#wihout

           When I first arrived in Without, I was colored. When I first opened my eyes on this world, I was chestnut skin with scarlet and cerulean vestments in a world of white.

           I first assumed this world was a dream... then a nightmare... then purgatory and as the days ticked by... Hell.

           I began to explore the town - back when I still called it that - its nooks and recesses, its immaculate buildings and curving pathways, I tapped on every blank tombstone of the cemetery, inspected every tile of the church’s floor, pulled on every brick of the Park's pathways.

           I don't know what I was searching for… At first a secret passage that would lead to a world of color… But as time passed my thoughts of escape faded, and my dreams and skin shifted from color to shades of white.  It was then that I began to search for a sign of a creator. An imperfection in the stone, a mislaid brick- any sign that a human hand had wrought this place, any sign that a human heart might return...

*

           I step away from the wall and stare at the blemish feeling a strange kinship. We both are nothing but flaws.

           I turn and circle the park facing outward at the white buildings. Eggshell, Ivory, Moonstone, and Alabaster. I repeat the colors in my head. If I knew more names, would I see more colors? If i had a few more labels, would I see a richer tapestry of shades before me? I wonder what would happen if I forgot these names that I do know. Would I see the world at all? Would it be one endless expanse of white?

*

           I may have been half-mad the day that the lights danced in the sky.

           Coruscating orbs of light pulsed in the gray sky and hovered over the arena - my name for the sandy pit not far from the park.

           I could tell in an instant that something was coming, something that would arrive and free me from this purgatory. I stared at the almost blinding light in the arena's center, expecting the arrival of an angel.

           When the lights finally faded, I could see it was not an angel, but another person.  Even so, I wept with joy.

           Her name was Sarah.

*

           There is no geometry in Without. If I walk far enough in one direction, I find myself back where I started, my footsteps already faded. Some days I do nothing but run through the landscape, turning right and left randomly, hoping to find something new. I run until my lungs burn, I run until I fall unconscious, and yet, no matter how fast I run, I end up in the same place.

           Is Without just a small planet? Do I circumnavigate every time I walk a mile without turning?  Or is it impossibly large, with the same buildings replicated endlessly?  There is no way to tell.  No way of knowing how many churches or parks or arenas there are beneath the endless grey sky.  

*

           Sarah may have been human, but she was every bit the angel that I had hoped for. Together we walked the streets of Without, my chalk-white hand wrapped in her mahogany-brown one. She stared at this place with wonderment, and looking at the world through her eyes, I began to view this place as other than hell.

At night we leaned against each other by the pale fires we ignited in the arena's center. And when our lips touched and she threw her purple brassiere onto the alabaster ground, I began to suspect that this place might be a kind of heaven.

*

           Over time, my eyes have become accustomed to noticing the smallest changes in the grey sky.  Looking up, I can already see the lights gathering over the arena, beginning their dance.  I kneel down on the brick path at the park’s edge, tapping the individual stones out of habit. None of them are loose, my fingernails will have to do.

*

           I do not know how long it took for the wonderment in Sarah's eyes to fade. For her to gaze upon the white structures as prison bars and not vistas. For her to see the grey skies as dismal and not enchanting.

           Every time I looked at her lightening face my heart broke a little more. And each day, I asked her if there was anything I could do to ease her mind.  At first she insisted that nothing was wrong. And then she insisted there was nothing I could do. Until finally, she told me the truth.... There is a path that leads out of every prison…

*

           My nails are cracked and my fingers ache by the time I lift the brick from the charcoal dirt and ivory mortar.

           I clench my hands around the stone and glance upwards.  The light above the arena are pulsing with even more intensity, and I begin to walk towards them.  It is day 108. It will be happening soon.

*

           I tried to talk Sarah out of it, but her mind was made up. Without was not our home, but our prison. And if I tried to stop her then I was not her lover, but her warden. Her skin was already the color of parchment, she did not wish to wait until it matched mine.

           She found a path that led her up onto the steep tiled roof of the church.  She would go up there daily and stare at the ground below with a look of longing that nothing I was able to could make her feel.

           At night, with her arms wrapped around me, she assured me that this would be for the best.  We would be together forever. Together in a world of color.

*

           When I enter the arena, it feels as though I stand in the eye of a hurricane.  The lights circling above are now moving almost too quickly to see. They gradually lower to the ground, shooting off sparks of energy as they whiz back and forth.  I do not flinch or look away as they converge in front of me with an almost blinding flash of light. I simply step forward, the brick clenched in my hands.  

*

           Sarah and I clambered onto the roof, our hands – chalk-white and parchment - intertwined. Sarah grinned as she laid one last kiss on my lips.

           "A world of color," she whispered, as she leapt off the edge and dragged me with her towards the ground below.

*

           The lights subsided, and I saw the new arrival lying on the sand - her brown hair splayed out of the ground, her hands shaking and uncertain. She was colorful.  She was beautiful.

           I approached with the brick in my hands. She looked up at me, her heaving throat and shaking lips unable to form words… But they could form a scream as I brought the brick down onto her skull.  

           Her body went limp, as limp as Sarah’s hand in mine when we collided with the ground.

           And from her broken body oozed the same crimson hue.  

           I should be horrified-- revolted and what I had just done.  But all I could do was smile.  The red was so beautiful  

***

           I do not know why I survived the fall, when Sarah did not. Perhaps I had been here too long and was already a part of this place. Another fixture that would always recover, another thing that would be forever pristine.

           Perhaps if I had convinced Sarah to wait a little longer before our fall, she would have ended up like me... Chalk white and undying. Unable to kill herself no matter how many times she repeated the jump as I had, no matter how many times she slashed her wrists as I had...

           I am lonely, but I have no desire to experiment with the ones who arrive every 108 days. Some days I say it is because I never wish to feel the pain of loss again, never wish to make attachments.  Other days, I tell myself it is because I wish to condemn no one else to my fate, an eternity of eggshell and alabaster.

           It does not matter. The result is the same. I am a murderer.

           And I am alone.

           Perhaps someday I will go mad or perhaps I already am. Perhaps if Sarah and I had not leapt, these people would have arrived anyway. Perhaps this would have been our home – a town that would someday be full.  I have killed dozens already, I have no idea what would happen if I stopped.

           Is this my punishment for a crime long forgotten? Is this a test I have failed? There is no one to answer these questions in Without. There never will be.