[ETHERBOUND] Chapter 1: The Crystal Forest

What an incredible nightmare! A feverish feeling of fear coursed through my veins. But as soon as I was awake, any vestige of the nightmare vanished without a trace, and I felt calm almost instantly. I knew there had been a nightmare, but it was gone, and failing in my endeavor to recall it, I was soothed.

I opened my eyes, but to no avail, for the room was so dark that all I saw was the nothingness of a void whether my eyes were open or closed. To make sure, I blinked several times, and though I felt my eyelids opening and closing, I experienced no change in my vision. I could not help thinking that there should be some moonlight or external light that should at least allow me to see something other than pure darkness. But there was none.

Once I realized what it was that I was facing, I felt the feverish feeling of fear again. Being so wholly gripped by such a darkness invariably results in fear. This fear is such a grippingly strong fear that it is certain to paralyze anyone, from the weak-willed to the most adamantly brave minds. This paralysis then is accompanied by a warm sensation of numbness that washes over your body, quelling some of the feeling of imminent danger and providing for logical thought again. The first thought that came to my mind was that, somehow, I had gone blind in my sleep. My vision has always been very poor, and it was not inconceivable that somehow I had finally managed to push it beyond the point of no repair. Nonetheless, part of my mind was resolutely holding on to the hope that I was not in fact blind, and that this darkness was explainable by the sheer darkness of the night. I do not know how long I lay there in the darkness, frozen in place, waiting for time to save me, counting the seconds as they turned to minutes and maybe even hours. And with each passing moment, my resolve crumbled a little bit more, threatening to disintegrate completely into despair.

Just when I thought for sure I had gone blind somehow, shimmering lights pierced through the window, dispelling my mind of any such thoughts. The colors were predominantly vivid violets and bright blues, ranging from the deepest purple to the shiniest turquoise. A brief moment was all I needed to adjust my eyes to the light, despite the fact that I was trapped in absolute darkness just a moment prior. I sat up, finding myself not clothed in pajamas, but in a stately purple robe adorned with gold lines. I stood up and walked over to the window. Outside was not the backyard garden with its climbing ivy vines and tall trees with dull red leaves; instead was a glimmering silver path that wound through a forest. But these were no normal trees--every leaf sparkled. What a curious sight! The shock of seeing something entirely different gave way to a desperate desire, fueled by curiosity, burning inside me. I hurriedly searched my room for my door, but was not able to find one. Where my door had been previously, I now saw a blank wall.

Thus, it seemed that the only exit was through the window. Opening the window was of no problem. The window was covered by a thin screen purposed to block out insects and bugs when the window was opened. I had no desire to cut open the screen--after all, replacing it would be costly! I touched the screen, thinking of a way to get outside without disturbing it, when I felt the strong force of a sudden gale of wind smash into me. As it did, I looked up in horror to see the screen had ruptured. Well, so much for that. At least I didn’t destroy it. Hopefully insurance would resolve that particular problem.

With such a bright landscape ahead of me, it was absolutely imperative that I explore. I felt no drowsiness, but rather a strikingly powerful excitement. Heart racing, I crawled out the window into the luminous forest. What I saw was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, or am likely to see. The trees were of varying heights, from small saplings barely taller than I was to towering giants far up into the skies. The aggressively bright tints in the undergrowth transitioned into medium colors smoothly. And higher up, all one would see were increasingly darker and darker shades of purple and blue the higher up in the canopy one gazed. The sky was not discernible from the tops of the trees. Whether it was complete blackness because it was nighttime or because the trees blocked out all external light, the roof of the forest was nonetheless very dark.

Strolling through the forest, I found that the trees were very much alive--the atmosphere of life permeated the woods as far as the eye could see. The leaves were crunchier than the dried leaves of fall, and seemed to all carry a sweet scent. It was as if every leaf was indeed crystal candy, and, were it not for a fear of potential poison, I would have verified this fact. 

I roamed the forest around my room, and was struck by something I can only understand as a physical anomaly. The rest of my home was nowhere to be found. My bedroom was constructed in a clearing in the forest. The room was alone in the forest, with no signs of a backyard, a front yard, the rest of the house, the street, any neighbors, or even any adjoining rooms to my bedroom. I circled around my bedroom a full three times before accepting this fact. 

It wasn’t until I realized the rest of my home had vanished that I started to worry about what I was supposed to do. A torrent of cold sweat washed over me. The forest, the vanishing of the house, and the strangeness of everything here finally set in, and I felt the overwhelming weight of chaos explode within me. I could make no sense as to what happened, how it happened, and why it happened.

How was I supposed to get back to the real world? This world that I was in was most definitely not real. In a strange way I can’t describe, it lacked any and all feeling of reality. It is a strange topic, and I know for sure I am not doing it justice here. But I must make an attempt, however feeble. It was simply as if reality felt very real compared to where I was now.

Completely dumbstruck by the absurdity of the events that were unfolding before my eyes, I paced back and forth, trying to make sense of the strangeness, to get even just a bare glimmer of an idea about what was happening, but my thoughts were a chaotic mess. The more I thought about it, the more confusing it was. People don’t simply go to bed one night and wake up in strange worlds the next morning. What happened to the real world? Nothing made any sense, nothing seemed like it was going to make any sense, everything was confusing and everything was falling apart! How did I get here? How do I go back? This world seemed interesting… should I continue exploring, or stay where I am? What if I get lost here? My panicked thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

“Oh! Hello there!” The voice was deep and distinctly kind. It had a certain smooth tone that conveyed the utmost certainty, but it was neither arrogant nor bold. I wheeled around to see a man of medium height and slender build. He smiled pleasantly, brightening his already smooth profile. Though he did not look old, he had a full head of brightly gray hair that was not unlike the color of liquid mercury.

“Who…? Who are you?” Seeing another person in the strange setting shocked me.

He chuckled a moment before responding. “I am the Herald, sender and receiver of messages, manager of the Grand Caduceus, and the fastest runner you’ll find anywhere here. What brings you, traveller, to the Etherworld?”

The Herald? The Grand Caduceus? The Etherworld? Was he just making things up? Did I have the misfortune to meet a wacko as the first person in this strange place?

“I… I want to know how I got here, what this place is, and how I can leave.”

“You ask some good questions, some very good ones! Unfortunately, you also ask some very vexing questions, very vexing indeed! And so, I am afraid I cannot help you, but perhaps I can help you find the answers you wish to find!” 

“Oh,” I mumbled, “how would you go about doing that?”

My disappointment at not having an immediate answer was lost on him. With remarkable rapidity, he produced a tattered cloth upon which were inscribed strange characters and illustrations. “Here, have a gander at this map!”

I glanced at the cloth. It vaguely resembled a map, though there appeared to be no language I recognized; instead, a collection of strange symbols accompanied each geometric shape which I could at least understand to be markings of important places. 

“We are here,” the Herald continued, pointing to a blank patch in a darkly shaded area which I assumed was the forest and the clearing that surrounded my bedroom. He slid his finger across the surface of the map, following a faded line. “That right there is one of the Binds. Take that, and it will lead you to places where others will be able to help.”

Again, I was baffled. The Binds? What would those be?

“What exactly is a Bind?”

The Herald seemed confused by my question. “What do you mean? A Bind is just what it is. It is one of the many that hold our world together.”

I was curious, and so I pressed further. “Well, what do you mean by that? How do they hold the world together? Why do I need to go find it?”

The Herald became even more confused. “Is it not obvious? The Binds hold the world together, therefore you must go to the Binds if you want to travel to different places,” with some annoyance in his tone, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world and it was inexplicable how anyone could fail to understand it.

I did not want to anger him, and so I stopped asking, but my curiosity was still unsated. I resolved to simply go to the “Bind,” whatever it was, and discover just what this “Bind” was for myself.

“How long will it take to get there?”

The Herald paused for a moment to think, then answered, “It’s not incredibly far away. It should only be a few hours’ travel.”

“A few hours!” I was flabbergasted. It was a school night, and I worried over how I was to get back home, let alone get some rest before school the next day. I thought for sure that a few hours must already have passed since I first got here, not including the time I lay frozen in the darkness. And then another thought struck me--my family would notice I was missing in the morning when it was time to go to school. Everything was unfamiliar and frightening. It took all I could muster to control the panic. Panic is very interesting indeed-you will find that it takes up so much space it should squeeze out any rational thought that seeps into your mind.

“I understand you must be very distressed right now,” said the Herald, in a much softer tone. “In my forty years at this post I’ve met scores upon scores of poor souls caught up in the chaos of the world. I find a cup of soothing tea always helps. Would you like to join me for one? We can sit and have a little chat, and then probably resolve whatever matters trouble you.”

Had it been a world I was familiar with, under a circumstance where I was clear of mind, I think I should have turned him down. On the map he showed me, his house was in the exact opposite direction of the Bind. But, this seemed to be the only person who knew things about this world and the only person to help me should I get lost. Deciding I would stop by his home first before embarking on a further journey, I simply mumbled a brief acceptance and followed him as he led the way.

We walked along a glittering path that wound through the forest, stepping on the crunchy crystalline leaves below. Seeing the leaves again brought a rather childish question to my lips.

“Hey, Mr. Herald! Are these leaves edible?”

He laughed a kindly laugh and replied, “Of course they’re edible! Have you never heard of the famous crystal trees? These trees are used in all sorts of cuisine! They are often used as a substitute for sugar, and in many cities, there are processing plants that create many different products from them. Every part of every tree you see here is edible, and an experienced cook will have a thousand recipes for every species you see here!” Then, to prove his point and to my amazement, he plucked a bright red leaf and prompted took a bite out of it. To my utter shock, the sound produced by the chewing of the leaf was thunderously crunchy and strangely reminiscent of firecrackers. He then added, “Oh, and if you want, you can just call me Herald! Everyone, myself included, will know who you are talking about.”

Hearing this good news confirm my original belief, I helped myself to a rather appetizing-looking deep purple leaf with thin blue shards protruding from it. Drawing it close, I saw the intricate pattern of crystals that was unlike any leaf I’d seen before. It definitely smelled sweet, but there was also a hint of tart sourness, like a sweet citrus. These same flavors persisted upon chewing on the leaf. The leaf’s texture was very strange, however. It seemed to start off very similar to any hard sour candy, but quickly began to crackle and pop like the carbonated rock candies that had stirred up such a controversy a while ago. Finally, after a good amount of time had passed, the popping subsided and in turn the leaf became sticky and chewy while its flavor sweetened. In this phase, it seemed very much like bubble gum, except, unlike gum, it dissolved over time. It was a very strange experience, but also very pleasant. I made a mental note to take some leaves and seeds with me whenever I left, in the hopes of studying its scientific properties and duplicating them, or perhaps cultivating my own farm of these crystal trees once I returned to the real world, wherever that was. It could be the roots of a wonderful business venture, one that I was sure could easily put the largest companies of the day out of business. I daydreamed about becoming a candy tycoon, sitting in a corner office, gazing at my face on the cover of Fortune magazine, looking outside at my many skyscrapers housing the many chemists developing new candies with the mystical crystal leaves, perhaps thinking of the factories constantly churning out new product… what a wonderful thought!

My daydreaming was interrupted by a sudden change of setting. We reached another clearing in the forest where the path we had been taking split into two. One turned to our left, the other to our right. In between the fork in the road was a heavily worn sign. Inscribed on the sign were two arrows pointing in the directions of the splits. Following each arrow were bold headings conveying the cardinal direction of each split (the left split went east and the right split went west). Under that was a brief list of what I can only guess to be place names. According to the sign, the easterly path led to the Dunes of Desolation and the Grand Caduceus, and the westerly path led to the Paradise Gardens and the Dreamcatcher. Time and again the place would be this strange, and I felt myself slowly becoming accustomed to it. Furthermore, seeing the sign somehow affirmed the Herald’s previous assertion that he was indeed the manager of such a “Grand Caduceus.”

The Herald turned left at the split and I followed. As we walked, I realized the ground was growing increasingly bright. I looked upwards to see a faint pink hue in the sky, the color of strawberry ice cream. The clearing where my bedroom was must have been a very thick growth of trees that blocked out the sky, and now that we had left the thickest parts of the forest, there were clearings where light radiated through. Seeing the sky again was comforting, even though it was very strange like everything else here. You may think that it is simply because I feared the darkness, but I will remind you that even in the darkest parts of the forest there were glittering shimmers of light emitting from each crystal leaf.

Of course, the tint of pink that illuminated the heavens above was like nothing I had ever seen before. But just knowing that there was a sky encircling the world and not an endless void above gave me solace. It felt like the sky was a snuggly blanket wrapping the world in its cozy warmth. I was completely taken in. But then I thought of my own comfortable quilt in the “real world,” and anxiety took over. I realized that I still had to return with all possible speed, and I began walking faster.

Presumably, we were going to go to this Grand Caduceus, and then I would be able to witness for myself just how grand this caduceus possibly could be. Previously, I had seen imagery of the caduceus before. It was a rod with a small sphere affixed to one end and wings protruding off the sides, with two intertwined snakes weaved along the rod. I could not envision such an object being described as grand. Perhaps it could be powerful, or holy, or mighty, but grand? The word didn’t seem quite right. 

But then I saw it. An incredibly large white caduceus so colossal it towered above even the tallest of the crystal trees (which was no small height, I assure you) and protruded strikingly against its pale pink background. The closer we got, the taller I realized it was.

We reached the bottom of the Caduceus. The Grand Caduceus was mounted upon a massively large marble base placed on a small hill. In the side of the hill, I saw a door, and I pondered what was inside. Seeing twelve different locks, I was naturally even more curious. I looked upwards, and found that it was immeasurably tall, but that it seemed to defy the laws of physics as I knew them. At the base, the shaft was incredibly thin, barely two feet in diameter, and yet at the top the wingspan appeared to be at least fifty yards. This architectural feat left me wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

The Herald was clearly amused at my shock, and exclaimed, “It’s not called the Grand Caduceus for no reason! This marvel can send messages anywhere in the world within just seconds! It is also the most powerful Caduceus in the entire world, relaying any message from anywhere in the world. All the other Caducei are powered by this one, as a matter of fact!” He beamed at it with pride.

“Messages? How does it work?” I was curious.

“Look, up there!” He pointed to several active slivers of gold at the top. Some coming towards the Caduceus, others were leaving it. These golden slivers were very strange. They appeared to be flying chunks of golden dust shaped into various hieroglyphical runes. “Each one of those strips is a message. Some messages come here and stay here. Others are relayed to other Caducei where they will reach their recipients. And if I so desire, I can create a message and send it!”

With this, any doubts I had about the Herald were dispelled. It was good that I now trusted him to be knowledgeable about this world, for another stranger sprinted over, shouting as he did so. I turned to face him. He was dressed in dirty, tattered robes that dragged on the ground as a dashed over. His hair was long, messy, and hung all the way down past his shoulders, with various beads tied into it somehow. His face also wore a beard of similar qualities. It was only because of my relative ease with the oddities of this strange place that I did not jump upon meeting him.

“Hey! HEY! Herald! Urgent news! The Director wants you to send a message to the rest of the Council!” His voice was deep and gruff. “One of the Binds in the southwest is collapsing!”

[ETHERBOUND] Prologue: Dusk Before Dark

One of the heaviest rains in a long time battered the world outside. The world was passionately washing itself away, and yet I snuggled up warmly in my cozy room. The great torrent outside besieged my bedroom, slamming the walls and ramming the windows. The resolute walls held, as firm and defiant as ever, keeping the storm outside.

But somehow, the walls had also kept a storm inside. The bed was comfortable. The room was warm. I was tired--definitively tired enough to drift away in sleep. And yet inexplicably, I knew that I was not alone. I knew it was immaterial, but I felt that it must be massive, for it pressed down upon me with the full weight of the world. I knew it was invisible, but somehow in the confines of my mind I saw a dense gas of which I can only describe as the thickest smog I had ever experienced. Whatever it was, I knew that it was both real and imaginary at the same time-and so, to reconcile the strange discrepancies between what I knew and yet what I felt, my best guess is that it was merely a maelstrom of thoughts. Thoughts are the bridge between the imaginary and the real, so the mysterious thing present must be some form of thought. Henceforth, I shall refer to this thing as a Thoughtstorm.

Having only identified it, however, was no good to me. With its constant suffocating presence in the room, how was I ever to sleep? I fought it with every ounce of my resolve, and yet every attack I levied upon the Thoughtstorm was deftly parried. After all, how does one challenge their own thoughts when these thoughts are the very forces that govern us? The more I fought it, the stronger it was. The more I fought it, the more forceful it became. What else was I to do but resign myself to its power?

But the moment that I began to give in, I felt it give in as well. And as I began to let go, so did the Thoughtstorm. Before long, I felt myself floating away, being carried by clouds into sleep. But it was to be a restless sleep. The Thoughtstorm, though abated in the physical world, was far from gone. And before long, I was to find out where it went.

90

Ninety.

It's just a number, isn't it?

And yet… it is more… They are more…

But first… you should know… that there is

A separation. A dichotomy. A contrast of black and white.

Dark and Light. Sea and Sky. Sink, and you will not survive.

The smallest of satisfactions,

Or unbounded despair,

These two roads to the future lie in wait from here.

Lost in the ocean,

A storm is brewing,

The judgement comes soon,

Will this one outswim the terrors,

Before they are dragged to their doom?

The months go by and the sounds get louder,

Day by torturous day,

A rhythm develops, the storm envelops,

One is coming to fate.

The sounds are here!

Two angry marks recall,

All the glory and all the pain,

Of the fighting of the voices.

And the warring in the brain.

They compel me to give up,

To hedonize the time away,

Voices echoing deep into eternity.

Were the soul sterner in its structure,

It would not mind the ringing,

Louder and sharper than of even the most ebullient metal bells sounding the glory of a thousand nations,

In eternal twilight as they bathe in the writhing defeat of their opposition.

The sharp discordant cacophonies reside not in those ears,

But find a home between.

Mocking, laughing, raging,

Dissolving into one, separate, and then dissolve again.

The arcanities of this chemistry remain an arcane mystery.

Of birth and of death of these sonic harpies:

I hold to be unknowable,

But know that they are, they most definitely are,

And this alone is important.

The infinite mysteries of the unbounded depths,

And of Krakens and Leviathans, Charybdis and Scylla,

Are the brethren and sistren, the comrades and cousins

Of the terrible sounds.

They shriek late into the night

Under guise

Of the luring Siren songs.

They run amok and hide,

From the gaze

Of the mind's eye.

The sounds

They pull

My mind

It fights

And the number cries out in the night.

When twilight dies and births new daylight,

Will I still taste the air?

Or be dragged down into nothingness,

By the demons of despair?

The Letters from Room C47

中文原版/Original Chinese version：C47房间未发出的信

Dear Meifeng,

               Hello!

               How long has it been since we last saw each other? A few months? A few years? I honestly don’t know anymore. You know, just now it felt like only yesterday we were together on that majestic mountain, gazing off into the rest of the world, but unable to see that which was obscured by the thick sea of fog. Why does it also feel like you are right by my side on that tranquil beach as we watched the sun set? I clearly can remember us there, hands interlocked, sitting on that sun-warmed rock. What a good feeling! Do you still remember that?

               I still don’t understand-what happened to us? Why are things the way they are now? Everything that happened in those few days was my fault, I admit this! But I think you’re being rather cold-hearted, to vanish without a trace. I can’t even find you to apologize…

               It looks like some wounds run too deep to ever heal. You must still hate me. Why else would you be constantly ignoring me? Meifeng, I’m begging you, please write back! Prove that you still remember me! I don’t mind if you curse at me, I don’t mind if you let loose! It would be so much better than this cold silence you give me.

               Right, there’s one last thing I should tell you: a few days ago, some strange creatures tied me up, and locked me in a very strange tower, which they call “Swan Lake”. Don’t you think that’s a really strange name? Although, these creatures seem to have at least allowed me one courtesy-they allowed me to write to my friends, family, and other relations to tell them where I am. Besides you, I have no one else to write to… so I wrote this letter to you.

               I guess that’s all. I hope everything is well with you.

Peng Kang

November 13th

WIP--translation to be continued

C47房间未发出的信

英语版本/English translation: The Letters from Room C-47

亲爱的美凤，

你好！     

多久不见了？几个月？几年？我想不清楚了。刚刚我还感觉我们昨天在那个壮观的山峰上，望着低处，却看不到被厚厚的白雾挡住的世界。怎么忽然又感觉其实你还陪着我在那片宁静的沙滩上看着日落？我可以清清楚楚的想起我们手拉手坐在那块被太阳晒热的石头上，那个感觉多好呀！你还记得吗？     

我就不懂了，我们之间到底怎么了？怎么就到了今天这个地步呢？那几天发生的一切都是我的错，我承认！可是你也太狠了吧，无影无踪的消失了，我连想找你道个歉都联系不到了…     

看来，我对你的伤害实在太大了，你肯定厌恶我吧？不然，你怎么不回信呢？ 美凤，我求求你了，就给我回一封信，证明你没有忘记我！你可以骂我，骂的狗血喷头的也要比你这样冷漠的忽略我好呀。

还有一件事没跟你说呢：几天前，一帮妖怪把我绑起来了，把我关到了一个很奇怪的塔里，他们说叫什么“天鹅湖”。你说，这地名起得真怪吧！倒是挺有趣的，这些妖怪允许我给亲人写一封信，告诉他们我到哪里了。除了你，我从来没有过亲人…所以就把这封信写给你了。     

就这样吧，我希望你一切都很好。

彭康

十一月十三日

亲爱的美凤，

看来我上次寄的信你果然还是没有回信呀…不过，没关系。我确实对你很差，尤其是最后那几天我简直成为了酒鬼。我已经深刻的认识到自己犯的错，想再次道个歉。我知道我犯的错误太严重了，就是道歉一辈子你也不一定会原谅我。可是我能怎么办啊？过去的事已经发生了，后悔也太晚了。     

有的时候我还会想起你离开的那一天，但是我对那天晚上的记忆只剩下混乱的一些碎片。我记得我们那天晚上在开车…是我在开车…我们好像吵起来了，然后就看到极亮极刺眼的光，然后…然后就想不起来了。我醒来的时候，他们都说你没了，怎么会没了呢？你到底去哪里了呢？     

我就好奇，你到底去哪里了？今天我问了这里的一个妖怪，他跟我说这里是个医院。你说，我明明是个很健康的人，为什么非要被困到医院里呢？这些妖怪到底为什么要把我关在这里呢？     

美凤…这里天黑的时候真的很可怕，我睡不着！请救救我，把我带回家，回我们的家！

彭康

十一月二十六日

亲爱的美凤，

天气越来越冷了，我的心情却越来越狂热了。天黑的也早了，导致我真的很绝望。当一个人龌龊到太阳都不愿意见他的时候，还有什么必要再继续活下去？最近，我每天晚上都睡不着觉，我发誓在黑夜里真的看到了最邪恶，最丑陋的恶魔…

白天的时候也不太好过，有的时候就会突然控制不住的眼皮下垂，一下子就晕倒了。醒过来的时候总会见到一些穿着白衣服的，就像是天使要把我带到远方去。

我问你，美凤，你是不是也去了远方？这里我实在呆不下去了，我想你，真的太想你了，我想去找你！我知道你不愿意见我，但是，我告诉你，为了再找到你，我愿意穿越时空；没有我爬不了的山，也没有我过不了的海！

美凤，我终于清醒了！我知道你去哪儿了！我一定会去找你的！今天就去！

彭康

十二月四日

十二月四号，彭康在天鹅湖精神病院C47房间自杀。这三封信被发现在屋子里。

The Glass Panel

On a warm, spring morning, Glenn Ward woke again in a cold sweat. The same ridiculous nightmare about the ghost tapping on his window had plagued him for perhaps half a year’s time now, and it showed no signs of dissipating. There was nothing to be feared from the nightmare, yet some part of it felt utterly terrifying, and it send a shiver down his back.
As he reluctantly stumbled out of bed, running into every possible obstacle between the bedroom and the bathroom, he was hardly aware of his surroundings. The sky was gray and dim today, and the little overcasted light that shone shined through his large, bolted window served to illuminate the room as he drew the curtains, dispelling the shadows from the nooks and crannies of his room. The room was disgustingly disorganized; a beer can lay half-crushed on the floor; books lay strewn about; and a vast variety of writing supplies and papers blotted out the thick, brown shade of his mahogany desk.
        Glenn brushed his teeth in an orderly, even robotic manner. He passed the toothbrush back and forth, back and forth. As he did so, he stared blankly in the mirror. He noticed the boringly monochromatic towel that rest upon a dulled towel rack. His eyes darted around the sides of the mirror, never resting too long upon any one point, and yet never resting upon the center of the mirror either. While he was staring into the mirror, the reflection pierced into him, ferociously impaling him with a feeling of disgust. Glenn wondered why he had never realized just how uncomfortable it was to look at himself for a long period of time until he looked in his mirror. The longer he stared into the mirror, the more distorted the images appeared, until he began to see himself, twenty years younger, staring boldly back at him with the steely glint in his eyes when he was young and strong. The memories of that bygone time were too much for him, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He blinked, and the image was gone.
        As he walked into the kitchen and prepared a quick breakfast, Glenn grabbed the TV remote. In the small apartment where he lived, the kitchen was connected to the living room, with a small table in between where he sat down to eat. He turned on the television to the morning news, and pouring himself some milk to accompany his usual assortment of scrambled eggs, bacon, and bread. After finishing a broadcast on some disaster that occurred somewhere, the news anchor then began a story about the latest development at Aurora Technologies, one of the largest companies in the high-tech industry, producing all things innovative from artificial intelligence to new smart devices. Glenn worked at Aurora, but he was decidedly old-fashioned to be working at a company whose mission it was to usher in the technologies of tomorrow. For Glenn was not an innovator or an engineer, the two roles that were the heart and soul of the company, but instead just a simple accountant, spending all day examining numbers with a high amount of required precision. It was a miracle the company had not yet replaced his occupation with a computer. After all, what was there for this mechanically monotonous man that a computer could not accomplish a thousand times better?
        It was halfway through that news story that Glenn froze. On the television was the ridiculously fake complexion of his ex-wife Linda, talking about a new product launch, no doubt. The screen became flashing lights and the sounds around him melted away as he began to reflect on his disastrous marriage which had concluded just over three years ago. There was a time, twenty years ago, when everything had seemed perfect. Never-ending summer days washed away by frozen desserts and visits to the beach; sitting under the great oak tree and sharing childhood memories as the greenery around them faded to shades of brown and gold; sharing some hot chocolate in the comfortable little house that was cradled by the blizzard outside; and best of all, lying down in an open field, staring at the wispy clouds that passed by as the flora around shined again, teeming with life. But then, ten years ago, Glenn had moved to the city to get a job at Aurora, at the time just a small company with big dreams. The variety of nature’s seasons dissolved with his relocation, and Mother Nature’s palette of vivid colors dissipated into gray. A smothering feeling, almost like a disease, ran virulent within the unknown reaches of his mind, and Glenn’s cheerful demeanor vanished like an apparition.
        It was then that he must have changed. Like the city he now lived in, he became apathetic and exacting of himself. His sharp personality vanished within barely a year’s time. For a while, this was admirable. Friends praised him on his immense ability to stay focused for long periods of time, and were amazed by how effectively he could work the most menial jobs without ever complaining. Co-workers nicknamed him “Glenn-Bot” in admiration, and managers frequently gave him raises. But as time passed and people began to interact with him more often in the office, they found him to be uniquely drab. He could barely speak a few lackluster words in a conversation before the flow of dialogue was dead and the atmosphere descended into an uncomfortably loud silence. Linda Stevens was a very kind woman, and she was exceptionally understanding too. But after seven long years of this torturous ennui, she too gave in. There must be some animal instinct, some primal urge from the far depths of the mind that forces humans to live a life greater than the mere survival of animals. The same urge that fueled human development and innovation for millenia surged within Linda, and however unwillingly and troubled, made the decision to dissolve their union.
        In the wake of these events, Glenn became even more reclusive. He thought that Linda had understood him best and known what was happening, and might have even been able to save him. He held on strongly to this belief. And so when the divorce happened and his life was shattered, the basic tenets of his existence were undermined. He sank into a void of his own creation, disappearing beneath the lights that once illuminated his face with color, drowning in the pale shadows that overtook them. The eviscerating process that had begun with the shift into the city concluded subtly. He was no more than a zombie; dead without being dead.
        And so, Glenn put on one of many matching suits, carefully walked down nine flights of stairs, and walked the same eighty-seven paces to the bus stop. He sat on the bus with his suitcase and looked out the window. The same assortment of shops that he saw every day flew by him. A variety of shops and services colored the two sides of the streets. At the corner of Main Street and Seventh Street the bus stopped, and Glenn’s co-worker Gregg, one of the only people who still talked to him, got on the bus. Gregg, seeing an empty spot right next to Glenn, sat down, beaming with a radiant smile. The two of them were in stark contrast to each other. Though both men were similar in age, Glenn looked much older than he was, and Gregg looked much younger than he was. Glenn wore a tired, sinking look on his face, while Gregg appeared constantly energetic, as if he was ready to run a marathon. Glenn kept his posture strictly rigid, while Gregg was restlessly fidgeting yet comfortably reclining.
        Gregg, of course being his amiable self, commented on Aurora’s latest innovation and the brilliance of the team Linda had led when he was silenced by a slight twitching in Glenn’s face. Naive (and even childish sometimes) as he was, he knew the limits well, and could muster some degree of control over himself. A rapid switch of subject to the latest events in the sports realm quelled the twitching, and Gregg breathed a small sigh of relief in knowing that he had narrowly averted a crisis. Gregg felt sure that Glenn was bottling something up, and yet some unimaginably torturous force was keeping him from opening up. But he knew not how to help, and so he always attempted to dodge the dangerous conversational topics when around Glenn.
        But even with this immensely friendly conversationalist by his side, Glenn maintained his taciturn attitude. His mind was on other things. He looked out the window again, looking at everything but seeing nothing. He heard the sounds of the city, the cacophony of traffic, the hum of the bus’ engine, the voices of the bus passengers, the voice of Gregg talking about some athlete setting some record, the voice of his own body muttering occasional meaningless responses to the endless stream of chatter.
Glenn exited the bus, and walked into the shining skyscrapers of Aurora Technologies. It was another day. A bright, sunny day. A day that would have filled anyone but Glenn with joy. But as he entered the office, face frozen like the cold stare of a worn-away statue, he felt no joy. He took an elevator ride upwards, and shambled over to his desk. He sat down and started to chip away at that day's work.
For the longest time, he had taken solace in his work. Work had been the one thing he had taken solace in. It was simple. He understood it. It was straightforward. He was comfortable with it. Compared to the maelstrom that the rest of his life had become, his work was the one thing that he found no chaos with. But recently, Glenn felt a shift in the air. The weight of more disapproving stares was weighing on him. And these were not just colleagues. These included the managers and overseers. At first Glenn did not realize, but he was soon finding the disapproval uncomfortable. He was not particularly important to the company. He did not belong to the brilliant minds who paved the future. He was just another cog in the machine.
Once, he had thought himself capable of great and creative things. But the prerequisites of being a creative mind required the courage to challenge fate--posing a challenge to the world and stating one's position firmly, and seeing their projects through to the end. Glenn lacked his courage. He opted for a safe route in accounting in order to guarantee a decent existence in the future. Back then, things had been so great. He'd had fun and enjoyed life, with a circle of friends around him. Where were those friends now? Glenn blanked. He'd remember that Luke moved away in pursuit of his dreams, that Sidney had found employment somewhere else in the city, and that Mark went to go work with the government. They'd all gone their separate paths after college. They vowed to make it big one day. They swore they would rise above the ranks of the ordinary and prove themselves all to be famous, but in the end it seemed that no one made it to be bigger than the town they lived in.
And soon, the work day ended. Frivolously, many people left and went home. Glenn took the slow strides back to the bus. Gregg had gone out drinking with other colleagues, so Glenn sat, leaning against the window for the whole ride home. He looked out the window at the same shops, most of which were getting ready for the nightly customers who went there.
The same winding-down routine awaited him when he returned to the bus stop. Eighty-seven paces back. Nine flights of stairs. Though it was dinnertime, Glenn was not hungry. Instead, he roamed the rooms of his apartment, feeling an increasing painful throbbing somewhere deep within him. Waves of cold sweat followed this. Soon, inexplicably, he had begun to shake.
He felt some immense tension within him. It was indescribably suffocating. Something begged to be let out. In a moment of weakness, Glenn gave out to the urge, and picked up a chair, charging at the window. Time seemed to slow down.
The window shattered, and there was a brief moment of pain as angry shards of glass exploded everywhere.
The chair broke, and lay in pieces on the ground.
Glenn looked out the window, and the fresh air seemed to quell his rage.
Head throbbing, he saw a bird flying through the night air.
The city remained ever busy below.
He climbed a little bit out of the window.
The bird, interested, perched on his shoulder.
What freedom this bird had! It was free to go wherever it desired. It could fly...
And as a mass of different emotions overcame Glenn, he too wanted to fly. So he did. And in that moment, just for a moment, there was glory,  success, and triumph in his hollowed eyes.
Only for a moment, as he charged through the glass panel, did he feel free again. And he decided to take back this freedom for the rest of his life.
And the rest of his life was indeed very free.

Reflections Upon Loss

I saw it wash over me, an ocean of waves neither dam nor dike could hinder; a disconcerting calmness, like the symphony of discordant seagulls crying out in the distance. The sea washes this same beach for decades, centuries, millenia, and the beach does not complain. The air strokes the foamy crests, and the water does not respond. It was as if all were frozen, a painting to be seen from afar, yet moving somehow, and yet not at all. Everything was terribly still and yet in the darkness, in the shadowed reaches of the sea I swear I could see something, but once I looked, it was not there. The unknown abyss’ reaches brought with it a tremendously terrifying calmness, like a friend who soothes, or at least tries to, while in reality they are just raking over the same traumatic memory, best forgotten, over and over, reminding the poor victim of their vices, of their failures, of Fate’s cruel hand, of Destiny’s cruel roads. Amidst the void I may have seen the Kraken, a beast ruling the sea. There are many fish in the sea. But the Kraken is unique. It grabs on, capturing you, and never letting go…the sailors tell stories of it long after it is gone, in the same way I remember Her long after she is gone. Her charm latches onto you and never lets go. Nonetheless, I wanted to know. I wanted to find out why. I wished the emptiness beneath the sea would tell me. But it remained silent and solemn. And when I focused with all my might, I could hear the darkness speak to me. Give up. But I would not. Surely there was nothing to be achieved by giving in? I did not have Her… but I would. I would see to that.

Driftwood. Dead, rotting, forever silent. An idea! The fibery hand of nature reaching from the earth, trying to grasp the sky; the sky kisses the leaves and rustles the thin greenery, sizes ranging from oily bright thick to a feathery silhouette. The leaves of that tree fall upon the water, and thus I have not forgotten. And I hope too, that I am not forgotten. I know She is not forgotten, for I am still yet here. The sea brought me no answers, but perhaps amidst the unique blossoms and branches of the sturdy trunk would. But I was wrong. The oldened tree turned away when I looked for guidance, and I knew my cause was for nothing. A refusal to answer incited rage within. I would not stand for this insolence! I rushed to the tree, and struck it! The tree answered with a punch of its own, a well-placed one right to my forehead. I looked over and saw the scattered branch with its leaves dashed upon the ground and over my body. The leaves looked alike, but I knew it was not true. Perhaps there are many leaves for each twig, many twigs for each branch, many branches for each tree, many trees for each world. But among all this variety I knew only Her was special. It was as if she was the unique, fruit-bearing bud on an otherwise barren tree.

Perhaps somewhere among the sands were the answer. Was it not a common theme, the sands of time revealing the answers? I scattered the miniscule molecules, but the desolation of gray, beige, and white-tinted yellow refused to respond. The sea washed up again and again upon these forsaken dunes. The dunes do not complain. They will never complain. And they told me this. The dunes, they said there was no need to complain. Complaining is useless. And in the gravity of that moment I felt the empty calmness fall over me like suffocatingly heavy dust, trapping me and numbing my senses… a flash of horror, and I felt myself sinking backwards into the sand, further and further, disappearing… The sand looked all the same. The pebbles and stones amidst it were meaningless to me. I hated this. It meant nothing, and I was losing hope…

Hope, the last flicker of light. The sun had left me to my useless meanderings. It was gone. And as it left, the sun must have met the moon halfway and warned it not to show itself, lest it be pestered by my pestiferous questioning. And so I was bathed in darkness. She was gone. Long gone. I stared at the icy depths I could not see. I felt the cold wind’s breath I could not taste. I breathed the stink of the sea I could not smell. I listened to the call of the water I could not hear.

And deep within me, I felt that which I could not feel.