Time fades slowly into irrelevance, and eventually stops altogether.
This point has become significant simply because of what is about to happen here.
Two figures approach each other. Both dressed like the strangers in a nightmare; in black from head to toe.
One walks upright, with grace and poise and bearing. At ease, almost laconic, a wry smile playing intermittently across his well proportioned features. He is the very image of calm and control. A being who has made absolute peace with his place in existence. He cuts striking figure in a full length black leather coat, which sweeps the ground with every lengthy stride. It is fastened tightly from his waist to the base of his throat. Tailored black pants are visible between the folds of the coat as he walks.
The other staggers, almost drunkenly. He shivers, hugs himself, and glances around furtively. He is as dishevelled and as haphazard as the other is ordered and elegant. He wears the remains of a once well-designed suit, the jacket now torn and stained, and the white shirt beneath shredded. He stumbles in large black boots, open at the ankles and covered in mud.
They meet, stopping a pace from each other. Polished black sunglasses reflect a pained and painted face. A genuine smile of complacence is mirrored by made-up grin of lurid madness.
The ravaged one looks up from his slouch, peering through matted hair, his eyes wild with barely contained terror and shrouded by black face paint.
"Where am I?" he rasps.
"In Wonderland" is the composed reply.
"Am I dead?'
"That would depend on how you define life." states the serene one, simply. "If, to you, life is the continued function of the structured collection of cells and energy that forms a body, then yes, in all likelihood, you are dead."
The mad one groans and hugs himself tighter.
"If, however," the upright man continues "life, to you, is the sustained existence of the nameless spark of awareness which inspires sentience, then evidently you are not entirely dead"
The ravaged one stares a moment, looking at the back of his hands. He grapples again with coherence and mutters:
"So is this Heaven?"
The confident man smiles a knowing smile before replying:
"Some might say that. Others would say this is Hell. Some would argue that this is Earth and the only reality there is. And still others will tell you that this is place doesn't really exist. Then there are those, like me, who will tell you that this is nowhere, that Earth itself is now Hell and that Heaven doesn't matter anymore"
"So who are you?" asks the painted man.
"I am one of many who travel this place doing whatever we can"
"Are you an Angel?"
A wry chuckle at this. "No. I'm no Angel. I am, like you, a glitch in the system. Random code, if you will."
The pained one stops a moment, lost in thought. Then he turns wide and wild eyes back to his composed companion.
"I think I died." He says. "I think I remember dying. I remember pain. And rage. And hate"
"It could be that somewhere outside this realm you have actually died. That is a possibility" His composed companion states amiably.
"So I'm dead?"
The complacent one doesn't speak. He knows his answers will only demand more questions. He simply smiles benignly down at his displaced companion.
"So if I'm dead, why am I here?" Continues the ravaged man, thoughtfully.
"I would hazard a guess that we both are here for variations of the same destiny. To take vengeance on this place. Or the forces that control it, perhaps."
The shivering one looks at the other sharply.
"Vengeance?" He asks.
"Yes."
"So are you dead too?"
"No. I am very much alive and aware. In every sense, on every level"
"So can you help me? Help me take my vengeance?"
"Not in the way you ask, no. But I can give you these."
The tranquil one opens his sweeping black coat to reveal an arsenal of personal weaponry. Assorted guns are strapped to his torso, his waist and his thighs. Knives are sheathed at his belt and at the ankles of his heavy black boots. Bandoliers cross his chest.
He sees the disquiet one's stare, and smiles his knowing smile again.
"Here, take them" he says, holding out two black pistols. "They will get you started…"
The revenant takes them hesitantly.
"Can't you show me the way?" he asks.
"No" is the calm response. "But he can"
The graceful one points to a copse of trees nearby, unnoticed until this moment.
In the lower branches of the largest tree sits a crow. Calmly it regards them through obsidian eyes. Its thoughts are It's alone to know.
"Follow him." Instructs the calmer man. "I've seen his kind before. He'll guide you."
"I don't remember who I'm here for"
"He knows. He'll remind you"
"I'm scared"
The patient man smiles, benignly. "Don't be." He says. "Your rage will empower you. And you'll find you have a few new skills; I've seen your kind before too."
"What about you?"
"I have some tricks of my own"
"Where will you go from here? What will you do?"
"I have my own demons to chase. Both in this world and the other. But you must go now; you have much work ahead of you"
The dissonant man staggers off towards the trees. As he nears, the crow caws a corvoid greeting and launches itself from the bough.
The composed man watches them go, smiling to himself.
Once they are lost from sight, he reaches into the pocket of his coat and withdraws a small black cell phone. He pops the cover and depresses a single key before placing the device to his ear, listening for the familiar voice he knows will come…
"Operator…"