In the World of Grey...
I open my eyes, realising that Carla has been silent for more then a few minutes now. I guess her story is over.
For the most of it, I was sitting below the barred window with my knees under my chin, just listening to the tale she was weaving. Compared to hers, my last days suddenly feel pathetic. She's gone through so much.
"That was... so sad," I say. "I had no idea things like that could happen in our world."
"Well," I hear Carla half-laugh, "I guess they do." She sighs, and lets out a loud sniff. "Things like that happen. And it sucks."
I purse my lips together, unsure of what to say next. Though I feel sorry for her, there were parts of her story I recognised. Things I'd seen, or heard. I'd been there, just like the misty guard had said, only I didn't realise it at the time. The only question now is now is whether I have the courage to tell her about the role I played. Perhaps the others had experienced similar realisations?
"Lance? Richard?" I call. "What do you make of it?"
My fellow cell mates have been silent since the story began. Now I'm eager to know what's on their minds. I stand up and peer through the window, waiting for Lance to return to his. He's nowhere in sight.
"Lance?" I call again. I put my ear through the bars, straining to listen. There's a noise in his cell, but at first I can't identify it. Then it dawns on me. He's laughing.
"... ah, Lance. Are you... okay?" I ask warily.
"Me?" he answers through his chuckles. "I'm fine."
His large, dark face suddenly appears in the window. There's a strange look in his eyes.
"I've never been better in my whole goddam life," he hisses.
"... Are you sure?" I say, eyeing him cautiously.
"Sure?" He smiles, showing his pristine white teeth. "There's only one thing I'm sure of." His expression darkens. "And that is; if I ever get out of here, that bitch will die. Again"
"What?" Carla's shrill voice cries. "Why??"
I'm so shocked by this sudden change in Lance's temperament that I don't know what to say. Only a short time ago he'd been calling her "Sweet thing". Now this?
"It was you," he snarls. "You killed him."
"Who? What are you talking about??" Carla's face is back in the window, looking even paler then before she started her story. In fact, she looks terrified.
"It wasn't even his fault," Lance sobs angrily. "He didn't do anything..."
His hands grip the bars, and I can see his muscles tightening. I desperately try to think of a way to calm him down, but my mind is completely blank.
"I'll kill you," he growls. "I'll kill you!!"
Lance suddenly snaps and begins to heave at the bars, howling like a wild thing. A stream of profanities like I've never heard comes from his mouth. He's out of control. He's insane.
"Stop it!" Carla screams, moving back in her cell and putting her hands over her ears. "I can't take it. What did I do?? Please stop!"
Lance pays no heed, and just continues to pull at the bars so viciously the veins in his neck are bulging.
"I'll kill you! How could you do it? I'll kill you!"
Though it's only slight, I feel a tremor under my feet. For the smallest of instances my cell seems to shake and I hear what sounds like a low rumble. An uneasiness begins to rise in my stomach.
"Lance, stop!" I yell, finding my voice at last. "Something's not right..." I stick my face through the bars and try to yell to my left. "Richard, please: help! Say something."
"Screw you," comes the growled reply. "And screw her too."
"What?" I gasp. "But... why?"
Lance must have heard Richard, as his assault on the window begins to slow in its ferocity. His torrent of abuse gives ways to loud, raspy breaths, and finally he stops. He rests the top of his bald against the bars, his hands still gripping them tightly.
"Lance?" I ask softly.
He looks up, and I can see his eyes are almost red with blood shot. But he's not looking at me. He's looking towards Richard's cell.
"What the hell problem you got with her?" he croaks.
"I got plenty," Richard answers. "I just don't need to express my anger by losing it and turning into an animal."
"You too?" I ask sadly.
Both Richard and Lance had angered so suddenly. What did Carla do to them? What part of her sad story made them turn on her so brutally? I knew my part in it... but what was theirs? She soon appears in the window again, biting her lip tentatively and her eyes puffy with tears. I'm almost furious at my cell mates for doing this to her after everything she's been through.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
"No," she whimpers. "I don't know what I've done. Why do they hate me?"
"Because you've done some... unpleasant things," Richard says darkly. From the way Carla flinches, I assume he's not looking to friendly. "You've lied and stolen. I may not be bawling like our pathetic friend over there, but I feel no less contempt for you then he does. You had a hand in ruining my life too"
"No!" Carla's cries, screwing up her face. "I ended it all to escape these things. Why here too? Can't I be free anywhere?
She puts her hands either side of her head, baring her teeth as if she's in pain.
"Leave me alone! I don't need you! This is hell... I'm in Hell!"
Carla lets out a tormented wail and disappears into her cell. At the same time, a violent tremor almost knocks me off my feet.
"What the fu-" Lance cries, before being cut off. I hear a thud seconds later. He must have fallen over.
The white light that fills my room flickers, even though there's no bulb to do so, and a deep, foreboding rumble rises from beneath the floor. Carla is still wailing distantly.
"What's going on?" I hear Richard yell.
I can't reply. Something falls from the ceiling and lands near my feet. Curious, I pick it up. It looks like plaster. Common, household plaster. Gazing up, I see that a crack has formed in the roof of my cell. With each tremor it lengthens, growing larger before my eyes.
Something's wrong. Something's going very wrong. I have no idea what, but the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach tells me that if it continues it will only mean bad news. If I don't do something quickly...
I stand up and grip the bars, holding on as another tremor threatens to unbalance me.
"Carla!" I yell. "You have to stop. The place is falling apart! I'm sorry if we upset you!"
"I agree," Richard calls out as well. "Stop crying before it gets worse."
Carla's wailing begins to lessen. I can hear it fading to mere sobs and chokes. In response, the tremors come to a halt and the white light stops flickering. Everything goes still again.
Lance's face suddenly appears in his window. There's a thin trickle of blood running down his forehead. He must have hit his head when he fell.
"What the hell was that?" he says. The anger on his face has been replaced by an almost fearful confusion. He dabs at the trail of blood with his hand. "Guess we can still bleed in here, even if we are dead."
"I don't know what happened," I admit. "But there's a crack in my ceiling now."
I take a step back from the window and look up; double checking to confirm my sanity. The crack is still there, though it's slightly wider now.
"There's a small hole in my wall," Richard says. "And a crack in the corner. Whatever it was, it was strong. I didn't think you could get earthquakes in the afterlife..."
I continue to look at the crack in my ceiling, trying to see through it and beyond. Only darkness greets me. An eerie, endless black.
"Hit my head on the floor, thanks to those tremors," Lance mumbles, "Damned thing crumbled on me!"
"Can you see down it?" I ask.
"Yeah. It's only small, but enough to put my eye over. Not much to see though; darker then Satan's ass crack down there."
I shiver, wishing he wouldn't say things like that. It makes the uneasiness in my stomach quicken. The only person who hasn't replied is Carla. She's still out of view in her cell, perhaps hunkered on the floor.
"Carla?" I call. "Are you ok now?"
She doesn't answer for awhile, just continues to sniff.
"There's a crack in my wall too..." she says at last.
I begin to cautiously pace my room, finding I'm unable to take my eyes off that crooked black line snaking across the ceiling. How did it happen? And why? The tremors had started when Lance began to lose it, and gotten worse when Carla joined in. Could the whole place be connected to our emotional state somehow? It seems like the only plausible explanation, though I know how crazy it sounds.
"I think we should all try to remain calm," I say, returning to the window. "I don't think it likes us getting angry."
"It?" Lance sneers. "It what? You mean this place? A hallway can't think, man. Walls don't have ears."
"This isn't our world anymore," Richard replies. "We know nothing about it. If only to be on the safe side; I recommend we tread with caution from now on."
"Yeah, well, the day I listen to your flabby white ass is the day God forgives us all," Lance snarls. "Or at least, the day that I forgive that bitch in the cell next to me."
"Please, don't," I plead. "Don't push it any further."
"Why the hell not?!" Lance yells. "It's her fault. He didn't have a chance. She deserves everything she got, and whatever's coming to her as well."
I can feel anger building inside me, making my fists clench. He doesn't want to listen to Richard. And he certainly doesn't want to listen to me. Just like everyone in my life. I might as well be non-existent for all the power I hold. Even in death I'm weak and pathetic.
The light in my cell dims slightly, and I immediately unclench my hands. It's getting worse, seeming to tune into my feelings faster. I take a deep breath and try to release all the tension. Push the anger back down inside.
"Lance..."
It's Carla. Her voice is almost a whisper; sad and mournful.
"Lance. What did I do?"
Her face in the window reminds me of someone lost, beyond hope. She must have cried more in the past few days then she has in her lifetime. I can't even begin to understand how she feels.
"Please. Tell me. I want to know. If my actions hurt you or those in your life, I need you to tell me."
"Yeah, and why's that?" Lance spits. He's pacing back and forth in his cell, looking at something on the floor. Maybe the hole makes him uneasy too.
"For justification, I guess," Carla says sadly. "To know that taking my life served more then just my own selfish cause. I mean, was I... was what I did... was that your reason for -"
"Oh, please, don't give yourself that much credit," Lance interjects bitterly. "If every guy done himself in because of a woman, there wouldn't be much left of the male race."
He slowly returns to the window and bends down to peer through. He turns his head to one side, so that his voice reaches his teary neighbour as well as those of us opposite him.
"Do you really wanna to know?" he asks. "You really wanna hear why I decided to end my wreck of a life?"
"Yes," Carla answers. "I need to know."
Lance's eyes focus on me. I pause for a second, then nod. If someone else wants to go before me, then I'm willing to listen, because I still have no desire to talk about my final days. Though I realise that my tale is probably far less tragic then theirs. If Lance wants to speak, then he's more then welcome to it.
"Go ahead," I say. "It's what the guard told us to do anyway."
"I couldn't give a crap," Richard growls. "If it means you'll stop you're whining for a few hours, be my guest."
Lance moves away from the window and starts to pace again, obviously still annoyed and working through his feelings.
"Alright, fine. But don't expect nothing fancy. My head ain't full of imaginary friends or some dirty, hidden past. Hell, I didn't even really want to die."
"Hah, right," Richard scoffs. "Why are you here then?"
"Because!" Lance hisses, returning to the window and thrusting his face through the bars. "Because of one, simple, fact."
"And that is?"
Lance narrows eyes and lets his mouth curl up in an obvious snarl.
"Because God... is a bitch."