One
It’s still moving, I’m sure of it, but it’s been hours now and the elevator hasn’t let me out. Why is it taking so long? I don’t even know why I’m here. Finally the doors slide open and I am met with nothing, blackness, not darkness but an absence of anything at all. I step out of the lift and half expect myself to start falling, but I don’t.
At least, I think I don’t. I do not feel air rushing past my face. But then I do not feel air at all.
“Hello?” I call, hoping for some sort of answer.
“Hello Clara, and welcome,” says a female voice. There is no one there.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“You are in death.” The voice is completely calm.
“What?” I say. “But I’m not dead!”
“You are now; however, being dead is like being French, or American, British, or living. Death is a place, not an ending. Please follow the arrows.”
And there are arrows, there always have been arrows, there never were arrows. I follow, too confused to do anything else. And then I see the city, it goes on forever and it has always been there, in the nothingness. I merely had yet to see something buried in the nothing.
“You will always be able to locate your house, so don’t worry about getting lost,” says the voice. “Your house will be located in the year you died, but you can always move to the past, you’ll have to wait for the future to happen before you can move there, though. The lifts will take you anywhere you want, and any when you want, just type in the number. Welcome to death, Clara. I hope you’re happy with it.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
Two
Hello, welcome to this place. It is a cold place. Filled with people who are pretending to do important things. The walls and ceiling are steel. The floor is glass. It is a reminder. I do not remember what of. This is where you will work. This is where you will pretend to do important things. You can add a plant to your desk if you would like. Succulents are popular. This is your computer. This is the button that turns it on. The fridge is here. It has no food, you will not need food. It does have soft drinks, though. Here is your coworker. He pretends to do important things. He will pretend to do important things for the rest of his death. So will you. No, I am afraid there are no doors or windows. You must stay in this place for the rest of your death. You must pretend to do important things. Thank you for coming. You have no choice.
Three
There is a faded, crumpled envelope stapled to a lamp post in the year 2009. On the outside it has the name Lucile. No one has ever opened the envelope. It is not for them. It is for the woman who is not coming back. There is a letter in the envelope. This is what it says.
“Dear Lucile,
I miss you ever so much. I have looked for you, but I cannot find you. I know you must be one of the gone. The thought makes me cry. I am writing this letter in case you come back.
Remember that game we used to play, where you would ask what time I was from, and I would always tell you “guess.” You are not here to guess any more. So I will tell you. I was born in 1868. I died in 1899. I wish I could see your reaction to that. I know you always believed I was from the 1600s.
You were the first person I was close to since coming here. I know it seemed like I had lots of friends, and could make them so easily, but every year I move to the next year that happens. That makes it hard to get close. No one ever wants to come with me, they have their friends and family. They all settle eventually. But then there was you. And you wanted to come. And you wanted to see each new year. And you wanted to see each new thing. And you wanted to stay with me. But they took you.
I miss you so much, so much that I almost settled here in case you might come back. But you wouldn’t want me to do that. You would want me to move on. So I will move on to the next year, and the next. It is what you would want. And it is what I want. But I will always take the corner apartment, on the second lane of street six. If you come back just go to the future and find me. I will be there. I promise.
At the beginning I thought that would be the end of my letter. But now I know there is something else I must say. I know I must say it. I must because if I do not put it here I may never say it.
I love you.
Please find this letter. Please find me on that corner. Please come back. I can wait forever.
- Adeline Throne”
No one has ever read this letter. No one will open this letter. The woman it is for will never find it. The woman who wrote it will wait in her corner apartment. She will wait forever. And every night she will sing into the nothingness that surrounds this place. She will sing to the woman they took. And she will whisper
I love you.
Four
I used to think it was beautiful. A city in the center of nothing. Filled to the brim with the dead. But now I know about this place. It wants you to think it is beautiful. It wants you to think it is safe. But they are watching. They are watching you. And you. And you. And you. And you think I’m mad but I’ve seen them. In the shadows. In the nothing. All around us. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. And they take people. They’ll take you. But they won’t. They only take the ones who ask The Question. I won’t ask it. I won’t even think it. But I’ve heard it. And then they were gone. The one who asked. And the one who never asked, but I know she wondered. There were two women who came here once. They moved to each new year as it springs up. But one of them wondered. One of them wonder what—
no no no no no no no no no no
Mustn’t ask it
Mustn’t think it
Mustn’t wonder
I think some can’t see it. And the ones who can, they are special. And eventually they all ask. And they are taken.
The woman who came through and wondered, I saw her get taken. I knew they were watching her. I saw their eyes following her. So I followed her. I thought I could stop them.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Stop them.
She went into the alley.
When I went around the corner she was gone.
And there was a man with eyes in her place.
He thought I couldn’t see him but he was wrong.
I can see them! I can see them all!
Then he was gone. He was nothingness.
The eyes are watching me. I’m extra special because I can see them too. Not just that thing.
But I won’t ask.
I won’t ask.
I won’t
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But I’ll think it one day—
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I’ll think it one day—
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Not yet—
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No—
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What is it—
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What is in there—
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No—
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I have to ask. If I don’t now I won’t be able to control my thoughts and I’ll just think it and they’ll just take me and no one will know. No one will know. No one will know that I’m not mad.
I’m running. I’m running. I’m running. I’m in the square. I’m standing on a table. People are staring. It’s time to ask.
I scream it.
“WHAT IS IT?”
I take a breath.
“WHAT IS IN THERE?”
My voice is hoarse.
“WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BOX WITH THE STEEL WALLS AND GLASS FLOOR?”
I am still here. I am mad. They are laughing. The eyes are laughing. They are laughing at me. And the box. The box with the steel and glass. I can’t see it. Just the eyes. The eyes all around me. Laughing at me. Staring at me. Watching me. I’m on my knees. The table is gone beneath me. I’m all alone. I’m back in that nothingness, back where I was when I stepped off that elevator. And the eyes. They are all around me. Laughing.
Laughing.
Laughing.
I used to think it was beautiful.
End
Artwork by Xan Tardis Traveler