In the distance, a small house sat on a hillside, where an old man sat in his rocking chair gazing at the clear night sky. The evening had befallen the older man, and in the coolness of the breeze, his gaze had turned toward the shimmering stars above. The older man sat alone on his porch; his face was weather-beaten. His hands were marked by years of hard work. The older man let out a slow, heavy sigh and looked down at his only loyal friend. The long barrel of the shotgun shines silver in the night. He pats the redwood butt that has his name EJ Stuart and
the date that was given to him burned into it and rocks in his chair, his
mind remembering the past. He fingered his name on the butt as he rocked softly in his chair in tune with the gentle breeze. He dreads these nights as his eyes sweep across the land. His family is gone, and the few friends he does have never come calling. Only the old nightmares call and the old regrets of a wasted life; it didn't need to have been wasted, only if something could have been changed!
He sighs. "I'm an old man now, looking back on old memories," he says to Betsy, his shotgun. "Just like all old men do. Yep, isn't that right, old girl?" He pats the redwood butt. "Just need maybe one or two shells for the task at hand. Should have done it years ago to tell you the truth, old girl; me alone with nothing to do except look at the stars?" He sighed. "Death has been playing hard to get. He's never home when I come calling."
"Is that so?" Says in a warm voice, "I'm so sorry I was late." The man called Death a.k.a. Derrick takes a seat next to the older man. His eyes are gentle, and he rocks with the older man, eyeing the shotgun in his hands.
The older man looked at the man called Death and sighed with
relief, yet he was not surprised by his arrival. He pats old Betsy, rubbing
the shells between the nubs of his fingers, and looks up with his eyes
without a simple nod. "You know I've been waiting a long time for you?""Like I said, I'm sorry," Death said calmly and warmly, for he
had seen the old man's possible future. Knowing now that his time
has approached, he has readied the man's mind with the help of others
beyond the looking glass for what is about to take place. Death himself
is the one keeping the older man alive. Just barely, his eyes drawn upon
the shotgun, knowing everything could be and would be lost to them
all if he was any later.
The time has come as evil has stretched forth its hand, touching
his world beyond the very stars and this man's world as it lies dying,
corrupted by Morgan's evil and his master Hess. Pushing the course of
this old man's doom. Dooming us all by simply waiting in the shadows
has reawakened the horrors of his life and future realities in the old man's mind. Derrick's mind reeling at the many possible outcomes forces him
back to the surface. "No! Morgan and his master must be stopped." His
mind reeling with the thought of this man dying, but first, he must save
the old man and the boy within him. His eyes soften as he gazes into
the old man's mind. He told himself that it was time, no it was past time if he was going to set things in motion and set things right. He had regrets knowing what he was about to do. Yet it was necessary, or all hope would be lost. Not only for the man before him but for all that needs his help. Providing. Yes, that was the question was the man known as EJ Stuart willing to sacrifice himself and his very soul for a second chance? At living a life filled with happiness instead of nothing, but endless loneliness and regrets, pain, and sorrow of things beyond his reach without help.
His help and many others that would join his cause. Providing the
help each other needs. To bring back the Light and the Hope. Before it
is extinguished and never seen again. According to Hess and Morgans
wishes and interference dooming us all so they themselves become Godsto be equivalent to them as they rewrite and remake destinies and ruin 'Time' as we know it forever. Plunging it all into everlasting"Yes, I heard you," EJ says as he leans back in his chair. "Betsy
and I here were wondering if you would ever show up. I've spent
the last twenty years or so miserable and alone with nothing but the
nightmares to keep me company." He calculated once or summed
it up to be more than that. Yet right now, it did not seem all that
important since nobody cared about him or the life he had or lived
if you could call it living.
"Like I said," said Death, gently touching the old man's knee. "I'm
sorry, I am. I've come to you now, provided you are ready to leave."
EJ laughed and for once it didn't sound forced. "I'm sitting here alone at night holding a gun! Either I go with you, or I'll go with another. I am not going to spend another twenty years in this living hell alone." No, he was better off dead and forgotten; he figured and came to the same conclusion that it was time to end this game of cat and mouse. Him being the mouse as the world of nightmares chases him.
The man called Death smiled, slowly taking the gun from EJ Stuart's white-knuckled hands. "I have a proposition for you, and I think you'll like it." He says as EJ's eyes fixed upon the gun at Death's feet. He was
wondering how it got there. His mind seemed tired as if it was already
asleep. The Darkness lightened in his mind, dulling his senses.
"What kind of proposition did you have in mind?" He asked as he
shifted and lifted his eyes to look upon Death. His mouth was dry, and
his mind buzzed, wanting to fall into a deep sleep. He tried to shake
awake, but it was already too late.
"Oh, you'll see," Death a.k.a. Derrick said eagerly with a smile,
taking his right hand and, with a simple wave, a shimmer of air before
them as it formed a circle of air. He watched an object appear like the
air before them, shaping into a large square mirror or a doorway hidden
beyond the looking glass. But not made of glass nor from any substance, for it had no sides nor back. It held no reflection.
The man called Death grins with a wave of his hand. A cool breeze
picks the older man known in this world as EJ Stuart up from his chair
and throws him towards it. As he tries to flail or grasp the post off at the
top of the steps, the wind gently strengthens around him and pulls him
towards the mirror itself. Darkness. Was he willing to give up, everything in the end? He looks deep into the man's very soul and sees that small spark of hope, courage and even though it may seem to be waning at the moment.
It is strong, stronger still after all this time. The man screamed as he was being forced to let go of the post and his past soon to have been his doomed future in this world. Watched him as he passed through its shiny silver skin like water. Watching it swirl around him like a ripple until his entire body was inside, looking out at his house and the clear night sky while the mirror or doorway slowly shrunk into nothingness.
It was as if he had fallen through time, images kaleidoscope around
him. Faster and faster as he twisted and tumbled. Images of his miserable life engulf him and unfold before him. All the pain and sorrow of his shattered dreams, the result of one wrong choice, the wrong choice spreads like cancer. Which had become several bad choices that caused them to have ultimately led him to this moment of unbearable suffering. Heavy chains of burden suffocated him, making him gasp in despair and pray for an end.
He hit something solid feeling as if the wind had been knocked out
of him. He lies still, gasping for breath in a body that feels broken, his
mind swarming with old and distant memories. He is trapped and alone,
unable to move anything but his eyes. He loses track of time, lying trapped within his own body, waiting for the images to fade. He felt compelled to speak his name but could not breathe but a whisper realizing that it had been stolen from him as if he didn't exist at all.
The room around him was small, yet The man found himself in
a small room with hallways leading from it. The light in the room was
soft and barely enough to see by. It had no apparent source as if the
walls themselves were causing it. The light was pale and colorless. The
room was unnaturally quiet, The man that once was EJ Stuart panicked
at the unfamiliar surroundings and cried out for help, but his screams
were stifled by an unknown force, making it seem like he was shouting
through a pillow.
Passageways could be seen in every direction from where he had fallen. The light in the room is soft, barely enough to see with human eyes. It has no point of origin, as though the very walls themselves were producing it. The light is pale in color, yet not a color at all.
The room is eerily silent. The place has an unnatural feel, as though the world's laws from once he came from don't apply here. The old man panics from its strangeness, even worse he couldn't even remember his own name and some events of his life start to fade away as if they never took place. He tried to scream for help. "Help! Can anyone help me!" He screams. The place's unnatural nature suppresses his screams.
His pleas for help were muffled by a strange force as though he were shouting through a pillow. Feeling weak, he laughed at himself. "Fine mess I got myself into this time. I thought it was hogwash, thinking Death was going to help me and give me some peace at last. Great, now we're talking to ourselves. Well, I don't like it here, and I want to get out," he said to himself, rising to his feet slowly and painfully, feeling all the aches and pains of being old. He hated the fact that pain was only another reminder of how old he had gotten and how alone he, indeed, was in a world that didn't want him. But worst of all was the nightmares from his past, and then there
were these other nightmares of people from strange lands he had never
heard of. Then the other things he wasn't sure if they were either people or monsters out of some fairytale calling out to him and begging him to save them from the everlasting Darkness, or some sort of sicknesscovering their land.
Whatever it was, it seemed just as real as his waking dreams, and
that bothered him the most because he couldn't help them. Just like he
couldn't help himself, he screamed, begging the images and the pain he
was feeling to stop.
The feeling of being trapped is more vital with each step he takes,
and despair and loneliness are getting stronger by the minute. His heart
was racing like it would beat right out of his chest. "I am doomed," he
said, about to give up. He turned around and saw a tired-looking young
boy wearing a look of bewilderment. "Asking where he came from?"
Having the question form in his mind. I would have known if someone
else were here," he thought. But that wasn't important right now. "Who
are you? How did you get in here?" He asked the young boy in hopes he
might know the way out.
The tired young boy just looked at the old man as if he should have
known who the boy was, fell to the ground in a nearby corner with his
head in his hands, and began to cry. The old man ponders this in his mind while gathering his strength and courage. He went to where the boy was sitting. He tries again in the hope the boy might know the way out.
Taking a closer look, he sees how frail the boy is, as if he had been
through a war, though of a different kind of battle. He couldn't be any
older than twelve or fourteen, with mossy brown hair badly needing a
haircut and comb. Blue eyes, still having a baby face quality with puffy
cheeks and a small squarish chin. He wasn't tall by any means, and it
looked like he was nothing more than skin and bones; in many ways,
he reminded him of his younger self when he was about his age. Just
for a fleeting moment, his mind remembers something, and then, just
like that, it is gone. As if it was on the tip of his tongue or the edge of
something, then drawing a complete blank.
He's dirty, but so is the old man; he doesn't care now. He's shivering
and is unsure if it is from the cold in the room but in fear or something
else. The old man quietly removed his jacket and put the coat around his shoulders, trying not to startle him. The boy flinched but did not look up. He tries to make him feel more at ease and contain the excitement that there might be a way out, and he must have come in a different way than he did.
There was also this nagging feeling that he was the key of five, but
the keys to what? The images and the dreams had repeated that he must find the keys where the very God's themselves had hidden these five keys in and among the many of the worlds, realms, and galaxies. He needed to extract the objects pertaining to them. Yet they never said where he was to find it or them, or what they might look like, or most of all, who had the keys they were telling him who he needed to see and where to find them.
He also knew from experience that now the worst thing to do was
frighten this boy more. He cursed because the images and the dreams of people begging him to help them and feeling the pain they were feeling weighed heavily on his mind and in his heart. Driving him towards nearly to madness, to the point he couldn't sleep; he couldn't eat. All he could think about was the Darkness and what would happen if this Darkness trapped him without those keys. He shook himself as he focused on the strange boy. The old man started introducing himself but couldn't remember his name, as if someone or something was suppressing it. The image of him sitting on the porch not more than a few moments ago was the only thing he could see, yet the difference was this time. He could see his own self-loading the shotgun and pulling the trigger as his body fell dead to the ground. The sound of the gun deafened him as he covered his ears, hearing the ringing of gunfire as he fell to his knees, begging the images to stop, watching the Darkness creep over him and engulf his mind and body. Nothing he did seemed to help, feeling the cold seep through his body as the Darkness covered him as if someone had snuffed out a candle.
Suddenly, all was quiet; all but the soft sobs of the boy were almost
at peace now. He was finding his small little hand in his hand, feeling
the darkness lesson and the images tormenting his mind starting to fade.
All he could hear was the soft sobs of the boy, but his touch of the boy awakened some peace as he gave a slight sigh and started to open his eyes, feeling strangely alive and in no pain. Then again, if he was dead, why was he here? And where did he go from here? Yet he still couldn't remember his name, but he could remember everything else. Most of all, the feeling that said 'Time' wasn't on his side.
The question is. 'TIME'… does it exist here? Does anyone know
that I am even missing, or if I am dead? Does anyone even care? Does it
even really matter anymore?" The old man thought of old Betsy sitting
alone by the side of the house; it was his only friend these days "Or does 'Time' exist at all?" All is quiet where he is at the moment. Even the boy is silent. "Strange, did I do something? Did I say anything because I am alone with my thoughts, unless?" The old man thinks for a moment. Noticing the boy's eyes staring back into his, somehow, they were warm and friendly. Yet, they seemed full of pain, sorrow, and loneliness, the same regret and loneliness he had seen when he looked at his reflection in a mirror every single day of his entire miserable life. To the point, he doesn't or avoids looking in the mirror. The old man just realized something. "He must have brought him here. He is also the key to this strange puzzle, but why?" His mind screams, pounding inside him as he gasps, feeling the pain and images return at full force; he gives a loud shout, pressing his hands to his head. "Will the pain of sorrow ever end?"All he wanted was to die, to forget the nightmares of his past and the world dying around him. Worlds and dreams that are not his own and nightmares of everlasting Darkness caused by some evil man named Morgan. Things seemed to get worse, not better. The old man thought
as he rubbed his head with the back of his hand. "We need to find the
way out and soon." The pain lessened again, feeling the boy retake his
hand, causing him to look at him as the pain and Darkness lessened with his touch. Here, he was trying to comfort the boy, and in turn, he was comforting him.
He looked down at the tired young boy who seemed bewildered
and lost, meeting his gaze as their hands lingered motionless as a loving father would hold them. He had long forgotten what that simple feeling felt like. This time, lying beside him was a set of old keys. They both looked at the keys lying beside him. The boy gave the old man a quirky smile and handed them to him without much thought as if their minds were linked on some level.
The old man looked into his deep, tear-laden eyes as he was about to turn and ask his name. The young boy gripped him with all the strength he had left in him, as he stood and helped him up by taking his other hand, For in that very moment, it seemed that the old man's strength had been transferred to the boy as the boy lifted him off the ground to walk with him. He turned suddenly as a strange tingling of air had changed
something so quickly, like a blink of an eye, to find a door that he was
sure wasn't there before. The old man thinks. "I don't remember any
doors or windows, just walls that go nowhere."
The old man turned to ask his new friend about these keys and
why did he never use them? Seeing the door that had seemed to have been there all along, noting the solidness of it and the frame around it as if it had been there all this time unseen by him until the moment, he picked up those keys. Yet he could have sworn it was nothing more than walls in the long, endless hallways they were both standing in and walking, trying to find their way out. Or, more important, where are all the doors for these keys? The old man turned on his right to ask, to discover his friend was gone. His jacket lay on the ground where he and the boy used to be, but moments ago"Where could he have gone? I need him. Please don't leave me, not now, here, or in the dark, where are you? Who are you?" The old man calls out.
The old man wondered if he should go on alone. He began to
search the corridors for the doors as it seemed that one, he was sure was never there in the first place was now gone, and once more, the wall was solid again. Most importantly, where did his missing friend go?
He never heard him leave. He was there right beside him, holding his
hand, and then in the blink of an eye, like the door, the boy was gone
as if the boy was never there, to begin with, as if by magic. Providing,
if he still believed in magic, but too much was going on to dispute
that still existed.
Once again, the feeling of fear and the everlasting Darkness was
creeping around him; the pain and the images were slowly taking hold
of him, making it hard to think. The old man can barely hear anything
except his heartbeat and the dull sounds of the keys rattling in his hand
twisting beside him. "I must be mad. I never saw any doors in here.
Where could he have gone? It's so dark in here. Wait, I see. Yes, I think
I see something just up ahead, a shape. WAIT? DON'T LEAVE!!" The
old man screamed.
His heart raced faster as he got closer to the shape. He saw a small
figure the same size as the young boy. "Yes. Is it the same boy pointing
to the same door?" He asked himself, running, tired, but knowing he
must get there, he was afraid he might leave him here alone. "I hate being alone, especially here. I was right," the old man said, nearly breathless."It is the small boy."
Once more, the thought came back that he looked familiar to him
as if he'd seen him somewhere before, perhaps in a dream. The old man
noticed the same sad, wanting eyes. The young boy looked up at him,
smiled, and pointed at a little keyhole in a rusted lock in the door. The
door is old, black, and tarnished. The old man turned and asked. "Is
this the way out?"
The young boy backed away from the door quickly. Seeing the fear
on his face, he could only point with his little fingers, shaking them at
the door. The old man looked back to where the little boy was standing
and watched him fade into the background with the door as the old man would find on the jailer in an old prison movie.
Once the door was opened, he stepped through, finding some sort
of light so bright he couldn't see much other than the shapes or shadows of shapes and nothing more other than bright white light that was blinding him as he walked towards it down the same type of walls he and the boy had walked along. He looked back once more and watched the door close. Even though the air was different, the colors and the sounds started to change as he got closer to whatever was in front of him. Yet the one disturbing thought was. "But why was that boy so afraid? Why did he look so familiar to me yet so sad?" More questions. "Why am I here? I wonder how old that boy was. He could have not been any older than ten or perhaps eleven."
Just for a moment, the old man thought he was left alone again
with his thoughts as the white light had shimmered or as if he had
walked through some sort of portal like the mirror that brought him
here in the first place. He was now in someone's backyard again. It
seemed familiar to him, yet he couldn't quite place it. Even the house
before him seemed like some forgotten memory: the red brick and
large overhang porch on the side of the garage. The large cinderblock
wall dividing the house from some church parking lot also seemed so
familiar. Yet again when he thought he had it, that memory was gone,
just like his name. All he could remember was the feeling he had been
here before, the sense of loneliness, the everlasting cold, the Darkness,
and most of all, the pain. It was so painful; it was like his heart was
being ripped right out of his chest.
The old man looked around and noticed, questioning the time of
year. "It feels like it was September or early October," he whispered. The leaves had just stopped falling, and the winter cold settled in. There in the yard was a young boy playing in the leaves. Much like the one he left behind, the door closed as he watched him unseen for a while. He wondered what it would be like to be that young again. Not to have adult problems, not having to suffer the things that he has suffered. Forgetting about the boy for the moment, for in that moment, he becomes that boy.
* * * * *
The old man had never felt so alive. The autumn leaves touched
his skin as he threw them into the air, watching them fall to the ground
around him. The wind ran through his hair, "I am FREE!! The pain is
gone," he shouted.
He ran through the yard, down the road as fast as possible, and
yelled into the wind. "How long would it last? Run, run, and let nobody
catch me; I won't tell a soul. All that matters is that I am FREE from
the world. I am a kid again, at last. Run, run, don't let them catch me.
Don't let them find me. I am FREE to LIVE to LIVE AGAIN!" As the
old man ran, trying to escape from the boy's body, he was overpowered
by the boy's memories and emotions. For in the boy's real world, he had
left behind, so he had thought. Yet it was true, sadly it was more than
true, his mind slipping into a distant fog. He becomes trapped in the
boy's world and time.
The boy had been enduring physical abuse at the hands of his parents for many years. His parents seemed to take pleasure in causing him pain and had intentionally isolated him from the outside world. This left the boy feeling completely alone and hopeless, ultimately leading him to his tragic fate.
However, Death, also called Derrick, watches over these souls,
assesses if they deserve a second chance to change their destiny, and
finally intervenes or a new purpose. The question was why he had waited so long to intervene now that he was an old man who was now trapped inside the boy's mind.
* * * * *
"The only problem with running was there was nowhere to run, too.
After all, I am only ten, and it's getting cold now, except for this nagging
feeling that I am supposed to do something, be somewhere besides play in the leaves. Wishing is great; besides running around, it's lots of fun, too. I want to go home," the boy said to himself, coming back into the backyard and wondering why he left the yard in the first place since the last thing he remembered was raking up the leaves and playing in them, even though the boy was told he was supposed to rake them up and put them into the garbage. The thought bothered him for a moment. He heard more sounds than usual as if someone was in the house.
Instead, his thoughts were that his foster brother Jeff must be home
early from work today; he's eighteen, and he's getting ready to go on an LDS mission, and he works at a local welding shop. We don't talk much. Jeff is always busy. The boy feels that he hasn't been here very long. Something tells him he only stays somewhere for a short time. Some nagging feeling like being tugged towards the house as he looked around, hearing more strange noises. It was more like angry noises from the house, listening to smashing and things breaking. He questioned it, hearing it from outside the home, or was it just the sound as if the wind just made something fall at the back of the house? It made his skin crawl as he searched with his eyes. Noticing there was no car in the driveway bothered him as the noises were getting more frequent.
He decided it must have been Jeff. "Never did know when he was
coming or going these days. The folks left for the weekend and won't
return until tonight. Better make sure that all the dishes are done before
they get home, or my ass is grass, that's for sure. They won't care who left them. Jeff's their perfect little angel. I'm everyone's gum on their shoe or yesterday's garbage." His feet guided him towards the house, and on the last glance, he saw a strange darkness approaching him and the home.
He paused at the door before opening it, leaned the rake beside the porch, and opened the screen door.
He couldn't help his thoughts as the noise in the house made him
want to run away. Thoughts of his parents entered his mind, hearing the
screams of anger that sounded a lot like Jeff, who was supposed to be
at work today and wouldn't be home for another couple of hours so he
could go on his date tonight with his girlfriend.
He had tried running away several times and encountered a few
problems: money, age, cops, and food during the winter. It's cold during
those months. He hated parks; burr spent enough time living in trees when he was younger. The cops are huge about you sleeping in the park, and if they catch you, they bring you back because you are not old enough to go to juvie. Then you can expect another beating of your life, and then they wonder why you wanted to run away. My question would always be, "Why would you like to stay?
Things were improving for him the boy thought. He might finally
get to go back home permanently, although it's hard to believe. He had
only lived at home until he was about five or six. If you add up all the
sporadic months and years, it only amounts to about six years of his entire life. And even during that time, he was usually only home for three to four months at a time or less.
However, his parents couldn't wait to get rid of him the moment his
grandfather died. It was the very week that he was placed into the system immediately after his grandfather's burial. His parents knew no one, not
even his grandfather or grandmother, could stop them any longer. In
truth. They wanted him gone, end of the story. Nobody wanted him,
and his life was a reflection of that.
The boy contemplated the possibilities for a moment. There was a
chance that he might never leave again. He wondered if it was a mistake after all this time. Maybe his parents, or "they" as he referred to them, wanted him back. Or perhaps it was just another lie, something they were good at - deceiving everyone.
His parents had been getting away with it for years, and they seemed to enjoy watching him bounce through the system, not allowing him to live a happy life. It was a big joke to them, making him feel alone like he did now. Which was their intention. (Well, they had succeeded. For that is what he was now. Utterly alone.)
"There's that noise again. Somebody is in the house. Jeff must be
home. Funny, he didn't hear his car." The young boy walked through the
house. There was an odd feeling, and it was cold against the boy's skin.
It was a feeling or a presence of death in the house as if he was walking through a graveyard at night. The source of the noise was coming from Jeff's bedroom down the hall.
The boy's legs felt like they had been made from led, and he could
barely move them. He slowly reached Jeff's room. The boy slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door very quietly to avoid disturbing anything, including the dust. The boy puts his hand to his mouth to scream no, but no words, no sound. Nothing came out of his mouth. The young boy felt paralyzed to move as his eyes. Within those short few seconds, The young boy couldn't shake off Jeff's cold, dead stare, which haunted both of them and even today, the image remained vivid in the old man's mind. Most like would forever.
In that last instant, the gun fired. The young boy watched him fall
to the floor. He could see the blood forming a puddle on the rich blue
carpet around his head. He gazed upon him for the last time. He could
see his dead, cold eyes staring back at him as if they were holding him
hostage. The room was silent now except for Jeff's last breath, leaving
his limp body.
The boy turned to leave the room, leaping through the closing door
of air or magical portal as if being pulled by some unseen force. As his
legs moved slowly, his body felt like it was as if he was being torn apart.
Looking back, he could see himself standing in the open doorway of
Jeff's room as a man who was his neighbor was holding him in his arms,
forcing the boy he was looking at to look away, closing the door of the
room, not only of that world but the world he was currently in.
He looked down, watching the door close as it dissolved into thin
air. He finds himself as the old man, lying down on the ground in the hall
where he must have come from moments ago, gone, and transformed back into the strange, forbidding room behind the looking glass. The boy fell to the ground, as the world around him covered him in complete Darkness as the images of his life and the pain and the nightmares overwhelmed him. He was screaming as the pain became unbearable. Then, there was nothing but Darkness and pain.