WORLD NEGATIVE ONE
One last tantalizing glimpse of light.
The rush of water, swirling, boiling down a drain.
Iron hands squeeze the brother's chests. Oxygen-starved cells scream in anguish, death gnawing at them, one by one, death racing in blue-stained discs through veins and capillaries, death crowing in triumph in the spasming coils of the cerebrum and the frontal lobe.
In short, they were drowning.
A splash and the elder brother throws up his hands. The younger, dropped from those sinewy bonds, flops bonelessly in the surf. They drag themselves onto an alien shore, vomiting brine. Air fills their lungs. Death applauds, happy with their triumph. They are strong; death will find a more suitable ending for them.
The elder brother is amazed that they are even alive. The water just came from nowhere. He stands up, looming over his sibling. For a moment his features are twisted in parental worry. His brother has always been weak. When he is sure that his little brother is fine, he grabs him by his overalls and helps him to his feet.
"We must have been pulled through with the runoff. Thank God for small favors, ay Lu…"
He looks around with a jerk, mustache bristling.
"We aren't in Brooklyn anymore", "Lu" mumbles.
They are on a beach. The sea (a sea, the younger thinks) is behind them. There is no sign of how they came to this place, but neither brother notices this. The mushrooms have caught their attention. The beach terminates into shrubby grassland at the edge of a forest of toadstools. The tallest are over ten stories with caps that you could land a helicopter on. Smaller fungi grow in clusters at their bases in a riot of colors. There is nothing else; the sea, the forest, and the strip of sand between them.
The brothers wordlessly contemplate their predicament. They are dressed in overalls and steel-toed boots. Their hats are lost, washed away by the maelstrom. The older brother is shorter than his sibling, something that annoys him more than it should.
"Where are we?"
"How am I supposed to know that?" He regrets it immediately. He has always looked out for his brother. All we have here is each other, he thinks.
"I don't know. But we'll find out. We'll find a way home."
He is trying to be comforting, but the worlds are hollow.
"How do we know this is even a place? How do we know we aren't dead or something?"
"Lu" knows he isn't helping. He is thoughtful by nature and what he sees terrifies him. He doesn't know what this all means, but it will keep him awake for many nights.
The elder is not a thinker. He will continue to sleep soundly (despite his dreams). The toadstools are simply an obstacle.
"We aren't dead. We are just somewhere else. That's all I know. And that's all we'll know until we get off this fucking beach."
"So we're going into the mushrooms?"
"Yes. There's nowhere else to go."
The older brother makes for the wood but something scuffs his boot. It was a sledgehammer, the one he had been holding before they were lost. He hefts it, appreciating the weight of the solid steel head. Who knew what they might run into in that wood?
"Hey, look around for something to defend yourself. My sledgehammer made it, so maybe some of our other tools washed up on this beach. Look for a crowbar or something."
"How about this?" Little brother waggles a monkey wrench. All of the other tools are missing.
"Good enough. Let's go."
"Are you sure about this?"
"No."