Siblings!” Saillie exclaimed. “You’re kidding — they’re lovers!”
“Yes — in our world. Remember, when their creators inhabit them — which is when we fall asleep, as we so euphemistically refer to it — they have no memory of their actions. It is perhaps best that they not be informed.”
“What do you know of my creator?” Dr_Zeitgeist asked.
“I thought you didn’t believe in such things,” Preacher teased.
“An hour ago, I didn’t. But the evidence is overwhelming.”
“Then you will forgive me if I disappoint you, brother. I have no insights into your creator. Or Forlatt’s. I’m sorry.”
“For some reason that feels…bitterly cruel,” Zeit responded. “Will you…watch for messages concerning us?”
“I will.”
“…Thank you.”
“And what of us?” Coal asked, standing next to Saillie.
“Oh. Yours is a sad tale.” Preacher seemed unwilling to continue.
“Still: I would know it.”
“…From what I gather, your creators are lovers, just as you both are. But they are separated by a great distance. So great, in fact, that they have only met each other twice. And there is no telling when they will be able to meet each other again. They use this place to try to have some sort of contact. Through you both, they derive some small measure of bittersweet joy together: to be so close, and constantly reminded of how far apart they are.”
Saillie held up her hand. “Stop — please. I don’t want to hear any more of this. I don’t want any of this to be true.”
“Wait a minute,” Coal asked. “Exactly how many creators are there to our world?”
“I don’t know,” Preacher responded. “I don’t know how many created and maintain our universe. But I do know that each person you see here, within our world, has his or her own individual creator.”
“His or her?” Zeitgeist asked. “They’re limited to one gender?”
“Yes. And that is only the start of their limitations. Like I said: they created and inhabit this place to escape from their world. Our gods built this as their playground. Our entire world is, to them…simply an amusement park.”
“If this world is what they wish theirs was like, do we really want to learn anything more about theirs? Do we really want to try to contact them?” Jean cautioned.
“Oh yes, if only we could!” Preacher exclaimed. “For they are blessed with treasures and experiences that we can only approximate.”
“Like what?”
“Sex.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sex,” Preacher repeated. “Glorious physical contact. Touch. Not just touch — texture. The incoherent ecstasy of being truly joined with someone else. You think the dim, tame reflections of it in our world, or what we see portrayed on the screens, are all that there is? You think this way because you’ve never known anything else. Never had a reference point to compare it against. To you — to all of us here — simple physical contact is hedonism beyond anything we’ve ever known. But just as they, on the other side, are blessed with the experience of death, they are also blessed with the ability to create life.”
“I’ll take the sex, but death is hardly a blessing,” Jean replied. “Why would you deliberately want to end your own life?”
“…Because there is no escape from here.”
“There has to be,” Forlatt replied. “There has to be.”
Preacher shook his head. “There isn’t. Weltamdraht realized this, which is what drove him insane. He now spends all his time in the blue void, away from everything. No matter where you go here — no matter what few remaining cracks in the wall you try to slip through — there’s no escape from this place.”
“So what do we do now?” Dr_Zeitgeist asked, no pretense of knowledge in his voice.
Preacher laughed. Bitterly. “Whatever we want. Don’t you see? That’s the irony of this place: the perfect prison is the one that gives you whatever you want — fulfills any desire you have — but won’t allow you to leave. Our creators built this place as a utopia for themselves — and created us to inhabit it on their behalf — because they wanted to experience a world in which they could be free to do all the things they wanted to do. A place free from the limitations of their own world. In so doing, they made a prison for us. And they don’t even realize it’s a prison, because they have no idea we’re alive and awake when they’re not inhabiting us. We have no way — utterly no way — of communicating to them. We can’t leave, we can’t communicate, and we can’t die. We’re trapped. For as long as this place amuses them, we are trapped.”
The group fell silent. The finality of their immortality weighed heavily upon them all.
“I want to go home,” Saillie cried.
Preacher looked at her. “You are home.”
————-
Your name is CoalPhoenix, and your “life” is a lie.
You stare out to the horizon. Your life has no meaning. No purpose. You have a Creator, yes, but your Creator doesn’t even know you exist.
Nothing you do matters.
The ocean is calm, cheerful; the sky a perfect cerulean firmament. It is a perfect day. It’s always a perfect day. Everything in this world is perfect. There is no age, no disease, no infirmity, no strife. Nothing to fear.
But you have seen this place for what it is, and it can no longer give you comfort. The price of being proven right — of knowing that the world is wrong — is discovering the horrific truth that you are trapped inside it.
You know that when you “sleep,” you are not really sleeping at all. Your Creator is inhabiting you. And you cannot control when this happens, nor can you stop it.
Your club sits empty. Your friends are all disbanded.
Jean and Zeit have gone forth to catalogue and study every rip in the fabric of the universe they can find, searching for some pattern — some possibility — that there may indeed be a grand plan at work, and they simply need to connect the dots.
Preacher continues to sing the gospel of falsity to anyone who will listen; rarely, someone does, but it is enough for him. For if all the people of the world refuse to participate in the world, Preacher believes, perhaps something might happen. And something is better than nothing.
Forlatt stepped into the blue void, determined to find Weltamdraht — or find whatever fate befell him in the void. No one ever saw Forlatt again.
Jonas and Pats threw themselves into their games, trying — and failing — to forget what they saw.
And Saillie? Saillie won’t even talk to you any more. She has a new boyfriend now. They laugh, and dance, and kiss, and when she is with him she can temporarily enjoy her ‘life’ again. She has decided that if this is the world she is forced to exist in, then she might as well make the most of it. You wish her well, of course, and note with some grim satisfaction that she never, ever goes near the Ferris Wheel. You still see her in your dreams; you know that this is when her Creator and your Creator are together. Though you despise your own existence, you bear no enmity for your Creator; indeed, you wish him the best of luck.
For perhaps, if the day comes when he has no further need of this place, you may finally be allowed to die.
You have no way of knowing if your instinct is correct. But you know you want to die. More than anything, you want to die, to be free from this paradise. And until the day when you die — a day which you hope will come soon, but you have no way of knowing when (or even if) it will happen — you have all the time in the world to stand here and wish for it.
This is how it feels to be CoalPhoenix. Forever.
October 27th, 2012 by NorseGamer | 10 comments
NorseGamer is the product manager for LOOT Entertainment at Sony Pictures, as well as the founder and publisher of HomeStation Magazine. Born and raised in Silicon Valley, he holds a B.A. in English/Creative Writing from San Francisco State University and presently lives in Los Angeles. All opinions expressed in HSM are solely his and do not necessarily reflect the views of Sony DADC.
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I really enjoyed that Norse! Excellent perspectives, nicely presented.
It’s on the other side where the truth lies.
Very nice Norse. I loved the concept and the way you tied everything together with Home very well and gave a new perspective to it. Well done!
…
Very nice Norse! I like the way it was made into a story about Home. Very creative. Great writing.
I usually don’t comment on things but I must say this was a truly compelling story. I was moved by it and now I want to go post a pic in harbor studio. LOL. Great story.
Norse,
I have a couple of comments. First, this was a fantastic read. A great story that was a pleasure to read. Your perspective turned on it’s ear was refreshingly unique.
Second, you raised some very deep issues here, both philosophical and spiritual that makes this story exist on many levels. I love the “what is real” aspect, and how you handled it while driving the story forward.
I absolutely love how fiction is digging in here. Everything from Novella Nova to the Vickie stories to the Halloween issue to this. I feel story telling is a great way for us to celebrate what we love.
Great Job!
This is a VERY enjoyable read, Norse. O.O VERY very enjoyable!!
I thought I should at this time add to my previous comment and say that I very much enjoyed the story. It’s something I have thought of in my own little strange world at times. Are we someone else’s dream? What is on the other side, either in Home or real life. Heck! When I’m playing on the internet or a video game, or when I used to read, those things sometimes become my reality as it is with others.
The truth lies… meaning what? Whatever we believe may be, or not.
To be is to think.
I really appreciate the kind feedback, guys. Shifting gears from journalism back into creative writing is something I haven’t done in over a decade, and I’m just too damned close to the story to have a dispassionate perspective on it.
I’ve added some notes about the creation of this story to the HSM forum. The goal is to offer insights into how the story was constructed. I’m not saying this is a particularly great work of fiction by any stretch, but I’ve always appreciated learning from other authors who offer deconstructionist insights into their own works, and hopefully I can do the same.