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PREVIOUS SCENE (First Present Day scenes for Chapter Two)
Present day scenes for Chapter 2. The title of this chapter is "An Age of Reason."
Things do not go well for Chris. That's putting it lightly.
I went pretty hard on this one, and it's difficult to say if I'm happy about it. But it is what it is. I'm not changing it. Hell I've probably read and re-read this chapter so many times, I could just vomit. But I do think that this is a pivotal moment of sorts. This is more of a matter of not knowing what the bottom of the barrel looks like until you hit it. Only then can one find the will to change their situation in life.
Reader discretion is advised.
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“Thank you. You can go.”
The teacher nodded his head, then lowered his eye>he book he was reading. Chris laid his exam sheet and question booklet down on the teacher's desk and glanced behind him. There was still a large group of students sitting in their desks.
Chris walked through the halls and out the school In the parking lot were punks, spray-painting cars and making loud noises. It was the usual.
There didn't seem to be any sign of that strange girl from yesterday. There was no sign of Allen's car either. He would usually park up towards the back of the parking lot. His car was nowhere to be seen. Chris wanted to walk home, but that wasn't such a great idea.
Christopher retreated off to the back of the school where the track and football high school stadiums stood in their deteriorated states. The main entrance into the high school stadium was usually barred by tall metal gates and thick chain locks, but Chris noticed several weeks ago that the chains were no longer there. He slid through the rusted gates and entered into this seemingly vacant area. He went towards the entryway leading into the stadium and nearly tripped over a rusty can.
Chris stopped. He heard footsteps. He looked back and saw no one.
It sounded like there was somebody right behind him.
Chris took note of this as he walked out into the center field. The grass on the football field was overgrown with weeds. It had been months, if not years since anyone mowed the grass. The track surrounding the field was cracked and eroded. There wasn’t a track team at this school. There wasn't a high school football team either. Chris wasn’t sure if football was a national pastime anymore.
He walked around aimlessly at the foot of the bleachers as he took in the scenery all around him. As he stared up into the cloudy sky, the winds started to pick up.
This day was dark and nasty. This was how it always was.
"Yo! Kid!"
Chris wheeled around. He saw a small group of kids sitting on the bleachers. They sprung up and quickly make their way down to Chris.
A tall, muscle-pumped kid stepped in front of him and peered at Chris from under his hood cap with a wicked smirk.
His friends were members of a local punk gang. Chris was certain of it.
“Yo, man! How it is!”
Chris was stunned. They all moved in on him so quickly.
“What that? You don't speak English, padre? I asked you how it is!”
*
Chris had no intention of fighting back. It wasn't even an option in his mind, not even as things escalated. It felt like this wasn't even real, like he was watching a movie.
Chris was on the grass. The tall kid had him by the legs. They started to drag him towards an office underneath the bleachers, near the gates.
One of the punks kicked the office door off it's hinges. Another flung his beer bottle at the opposite end of the wall as soon as he entered.
"Put that shit on the floor! Get that metal chair! We gonna see what happens when we split his head open!"
"Ha, ha! Bout to bust some heads up again!"
"Shut up! Get the fuckin' chair!"
Chris could see the scene from out of the corner of his eye.
It had escalated so quickly.
He saw the chair. It was raised up in the air. Over his head.
This was it.
There was no getting out of this.
Wack!
The attacker stumbled backwards. The chair dropped to the floor behind him.
"The fuck! Ya'll toss a two by four at my head?"
Chris saw that the object thrown was indeed a large plank of wood. There was an old, rusted saw and a stack of planks sitting in the left corner of the room.
No one was over there. There was construction equipment and a desk.. Sports lockers were open. Deflated footballs and basketballs were left in a corner. Nothing else.
The gang was frozen stiff except for their leader. He was still reeling from the hit he received. He turned to his fellow members.
"What y'all standin’ around for? Go over there, get the bitch."
"Hell you talkin' about? Ain't no one over there!"
"Ain't no fuckin’ ghost either, shithead! Get your ass over there!"
Creak...creak...creak...
The sound of footsteps started from that dark corner of the room.
They were headed straight towards them.
"Fuck this!" exclaimed one of the gang members. He bolted out of the room, leaving the four others behind.
"Oh! Okay. Fine. I get it! Place is haunted and shit! We'll just be takin' our little faggot with us, so you can just do all y'all's stupid ghost shit!"
As soon the tall kid said that – a beer bottle shot out of one of his friend's hands. It was sent violently shattering over his head. His face was drenched with foam, shards of glass and his own blood.
His friends were frantic. "Shit! What the fuck! Just go! Fuckin’ go!"
The rest of them ran out through the busted entrance. Their leader disappeared out of view last as he stopped briefly to wipe the blood running down his face. His whole body was shaking.
Silence sat in. Chris sat up. Wiped the blood off his lower lip.
He was alone. This room was dead quiet.
Chris glanced down at the shattered glass and the large plank of wood resting at his feet. He tried to come to terms with what he was looking at. He came up with nothing.
Meanwhile, an icy chill wrapped around him like a cloak.
*
An hour had passed. The car didn't show.
Feeling agitated with the thought of the gang members showing up again, Chris decided to walk home. It wasn't that far. He stepped off the pavement and onto the empty parking lot. Chris looked around him. No one else was on the street.
The strange feeling of someone following him was as prevalent as ever. Christopher knew the person wasn't Michelle. He couldn't explain to himself how he knew that. It was a feeling more than anything.
He thought of the strange dream he had the other day. He thought of the girl in the blue dress. It was possible she was the one following Chris. It was a ridiculous thought, but that was all he could come up with.
His reaction to all this was very nonchalant. There was a part of him that couldn't take it in.
Some people would take out their anger and grief out on others. There were those who would find someone else to blame for their own misfortunes. There were those who would hold onto whatever worth they thought they had. It was a waste of time, more than anything.
Michelle was a nice person though, thought Chris. The issue was she tried to make herself into something she wasn't. That desperate, feigned attempt to pass some unmovable virtue onto him was all in vain. There was no point.
The Loft’s Shield Hospital came into view. Next to it was the newly built grocery store, which stood out from this 'rustic' scenery, like Michelle's flashy red car. The grocery store chain was called Salmart. Like all other grocery store chains, Salmart housed the government education camps. People were shipped in by trains from all over the world. They were housed at these camps, which looked like colossal human cages, housing hundreds of thousands of people. Chris didn’t know much about what went on in these places. All he knew was that everything inside was kept neat and spotless, unlike the world outside, which was in perpetual ruin. Sometimes, there would be sounds of shouting and screaming coming from these places.
It was best not to ask questions. Chris didn’t want to think about it.
Nearby was a giant warehouse. Chris assumed it was a manufacturing facility at one point. Many of the homeless paraded around the perimeter of the structure. On the next curb up ahead, more people wandered about aimlessly in a car heap that occupied the perimeters.
Outside a set of rusted gates further on down the road stood a collection of more cars. All of their interiors were ripped out. Every side-window and windshield was smashed. Chris would usually imagine what the Hummer used to look like when they first made them. He has seen pictures of these things on those old smart phones their father found hoarded up in the attic when they first moved here. On one of them, there was nothing but pictures of sleek and stylish cars of various models hidden within the phone's rusty data chips. These were representations of how such ingenuity could do anything but hinder the times in which they were made. Chris could imagine them drifting down thin suburban streets as if they flew on feathers. It only made the red car he saw yesterday morning more of a figment of dreams.
Chris continued walking on by in a slow pace. He took in the scene before him.
The clouds parted. The afternoon sunlight was shining upon the decaying world around him like a spotlight. The people wandering in the streets and around the empty buildings moved as if they were the walking dead. The dull motion of the world dampened Chris' thoughts, bringing about a stifled sense of understanding the depths of vacuity.
Chris reached the other end of the block. He turned his head to the left and saw saw a small girl nearby. She wore a torn red scarf around her neck. She was no more than six or seven. She stood still as a statue next to an enormous German shepherd that sat close next to her. The dog stared intently at Chris, warning with a slight growl not to come closer. Chris was rendered frozen by the sight of the muddy, ravaged expression of the young girl. The face was destitute.
Chris forced his feet onto the street, trailing away from the young girl and her dog.
He finally came upon his own block. He took note of all the government propaganda posters pasted on the side of a mailbox. He took note of the rusted van across the street. The neighbors over there were being moved out of Georgia and off westward. Word was that jobs existed out that way. Currently, government officials were helping them pack up all their valuables into that government-owned van. A seven-year old walked out of the house with his collection of faded and ripped stuffed animals. The kid marched up to the van, wearing a determined look on his face, as if this annual, mundane task was of paramount importance.
As Chris stepped up to the front door of his house, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the car resting in the driveway. It must had broken down again. Allen needed to get reimbursed on his extended rent period or order a new car. Either way, it was going to be a hassle.
Chris was home now. During the day, both his father and brother would be absent from the house. They both had jobs. Chris was the only one in the house most of the time. Today was a good time for it.
Chris slowly made his way upstairs to his bedroom, where he tossed aside his book bag. He exited back into the hallway and stepped into the bathroom. As much as he wanted to take a shower, he knew he couldn't do that. There was a strict household rule to only take one quick shower a day. The water bill was insane enough as it was.
With not knowing what to do with himself, he paused and silently stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
He took note of the bruise above his nose. No doubt, it came from the conflict he had between him and the gang that ambushed him. It didn't look that bad. Chris didn't feel any pain, oddly enough.
In a split moment, it was hard to tell who it was that he was looking at.
Was he wrong?
Was Michelle trying to snap him out of it? It was so confusing.
There was the law of the land, which enforced the rule of 'one out of many.' There was no opposition to the norm. It was shunned – violently so. Thankfully, there was safety in being stagnant, in being unending. Unrelenting.
Christopher opened up the medicine cabinet. Inside were some basic hygiene necessities, such as toothpaste, brush, deodorant and floss.
There was a small orange bottle in the far back. Chris reached for it and found it was the pain medication his brother had to take a while back.
Christopher studied the bottle. A feeling swept over him. It could only be called nirvana. The airy feeling swelled in his mind, like an expanding balloon.
He read once in an old book that Hinduism and Buddhism described the word nirvana as the ‘beatitude that transcended the cycle of reincarnation, characterized by the elimination of desire, suffering, and individual consciousness and thought.’ Those were the exact words.
There was an issue with that. At one point, a group of people sought out to end such things in this world instead of allowing people to find their nirvana on their own, to make such traits of human vices extinct. Somehow, it didn't kill anything. Instead it magnified the flaws of human nature ten-fold. To them, their ‘ultimate Shanghai-la’ had to be enforced. Something that was of no important value.
Despite having the hearts and minds of the people, it didn't change things. People didn't want to live what they preached, but they preached anyway. Nobody had enough tax money to pay for their Shanghai-la, but there was always someone else to blame for that. The blame resided for those who had all the money. These were the people who forced themselves off the lands and created what were known as the sea colonies. They took their value with them long ago.
Perhaps this life was the utopia world leaders were making. If vices such as greed and ‘unlawful power’ were the problem, then society had a right to outlaw them. Of course.
To all these kings of ruling, yet self-naught perfection, human nature was malleable, therefore it was law.
This truly did transcend the cycle of reincarnation – because there was no reincarnation. No room for it.
It was a perfect, enlightened paradise. Whatever their revolution brought forth all those years ago was a revolution to end all revolutions – this permanent stagnation of humanity.
Chris was adamant now. That's what it was.
The ringing sound in his ears seemed to respond to his thoughts. He focused on the mesmerizing orange color of the bottle he began to open. His eyes glazed over the pills inside as he rotated the container slowly upon his hand, as if Christopher was staring into a kaleidoscope.
*
There was a strange howling sound. It was freezing cold.
He could only see a faint blue light off to his left. Everything else around him was as dark as darkness could get.
There was the sound of footsteps. Chris' eyes shot open. He looked off in the direction of the sound. There was only darkness.
Chris' mind was scrambled. His senses were a mess.
He found the strength to stand up. He backed up towards the light emanating from a set of stain-glass windows. His feet slid off carpet and onto a flat marble surface.
Chris thought he saw a set of doors over to the left side of the windows. He walked over to the doors and grabbed the handles. The doors flew open. He was greeted by an icy cold wind.
Christopher was in the dream world once again. The street and it's buildings were here, but this time, there was no gate at this end of the street. There was instead a wall that tilted sharply upwards to such a degree, it looked like it was about to topple over. It took a while for Chris to realize this wall was a duplicate street. It's sturdy structures and brick layered road were partially cloned from the one he stood on and then spliced together in a haphazard fashion.
There were many loose bricks floating about weightlessly in the air. The other end of the street was all gone and broken up, with buildings now floating away in midair. In place was a crudely shaped walkway of loose bricks, stretching and splitting outwards into a colossal mess of floating debris, spliced buildings, and partially constructed streets and passageways. All of this was under a dark, threatening sky. All of this was over an empty nothingness. Other than the winds, everything was silent, besides a dull roar the permeated Chris' ears.
He descended down the steps and walked onto the street.
"Stop! Stay right there!"
The girl in the blue dress appeared out from a narrow alley. She paused on the opposite side of the road.
Chris said nothing. He only stared back at her.
There was a long pause between them. The girl then put her hands up and started forward.
"I understand now! Okay? I mean you no harm! Let us talk! Please!"
"You forced me here?" Chris mumbled.
She stopped again. It was hard to tell if she heard him. She was too far away, but she did seem taken aback.
"Even if clue was given by word or deed of mine, how could I force you here? I was the one who was trying to save you from falling into this realm! Granted – I did not understand what it was you took, but the moment you fell, I was subjected to the realization of what would happen next. Despite my efforts, we both ended up here regardless."
Christopher said nothing. He was as still as a statue.
"I assume a man who has lost the will to live would cast all fears aside," the girl sighed heavily. "I would say I am most astute on that assumption, but it is not for me to know that man's nature."
The girl continued to move forward. She spoke slowly and methodically.
“You have come upon my purgatory. Rest assured, this ancient realm is no dreamworld. I have long sense forgotten the old has-mian word for this place. I have been here for far too long! My mind is not what it used to be. I do not recall how I arrived here. I can scarcely imagine the circumstances that have brought you before me! I know not of the world you come from. True, my waking eyes have witnessed a glimpse of it, but whatever pain which lies in that horrid world you come from is nothing compared to horrors that lie dormant below our feet!"
Chris didn't know what to do with himself. All he knew was that he didn't care for any of this. He turned away and began walking towards the open end of the street.
"Wait! Where are you going?”
He paused briefly and looked up at the clouds above him.
"Don't know," he sighed. "You're astute. Figure it out."
Out beyond the street, there was a large floating segment of debris. Without a thought given to the matter, Christopher jumped onto the debris. Behind him, he could hear the girl shouting and pleading with him to come back. It sounded like senseless droning to him.
This suspended pathway before him was slowly writhing in motion like an octopus tentacle. It swerved and twisted sharply down one side or another, expanding and contracting, with every large rock or loose brick acting in a coordinated, multilateral unison. Chris could hardly find his footing. He felt it necessary to crawl along at times, so he could hold onto what was keeping him buoyant in this invisible ocean.
Below him was that same empty darkness. For some reason, Christopher wasn't afraid of it. Normally, he would had been.
"I was the one!” the girl shouted behind him. "I was the one who rescued you from those street thugs!"
Christopher managed to stand. He looked back at her with a blank expression on his face.
"I was made to wait for you!" the girl proclaimed with soulful eyes. "It is self-evident at this point! I have been given the spirit of kindness, and I see the visible expression of kindness flowing through you, even though you are blind to it. You are not what your world has made you to be."
Chris was so bewildered by her weird, antiquated way of talking, he wasn't even sure of what she was saying.
His eyes briefly caught sight of a metal pendant around her neck, bearing a cross.
"What's down there? Below all this?" asked Chris.
"Nothing you need to see – not in your state," the girl answered. The expression on her face was stern and intense.
"How do you know? You came back from it?"
"Yes."
"How? Was it God? He brought you back?"
"God only helps those who help themselves. A strong mind is what is needed to face those depths. A strong mind is what keeps me afloat, most unlike yourself at this moment."
Chris didn't notice it until she pointed it out. This small segment of street that Chris stood on was slowly lowering itself.
"Please. I beg you, do not sink us into that oblivion," the girl persisted. She reached out her hand. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were fierce.
Chris didn't know what to do. He was overridden with emotion.
"I... I just can't! I can't go on like this!"
"Listen to me! You arrived here for a reason!" the girl shouted angrily. "That reason is not to be engaged to some living, eternal death! There is one who has reminded you of your dignity! The young girl with the fiery hair! She is the one who seeks you! I know not the reason, but I know in my heart and soul that what I say is the truth!"
"You can't be real! This can't be real!" cried Christopher. He was pulling his hair! Shaking his head!
"Nay! Take me as the other you are left without! Look at me! I am here! Whether you judge me as real or not, I am here! I do not jest! I will force myself in that position! In the name of the father, the son, the holy spirit! In the name of whatever it is that used to hold you down or give you reason to exist – I will do that for you! Now, take my hand!"
Chris was taken aback by her infuriated response. He still didn't know what to think, but his instincts told him to do as she said.
He reached up with a shaky hand. He could barely reach her.
Suddenly – the ground gave way. Chris didn't know what happened. The rock beneath his feet simply upended itself. Before he knew it, he was hanging onto the rock for dear life.
He lost his hold as quickly as he had it.
Chris' heart leaped up in his throat. The sound of rushing wind was matched by the horrified shouts from the girl.
The world moved upwards at an incredible rate. The last thing Chris saw was a figure jumping off those flying islands above him. Minutes later, the light of the sky faded and all was dark around him.
*
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NEXT SCENE (Coming soon)
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