Dark spires broke through the floor crumpling into bits of paper reflections then burning under the intense heat of desire.
*Is it so selfish to push another on your own path?*
This was the question posed on the whiteboard. Man stood in front of such a question pondering it over and over again. Were his actions best regarded as those too villainous or could they be justified under his circumstances?
Possibility explained that this all was his own dream. The whiteboard was not just white but mixed with the colors of black, blue, yellow, and green. Every time this question had been written some red ink spilled onto the surface. Slowly encompassing more of the board but only 'til now had the man realized it was actually forming a picture.
Eyes. The man's coveted red eyes. Basically red but in actuality they were a dark ruby hue. No one paid attention to that aspect; after all barely anyone knew of his eyes.
Enough about eyes. What was happening again?
Ah yes! The classroom.
The man had worked here since graduating from his academy. Others always thought he looked teacher-like. Reading his books so diligently and scouring the fields with dreadful glares. Students and civilians being beneath him.
This was not his first choice. Becoming a certified hero was the first choice.
If he had to guess, the man supposed this desire had come from when he was a child watching television.
His father was a conductor whereas the mother held the position as first violin. Awards and money came easily to this family. Fame grew out from all corners and heroes came in abundance to watch the performances put on by the man's father. At one performance, a fire started beyond the curtain setting it and half the hall ablaze in seconds. The whole theater house would have burned down. Raging flames and harrowing yells were the only noises heard through the speakers. It was certain that almost every last person would have died if not for a single hero.
Icer was his hero name. The theater and attendants were saved. The man's father even gave Icer the permission to attend any of his performances for free for life. Icer was the man's introduction into heroism. An obsession began there and continued. Recording each and every appearance Icer made, following up on other heroes to write their abilities and learn more about them in general, and finally meeting Icer. It was what he desired. To find the hero that made his eyes gleam with such joy. So, when Icer died the man begged to be there for his burial. This was his wish and it had been granted not by the father, but the mother. The cruel mother.
Unlike what the man thought, it was a sad and dreary mix of emotions that wafted from the sobbing crowd only to be complimented by the drizzling rain and powerful pulls of wind.
"Why?" he wondered. Death was not sad in the slightest. The man had learned at this young of an age that people were flesh and bone. Not things to be held unto. They simply rot until all that was left could be summarized as a brief memory. Minutes, maybe even seconds in the grand scheme of things.
Real mother wasn't even a second. She was nothing.
A confused expression lasted on the boy's face, unable to break the truth behind his perception. It was an impossibility that he was wrong which then made these hundreds broken in some way. Sat in his turmoil, the man then child didn't notice as another stomped up to the podium to address the crowd.
A person like none other. Practically molded with muscle brimming from each piece of flesh only to be made natural by his military styled crew cut. The man's expression should have been stone cold like a soldier, but it wasn't. Instead, the face was childish and smiling with that trademark grin which revealed his pearly whites.
Instantly the atmosphere had changed from despair to joy. This man possessed the ability to change the mood. Strength and power burst through each annunciated syllable; hope and calm wafted through his hand waving. In a matter of seconds, the crowd had begun to smile and cheer once more.
Unity.
"Death isn't the end. For look at your every step and see the lasting effect gripped by a man as such. My friend has guided the way my feet fall and so he has done to you as well! WAKE! Wipe those tears and grin! My friend didn't plunge into that mess to see the world collapse into a hurry. We will smile and cast off these doubts."
The words roused the crowd forcing them to stand and applaud. That night countless fireworks were let off sounding off the people's resolve to remember Icer and not be dragged into devastation.
No, the man was not incorrect. He merely saw it differently just like Unity had. Death was a joyous occasion. If one were to fall, they did leave something behind but needn't be grieved. In this piece of time, Unity had instilled one of the first lessons ever taught to the man. Thus, another obsession grew inside him.
Yet, this obsession was torn down by inevitability. Failure to become a hero eventually grew into reality leaving the man unable to take revenge or even find happiness. Deciding not to manipulate that boy long ago had been the nail in the coffin for him. He was resigned to the fate of endless tests and assignments only to be mocked by the very children he aided. He could fall asleep right now and his death would be certain. Nothing new will happen, but at least he didn't do something EVIL.
You know. That word everyone throws about. "Those EVIL terrorists attacked another squadron of soldiers in the Middle East."
"EVIL-doers beware for we are many in number!"
"The president's new actions are nothing short of pure EVIL!"
Does that term even have any meaning anymore? If everything is EVIL, then what isn't? Saving a child from a burning house? What if that kid grows to hate the one who started the fire? What if he was really the one who did it to kill his family? Not only did the hero just save someone who attempted murder, but a child who will grow up hating such a hero for stopping him.
'That Fucker…'
But did the child do anything necessarily EVIL? Is murder wrong? If so, then why do we have a military? Why does the government allow things such as the right to protect oneself? They always end with bloodshed so what is the difference between one and the other? They will both still go to Hell.
The man now thinks he should have gone through with the boy. He sees the person on his television every day. Headlines such as "The Newcomer Hero!" and "Photoshoot with new-comer ____- wait. What was his name? Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. No point in remembering the past. Should've would've could've just nonsense to distract from the perpetual torment that is lesson plans.
Mr. Tesler gets up from his desk. A photo is there. He doesn't remember ever having a photo on his desk. He never got married and his adopted son hates his guts. Flipping about he picks it up. The image is of nothing. A void that seeks no color or degree to entertain someone. Blandness in its finest form.
He goes back to the whiteboard with the photograph thrown into the trash. Dull gray light seeps through the curtains. Dust brewed about on little tornadoes that coveted the floors.
"This place is filthy." Mr. Tesler stated. His wrist followed the pen as it scribbled on top of the colors writing the schedule for the day. The photo fell out of the trash can. The tick of a cracked watch summoned the legs to this trashed insect. Three on either side and tiny antennae to feel for its master. It crawled up Mr. Tesler's leg, then back, finally approaching his hand. Mr. Tesler took no notice of the photo. He was too busy muttering to himself.
"Unity. That fucker. How dare my sister become his sidekick after tearing off her arm. It doesn't make sense. He must have bribed or threatened her. Fucker put me here. All I can do is erase this filthy dust." Reaching out with his other hand Mr. Tesler touched the dust in the crevice to the pencil slot on the nearest desk. It instantly exploded into non-existence. "How lame" he muttered between clenched teeth.
The photo spoke with grotesquely slimy green lips, "You throw me away to blame another? What did Unity do to you?"
"Are you kidding? He crippled my sister and destroyed our home." Mr. Tesler scribbled faster. There was so much to write before the students arrived.
Stubby legs with a fuzzy covering sprouted on the photo's underside along with paper teeth darkened by the graphite of a No. 1 pencil. "Now, you can't honestly believe that? It has been decades since then and you still cling to that… you despicable thing, you." The voice of the photograph was snarky adopting the accent of someone from southern Jersey.
Mr. Tesler's hand trembled. His old veins, pumping blood steadily with a flow that was gradually withering. Time had not been kind to Mr. Tesler. After his adopted son got married, they had lost all communication. His drinking and smoking were destroying both his liver and lungs rapidly. Almost comically represented by his giant beer belly that protruded far past his jeans. There would be no doubt that Mr. Tesler's death was creeping ever closer.
"You and your morals landed you here. How about that?"
"But the kid was s-s-suff-suffering… I couldn't d-do that to him. My inten-inten," deciding to scrap the word Mr. Teller continued, "idea was EVIL."
"There's that word again!" The photo, in all its cosmic glory, touched Mr. Tesler's flabby cheeks, sagging them even further. "Fuck off with that EVIL bullshit. Friendships will come and go, but opportunities are once in a lifetime."
The pen fell from his clutches. "You know it. Daniel is just another pawn on the chessboard. See… I remember how well you used to play chess. The memories with your father, how he would hit you after each wrong move. All the more to motivate you to become better. To plan better. To seek deeper."
Kneeling to the floor Mr. Tesler asked, "I played chess?"
With both insectile arms raised the photo exaggerates a gasped expression. "You don't remember? Well, you don't even remember how Lisa _____."
Suddenly standing upright Mr. Teller pointed at the photo and gave a stern look. "Yes, I do! Unity did it!"
"Fuck off with Unity this and Unity that, crap! Crap I say!"
"Then, how did it happen, Insect?" Mr. Tesler was furious. No one had ever doubted his memory before. "I can't tell you!" cried the photo with a wave of its pincer to further its act and an upturned chin. "No one will learn that way. Search deeper within your cerebrum or cerebellum. You're smart, you know that part of your brain where memories are stored."
"The hippocampus, the neo-cortex and the amygdala. That's for explicit memory. For implicit-
"Yeah, whatever." The photo didn't care for a biology lesson with this old bag.
A sundering boom rocked the building throwing desks around the room. Metal legs broke off and sped into walls at the sound of a gunshot. Mr. Tesler's desk snapped in half, spilling a dark black ooze across the carpeted floor. The ooze drifted toward the center of the room and dripped upward into a ball. This ball grew with each stream of ooze building its circumference. Soon the ball had become what Mr. Tesler could only describe as a SPHERE. This SPHERE held no color just like the insectile photograph.
A look of worry ached into the photograph.
Time was up.
"Who gives a shit about wrong and good. Selfishness and egoism are all that will control this world." Mr. Tesler knew this. After all of the promises made by his friends at the time. Gan, Claire, Jacob, and Isaiah. Not a thing had changed. More and more heroes were taking the job for granted. Sometimes they blatantly committed crimes only to have nothing done. This world needs a cataclysmic certainty to occur. The destruction of hope to breed something beautiful and anew.
Mr. Tesler's head nodded with ferocity. The SPHERE moaned and quaked. The moans were sexual to Mr. Tesler. He was a virgin who had saved it like an award. No prostitutes because he was going to find the love of his life.
He should have raped Claire.
The room became nothing but a black box shattering the photo into a red splatter across the whiteboard. All that remained was Mr. Tesler, the whiteboard, and the SPHERE.
A piercing screech resounded in Mr. Tesler's ears, forcing him to clutch them to cease the onslaught of noise. This provided no relief. He would have to bear with it.
A single idea came with this noise. It was like he was being *TORN APART AND SHREDDED LIKE A NAIL PIERCING THROUGH THE PUPIL OF REALITY*
Just as it began, it ended. Kage's eyes opened. Bathed in sweat and caked with the clamminess of sick. He was lost in his own bed. The dream had been frightening but insightful. Kage rose from his spot and threw back the sheets. His throat was parched, and he needed to clear his mind. Too bad all of the cigarettes were gone.
His foot stepped into a puddle just below the bed. It was urine. Checking himself he saw that the fluid had leaked down from his pants.
"Great…" was all he could muster. It had been a bad night.