Remanere

I was laying flat on my back, asking myself again and again what had happened. Memory recall was proving difficult, only producing confusing, scattered images and nonsensical strings of words.  My mind was not giving me any answers soon.

I pulled myself up to a sitting position, giving the area around me a once-over.

I was sitting in an open field, only it wasn’t the familiar green that grass was supposed to be. Instead, it was a pale blue. The sky had a golden hue to it; sundown was approaching. In the distance, beyond some hills, were a group of cylindrical towers. It was easily the most interesting landmark around. I got up and started walking. It felt good to have a goal.

The walk itself was rather pleasant. Unfortunately, my mood was sullied by the fact that I had the most basic, important questions bouncing around my mind all at once. Who was I? I had no name I could remember. Heck, I hardly knew what I even looked like. What was I doing here? And why?

I found myself on a cobbled road. The stone was wet and jet-black, suggesting that it had rained recently. Yet another oddity, I thought, as my clothes were dry as a bone. The towers, sizable as they were, only continued to grow larger as each step took me closer to my destination.

After some time, I eventually stood at the feet of the structures, some of which had crumbled and fallen. All of them were constructed from the same material as the road that had brought me here. On the sides of the center-most tower, there were several empty spaces where windows had been once inset, now shattered and forgotten.

The central tower was unique from the rest, sporting a spiral staircase winding up to the peak. My next goal was to see if I could make my way to the top. From there, I would have a vantage point. Perhaps I could find a town in the distance, or maybe some shelter? It was a relieving thought.

I tested my weight on the first several steps of the staircase, finding that, thankfully, they were as solid as they looked. As I ascended, I looked to the horizon. The breeze wafted through the curling branches of a far-off grove of trees, making waves in the blue fields of grass past them. Behind me, the ocean gently rose and fell, tinted sea-foam green underneath a pale white sunset.

I lurched as one of the steps dipped under my weight. Somewhere along the line, the stone steps had shifted into a series of platforms, suspended in the air and spiraling up the tower’s exterior. By the time I reached the top, the sun had set almost entirely, bathing the ground below in shadow. I no longer saw the benefit of my choice, and a brief flash of panic surged through me. Had I made a mistake? Should I have ignored the towers and tried to find shelter elsewhere? I may not have been cold, but hunger would likely make itself known in time.

I surmounted the final step. In the center of the tower’s flat roof was an ornate, if heavily weathered archway. I stepped up to it, noting the two rusted hinges in its inner edges. This may have held a door at some point, but time had not been kind to it.

“Time.”

I gave a small start as a voice spoke. I looked behind me and saw nothing.

“Time is the key word.”

I looked back through the archway, jumping back as I noticed that the view of the sky through it was utterly black, as opposed to the warm orange-fading-to-violet of the world around me.

“Time cannot be stopped. Time moves, and it waits for neither man nor god.”

Was this voice telling me to hurry up? Fine. I stepped through.

It was not cold on the other side of the arch, nor was it warm. There was no gentle breeze nor howling wind. The air was still, almost stifling. I felt like I was intruding, not wanted. I felt a lingering sense of unease.

“You have run out of time.”

I looked down. The ground was a flat, white expanse, which glowed softly with a flickering, fluorescent light. I tapped it with my foot, making a low, hollow tonk like thick glass. The voice spoke again, and as it did, I caught glimpses of something underneath the whiteness. Within the patterns, I saw flickers of intricate designs -- faces of people I was sure I knew, snapshots of places I was positive I’d been. It was maddening. Then the images became decidedly unfamiliar.

“Lost time.”

-- a brass metropolis, falling into ruin among burning wreckage --

“A broken heart.”

-- a dark cloud of malevolent intent hovering over a gleaming crystal city --

“A shattered dream.”

-- a bright and colorful landscape being subsumed by pure shadow, and within, a pair of predatory eyes --

“Some things, once broken, cannot be repaired.”

The white glow below me drained away like a big radioactive swimming pool. The floor beneath the floor depicted... me.

The me in the stained glass was standing, head bowed. In the background was a city of gunmetal grey. Streamlined shapes dotted the skies. He was holding a socket wrench and toolbox. Was this me? Was that my home?

“A previous life. A lost fate. Both broken.”

A crack splintered from the center of the glass, rendering the image incoherent.

“Both beyond repair.”

A tremor shook me and I fell to my knees. I landed awkwardly and pitched onto my side. My right arm flew out to try and catch the rest of me, but punched straight through the floor with a scraping, shattering noise. A brief flash of sensation ran up to my shoulder and down to my fingers, like being skinned and crushed and burnt alive at the same time. Mercifully, the floor gave way entirely and opened into sheer, bottomless darkness. I fell. For a time, all was still and I knew nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing.

If that was what it was like being dead, then being dead sucked.

I felt grass under me. I was prone, my vision all green and leafy. Actual green grass, not weird baby blue dream grass. I realized then that I had been asleep or comatose or worse before this point. I was fully awake now and burning the adrenaline I’d gotten from falling through a stained glass floor. I put my arms under myself and stood.

I found myself on a hill overlooking a quiet little town. Lamps and lantern posts were strewn about the town almost haphazardly, banishing the night from the streets. The houses were constructed from brick and wood, with thatched roofs. Nothing at all like my supposed “home.”

So what was this? Another vision? Part of the same off-color world I was just in? Had my brain simply conjured everything up? I put a hand to my head, hoping to stave off the migraine that threatened to erupt behind my eyeballs.

I recoiled. My hand was not supposed to feel like that. I took a good look at the offending limb, mortified and fascinated at the same time. Whatever that circle of color I had crashed through in the vision had changed it somehow. It was still the shape it was supposed to be. But where skin covered my left arm, this one was coated in glass and lined with mortar. I examined it from every possible angle, noting the shifts of its purples and blues as the cool moonlight glinted off its many facets. I experimentally flexed my fingers and turned my wrist, pleasantly surprised to find my sense of touch intact.

“But time continues to move forward.”

The voice sounded in my head again. Taking its words to heart, I stepped down the hill. No point in sitting around waiting for answers to fall in my lap.

“For those unknowing of their fates, it moves.”

Those unknowing. Was that me? Was I supposed to discover my destiny or something like that? It seemed appropriate enough.

“For those without direction, it moves.”

...Or maybe I wasn’t supposed to do anything. I found I could live with that, oddly. I was almost to the edge of town, now. I had merged with a cobbled road leading to a small bridge over a creek. No one walked the streets as I wandered. Understandable at this hour.

I felt lethargy flood into my joints. Whatever sleep I had gotten earlier wasn’t exactly ‘rest.’ Maybe I could find an inn or hotel willing to let me in for the night. Resolve flooded into my mind. I needed to find an inn. None of the buildings had lights on, save one. I saw a dim corona of light coming from the next block over and figured wherever it was was my best bet. I rounded the corner and walked straight to the source of the almost irresponsibly bright light. I squinted my eyes as I made for the door.

“But whether you move with fate or not...”

I knocked.

“You will be sure to rend it in two.”

“Rend.” That was a neat word. It had some bite to it.

“Coming!” called a voice from inside. The door opened and blinded me with the light of a home that hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

“Whoa. Dude, are you okay?”

I couldn’t tell who was asking. I wasn’t able to speak immediately either, shaking my head mutely.

“Spike?” asked another voice, female, nearby. “Who’s at the d- oh my gosh!”

I struggled to stay standing. My thoughts had become incoherent. I nearly pitched forward, but something warm and soft caught me and kept me from hitting the ground.

“Mister?” asked the woman. “What happened to you? What’s...?”

“Do you know the way?” I asked, through a mouth that felt like it was filled with wood shavings. “I’m weary and lost.”

I think I read that line in a book somewhere.

I was immediately upended onto my back and shunted inside by some force. I was too tired to care, and whatever was holding me up was just so warm...

“Extreme fatigue. Clear the couch off, Spike!”

“Well, uh--” Shuffling. The boy’s voice grew farther away. “--What is he, first of all?”

“Human. I’ve studied them. Seems to be male, in his late twenties.”

So that’s what I was. It was a comforting thing to know.

“Any reason his arm looks like it’s made out of rock candy?”

“Magic accident, probably. No, no, move the globe over-- yes, thank you.”

I was swung around again and laid on a soft surface. A blanket made of some kind of fur was laid over me and tucked under my arms.

“So why are we putting a weird monster-thing on our couch?” the younger voice asked.

“Because he’s injured or mutated or some form of hurt, and he wouldn’t last another minute outdoors without passing out.”

Passing out? That sounded lovely. I would get right on that.

“Hey, buddy,” the kid said, far too close to my ears. “You got a name?”

Name. Name. Name. Name? Didn’t have a name.

“Rend,” I said automatically.

I liked that word. Had some bite to it.

My head was turned to the side, and the last thing I recalled seeing was two worried-looking purple blobs staring back, the light distorting the fine details.