Perdition in Reverie
Light refracted through the arcing water and was effortlessly pulled apart into bands of colour that flowed seamlessly, one to the other... as it always did. That's a law of nature. There I sat, effortlessly pulling apart the problems arcing through my head that flowed seamlessly back into a collective... as they always did. I was practically a law of nature, sitting there on the bench I always sat on. I find it hard to remember why I would sit on that bench, staring into the fountain and revelling in my own misfortune. I suppose it's human nature; our own problems set us apart from others and make us feel unique. It's almost as if we feel accomplished for surviving or even just dealing with trivialities. Now that I think about it, it is. When we meet a deadline, overcome a family crisis or just make it out in one piece we put it under our respective belts and call it 'closure'. It's such a vague and subjective word, closure. When you close a door, or bury a loved one, you call it closure because the door is firmly shut and the loved one is laid to rest. What about if you open a door so that you know you aren't trapped. Aren't you opening a door to achieve certainty that you can get out? When you lay a loved one to rest, they may be underground and out of the way but they still pervade your conscious train of thought like a bad smell.
Thoughts like those are the sort that trouble me, sitting in the park and staring into, beyond, the liquid spectrum gurgling out into the air. People walk by and pay little attention to the thinking pool that stands so obstructively in the middle of the path. Children staring at the balloons in their hands, businessmen taking a short-cut through the park and the occasional dog marking it as its territory. I suppose everyone finds their own outlet in the world. Me? I stepped out of my apartment each morning, scowling at the Sun as a child scowls at a strict parent with unaffected scorn. I'd cross the road with eyes fixed on the floor and nudge open the gate into the park. I'd try to look reserved and take confined steps towards the center of the park as if I wasn't in any sort of hurry. I often was, the thoughts and queries brought up by the sleepless night before as I lay in bed would be pressing against my skull, testing my head to breaking point. One weak spot and my thoughts would burst from my head and scatter all over the floor, leaving me scrabbling in the dirt for any hope of recollection before they sank into the soft earth. And so I'd calmly find my way to my bench, slipping into the curvature of the smooth, black iron and letting my gaze drop to the point where the spectra danced in my eyes.
Light, as I said, is filtered for me. It's lifted from the world and spiralled into the air until even the sky turns a dull brown. I both love and loathe the glasses that so easily steal away color from my world. With the spectra of the fountain reduced to nothing but a mere seven shades of monotony I could respect the little insight they gave me. Being human I always wondered how much a little peek would really hurt. Just one little peek could augment my pseudo-spectrum, allowing me to capture it and let the colors dance about the confines of my memories. They would no doubt fizzle out like a sparkler at a bonfire, tempting me to take another peek. And another, and another until eventually my eyes would be burnt by the dazzling light of my own weakness. A one way ticket to perdition was the last thing I needed in my state.
So as the light refracted through the arcing water, as it always did. And I sat staring into it and cursing its tempting invitation, as I always did, I was completely unaware. This particular day was the point at which there was a change. I'd sat on my bench every day for years and not once had anyone questioned me, directly or otherwise.
Staring through the water, his eyes were distant yet they were firmly locked on my own. His retinas reflected the light back towards me in miniature pinpricks through the grand, brown flow of water. He was deep in a reverie for a long time as I watched him intently, not particularly worried about my manners since he was mentally so far away. I found it hard to believe that he could possibly be using my reminiscent vent as his own. It was almost an invasion of private space. I felt protective of the fountain and its ornate carvings, perhaps even envious of his ability to use it with the sort of respect I did. As I fell into my own speculation his eyes snapped back to the world of the living like a diver coming up for air. He now looked at me rather than through me, smiling fondly before making his excuses and looking to the water. It glistened in its drained, brown form all around the spot I focused on. I was staring at him through two filters now, and he was hard to make out. His hair was long, and hadn't been washed for a while since it hung, looking almost wet, about his face. Like the water glistening in my periphery, an odd woman stared intently into his to the point where he lost his nerve and looked up again, appearing almost exasperated, before dropping his head once more to look at the floor between his legs. And so the contest went on for a few minutes longer, the weight of my stare seemingly holding back his own until I involuntarily relented and his gaze snapped back to me. Now it was my turn to look at the floor for fear of interrupting his scrutiny. I dared to look back up after what felt like an age to see his bench empty. Somehow enticed by the odd ritual of exchanging unwanted stares, I cast about for him only to see his back half disappearing into hedge tunnel that led off from the fountain's clearing.
Standing was a chore that sent my head spinning as the floor turned momentarily to a wall and only gravity kept me standing against my natural reaction to fall sideways. I hurried off, rather idiotically, before my vision had a chance to settle, sending me swaying in the general direction of the tunnel's entrance. The entrance consisted of a hedge built around a protruding frame, inviting in the unwary wanderer to lose themselves in its depths. I hurried into its awaiting maw, perfectly unaware as I wandered down its long opening towards said depths. The first turn thrust me into maze walled with hedges at least three times as tall as me, the ambience of the park vanishing and being replaced by a heavy, silent blanket as the sound of squealing children was snuffed out. Were I claustrophobic in any real sense I would no doubt have suffered an anxiety attack, the possibilities of encroaching danger building up until I'd break down there and then and lose the stranger I so oddly pursued.
I felt a little less certain of my immunity to claustrophobia as I hugged the wall, the occasional glimpse of the stranger's shoes reassured me that I was on the right track. The lackluster chase that ensued went on for a while as I tailed the mysterious thinker without even thinking myself. I began to feel cold as I lost sight of him, a strange wind howling through the leaves, tempting me to look up and no doubt stray from his trail. The air turned colder and colder as it clung persistently to my jacket and caused me to quicken my pace in an effort to keep warm and stay close to the stranger. I never even thought twice about following an oddity I didn't even know into an unseasonably cold maze and getting worked up about what seemed at the time to be a passing fancy. Getting anxious was an ugly circle in my life, since worrying about anxiety simply made me more anxious. Therefore, I tried to avoid it and simply focus on the task at hand. I'm not sure if, now, looking back, I'm happy that I did follow him. I can't tell if things worked out well but I know that since the moment I stepped into the center of that maze and saw him standing in the shelter of the stunted pagoda and staring in wonder at the air, things haven't been the same. The sun had faded completely from sight, instead a dense fog had crept in through the walls and now coated the clearing with a thick haze. The stranger's figure was darkened through the dull brown curtain and was set dancing by the lights that hung on the pagoda's wall. I stepped somewhat cautiously towards him, unable to tell whether or not he was still looking up or knew where I was and already intended to leave.
My first tentative steps onto the wooden planks of the pagoda were largely audible as the boards creaked and strained under my feet. He didn't seem alarmed, he simply glanced sidelong at me and smiled out into fog, leaving me questioning if the smile was directed at me or not. Since he had yet to flee the scene in a comic flurry of dust I assumed he didn't mind my presence and so walked to stand beside him. Looking up at him I now saw that he was wearing a hoodie and faded jeans, unlaced shoes kicking absently against the supports of the railing he leant against. Standing straight I barely reached to the bottom of his chest while he stood seemingly doubled over the railing and peering out from the shelter. I attempted subtlety as I looked sidelong at his face. The encased torches flickered shadows off and on his semi-shaven face as his eyes grew distant again. I looked back out into the unnatural fog and allowed my own eyes to grow distant as I pondered how the weather could be s- "Weird weather, huh," came a husky remark from my right. "Sort of thing I'd expect to see at the witching hour, y'know?" I was slightly taken aback. It's not in my nature to talk with anyone other than my few close friends or to simply be polite so I was surprised when I felt compelled to answer him:
"Do you believe in that kind of stuff?" My voice didn't travel particularly far and I'm sure any quieter would have been difficult for him to hear. The fog almost gave off the impression of expected silence, as if I was suddenly in a place that demanded high respect.
"Hell no. Should I? It's a waste of time. If you enjoy it, fine, be my guest. Otherwise, don't come preaching to me," came his self-assured response. I couldn't help but nod; the groups of preachers found anywhere at any time get under my skin. I found them to be more of a breach of personal space than the stranger's peering into my fountain. "Why did you follow me?" The sudden question carried an undeniable tone of suspicion, possibly even worry or anxiety. I turned my head and only now asked myself the same question. Why did I follow him? I opened my mouth, about to confess to my own stupidity when a noise from the back of the pagoda had us both swivelling on the spot. We both looked towards the back of the pagoda, a figure now standing in a position that looked particularly uncomfortable. Its gait was unnatural, almost like a doll would walk, were its legs turned in on themselves by a sadistic child. Looking back we both ought to have been alarmed by the nature of its appearance as a mere darkened shape. It wasn't until it moved with a muffled, grating crack into the light that we both took in its appearance. It stood, legs apart with feet pigeon-toed and its body contorted in a way I wouldn't have thought possible before that moment. The body appeared mostly human, save for another deformed body attached to its back like a particularly unlucky Siamese twin. Its limbs flailed around, a muffled yet constant stream of shouting came from the writhing passenger on the deformed creature's back. I'm afraid I can't really explain that one to you in any greater detail. I know, sorry, don't pull that face. I passed out almost as soon as the thing stepped out, leaving the stranger to fend for himself as my vision faded before I hit the floor. The last I remember is the gurgling of the fountain, possibly the thing, as I fell to the ground, and through it.