The Consequences of Calamity: Consequence Two: Distraction Part 2, Episode One: The Empty World
Standing in the golden, waist-high grass, the wind swept across the rolling landscape. The sky was a pale hue of pink with seemingly stationary clouds in different shades of yellow and green. A large round sapphire hung in the sky, glistening but casting no rays or shades of blue anywhere.
The sound of waves was persistent, constant, distant. There was no ocean in sight, but the sound of waves was always there. The air was warm but not oppressive. A sweet, floral scent carried on the wind along with the fragrance of a bakery or bread outlet.
He’d been here many times. It was almost like an escape for him. When the world came crashing down around him or his thoughts grew too loud, this domain was a pleasant reprieve. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was transported here.
The man wasn’t sure what this place was called, or if it even had a name. There never seemed to be a reason he wound up there. It just exploded into existence behind his eyelids. Every time he awoke, the world in which he dwelled seemed that much colder.
He’d walked through the fields of golden grass. He’d seen blue forests and old ruins of castles. He’d seen fast food restaurant signs, still lit up, half-buried in the ground.
Hot wasn’t hot. Cold wasn’t cold. Everything was pleasant. The one thing he could never seem to control was where he would end up when he slept. Sometimes, he’d be in a desert. Other times, he’d be standing in an endless lake with knee-deep water that never got shallower or deeper.
There was one more thing he could never understand. He wasn’t alone. Was it all really just a dream? Or was he actually being transported somewhere else? Regardless, there was one other person there. He never saw her but heard her voice. She was always calling from behind, desperately calling his name, begging him to wake up.
On this one particular evening, he opened his eyes in a stone temple, crumbling and weathering with the passage of time. It was likely once a grand structure resembling the Greek Parthenon. The state of it in this strange place was one of neglect.
No foot had walked the uneven marble tile floor in some time. No songs of praise had been sung to the heavens since who knows when. No prayers had been left on the altar likely in eons it seemed.
He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like the building had been vacant for so long that it had forgotten how it felt to have visitors. It seemed preposterous, of course. Buildings and structures didn’t have feelings. There was a sadness and isolation that seemed to come from the building itself. It felt like grief. A feeling he knew all too well.
Walking between the cracked columns and around the chunks of white stone, the man came before an altar. There were carvings. He couldn’t make out much, but he did see five distant lights like stars in the night sky. They all had wings that stretched across the sky while an endless sea of people had their hands lifted in praise and worship.
Were they gods? Were they mythological creatures? Were they just stars? It was impossible to tell.
Exiting the other side of the temple, the wind caught his long blonde hair as it waved like a flag. The light air traveled up and through the sleeves of his white T-shirt. The breeze tickled his scars which covered his torso and limbs.
A warrior since he could remember (or cared to remember) he’d been in trenches. He’d fought every last type of Depth in known existence and had walked away each time. Sometimes he was bruised. Sometimes he was bloody. Sometimes he had a broken limb. And yet, he always smiled on the other side of a battle.
As he traveled, his sandals made a satisfying crunching sound on the golden gravel road that wound seemingly forever. A mountain sat on the horizon, stretching higher up into the sky than he could see. He’d never gone up there or anywhere close to it but he often wondered about it. If he were honest with himself, the mountain seemed to have a feeling about it just like the temple. It felt…asleep.
The winding road led to a fountain with intricate designs carved into the bleached, white stone. The water was almost clear but had a light blue tint to it. It may have been from the blue sun above. Or perhaps it was just the way water looked here.
He sat on the edge of the fountain, closing his eyes and enjoying the emptiness of the world. He’d drank the water before. It was slightly sweet with a hint of some kind of melon. It was also cold; some of the coldest he’d ever trasted.
He gazed upon the landscape and sighed. It wasn’t forever. In fact, this was the part where it always ended. The footsteps. A woman’s voice starting to carry on the wind, but too distant to make out. Even as it drew closer, she was still so far away. He’d try and turn around, but it never mattered. No one was ever there.
It wasn’t until she was right behind him that he could hear what she said. It was then he’d open his eyes, disappointed by the world that awaited him.
“Bo Bo!” The voice called, finally becoming audible. “Bo Bo!” There it was again.
Then the layered voices, all the same voice, speaking in different speeds and at different volumes. All of them only said two words.
His eyes opened to a blank, white, popcorn ceiling with a fan spinning slowly overhead. He sighed as he rested his forearm on his brow. He didn’t want to look at the clock next to him.
The man could feel every ache. He could feel every scar, itching relentlessly. He felt old even though by Crown Knight standards, he was quite young. He also looked older than his contemporaries. While they always smiled with perfectly white teeth and unblemished skin, he had two chipped teeth, fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and a body covered in scars that never stopped itching.
Wherever he went, he had to carry a comb to scratch himself when he just couldn’t take it anymore. All of that aside, he was a well-respected gentleman in his organization. He was a hero to the community of Hopewell. He was pretty much a hero wherever he went.
When people heard the name Neblar, it made them turn their heads with curiosity. For better or worse, he was famous. It’d be more enjoyable if he didn’t itch so much.
With another sigh, he turned over to look at the clock on his bedside table. It was ten minutes until four o’clock in the morning. He thought about who was on patrol the previous evening, knowing they’d be getting off work in about three hours.
If his memory served him correctly, it was a young man named Ewan. He admired Neblar, idolized him. Neblar envied Ewan. He didn’t know what it was like to admire anyone. He didn’t know how it felt to have an idol. Or perhaps, he just couldn’t remember. Ewan, on the other hand, was so full of wonder that it was almost off-putting.
Swinging his feet off the side of the bed, he immediately grabbed the comb and scratched the outside of his legs vigorously. His third sigh was one of relief. It was the first smile that crept across his face since he went to bed four hours ago.
Neblar gave a big stretch before scratching the sides of his ribs. He sat the comb down on the table, staring at it for several seconds. Thinking about how good it felt, he reached again but stopped himself.
Once on his feet, he looked out the window into the darkness. A streetlight outside his house cast a few beams through the blinds illuminating small patches of the dark bedroom. He’d been angry about that streetlight since they put it in. He’d considered moving, but he liked the neighborhood. That’s what he told himself at least.
He headed into the bathroom where he relieved himself before jumping in the shower. Neblar liked the hot water as it helped ease the itch. He’d invested in a showerhead colloquially called, “The Sandblaster,” and it was probably the best $65 he’d spent in decades.
The Crown Knight had also rigged his hot water heater to increase the temperature of his water. He even kept the lights off while he showered. He didn’t see a point. He’d lived there for almost thirty years. There were no surprises left. There was nothing new to see, so you might as well not see it. Somehow, darkness had become a more novel sight than anything else.
Maybe that’s why he liked waking up in the dark so much? He’d lived his life in the light of day. The sun can only illuminate the world in so many ways. But darkness changed constantly. Night enveloped all it touched. It worked its way into the crevices and creases of things where light could not reach. It was more cunning than light.
As soon as the water shot from the showerhead, it was already hotter than most people could tolerate, but Neblar was just getting stared. He turned the knob toward hot and pushed as far as it would go. He wished it’d get even hotter, but there was only so much that could be done for hot water.
Steam billowed from the shower as he vigorously scrubbed his body with a stiff sponge. His blonde hair fell down to just above his waist as it dripped water down the back of his legs. He had short hair once, but that seemed like another life now. A life he didn’t care to remember.
After a shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. The scars were still discolored and raised ridges that ran up and up down his body. No one, not even Vischon, had nearly as many scars as Neblar. Furthermore, no one, Vischon included, could tell him why his scars had healed so poorly compared to other Crown Knights.
Walking back into the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed as he slathered his body in lotion. He was told it would help with the itching. Some days it did. Other (most) days, it did not.
Finally getting dressed, he slid on a pair of starchy, red plaid boxers, a white tank top and some distressed, denim cargo shorts. His hair was put into a ponytail that was pulled through the back of a baseball cap, and a thin, oversized grey T-shirt completed the look.
He walked through the entire house in the dark, never turning on a single light. From the bottom of the stairs, it was a straight shot out the door and into the night. A new day had begun.
