THE EDGE THAT WOULD NOT SPEAK
by William Pauley III
The air thinned as the bullet train shot straight through the atmosphere, speeding away from Earth. I could see the curve of the planet now, for the first time ever, and the landmasses and oceans were growing smaller with every passing second. At the sight of it, I immediately became jealous, feeling as if I was the last living person to experience the view and the rush of emotions that came along with it. The ride was decades old now, and just about everyone I knew had been on it before. The Apollo Train, it was called. I remembered the commercials as if they had just announced the ride yesterday: Come ride the Apollo Train. It’s out of this world! The idea of riding a train into space to visit the moon was almost unfathomable back in those days, but now, all these years later, it was just another forgotten thing.
Seeing my home planet from this distance overwhelmed me, which was surprising, as I had never really felt comfortable there, or anywhere for that matter. I had a disease, one that should have killed me at birth or shortly after, but didn’t. At night I’d pray to anything that would listen, begging for something to take the breath from my lungs, to squeeze the life from my thundering heart, but every morning I’d awaken, full of pain and life. The only closeness I felt to the earth was the desire to be buried deep within it, so speeding on the train, catching a glimpse of the planet as it slid off into the distance shouldn’t have been difficult to witness, yet it was, and my heart ached in a way I wished it hadn’t, in love and in regret, instead of the way I hoped it would, a knife wound or massive heart attack.
Or cancer…why couldn’t I have cancer? Life is always cured by cancer.
There was a buzzing coming from inside the pocket of my jeans. It was my cell phone. At first I was surprised to discover I had service all the way out in space, but after thinking of all those passengers over the years complaining of feeling disconnected from their virtual lives, it suddenly made a lot more sense. As depressing as it is to think about, it doesn’t change the fact that it is absolutely true: if people are told they will experience something unique and incredible, but that in order to do so they must put down their phones and engage in real life, even if just for an evening, they will choose not to experience that unique and incredible thing, even if that thing is an evening in outer space to have dinner on the fucking moon, for fear of dealing with real life and engaging within a community without the safety net that is the world wide web. Come on, it’s fucking space! Look out the window and take it all in! Contemplate life and the beauty of our own existence! Ha, said the girl who came on this trip for no other reason than to die, and all with a buzzing cell phone in her pocket at that. A walking contradiction, I was, am, and always will be. A priest not heeding the advice of her own cautionary sermons. A complete fucking mess.
Well, I most certainly was different. I hadn’t trekked all those space miles for some lousy vacation, nor was I there to experience any taking in of the beauty of the scenery or for self-reflection or contemplation. I had a plan, always had. I’d thought hard about that exact moment, more than most people gave thought to anything. I wanted to die. I needed to die. And the moon was the only thing that could do that for me. It owed me that.
I looked down at my phone. It was a text from Kayla. She wanted to know if I’d made it to the moon yet. I told her almost, and thought it best to go ahead and mention its current phase [waning gibbous] because I knew it’d be the next question she’d ask. She wanted me to wave to her tonight. She said she’d be watching me from her bedroom window. I typed ‘okay’ and she responded with a smiley face emoticon. I buried the phone inside my pocket. I don’t think Kayla ever believed I’d go through with it, with my lunar suicide. Possibly because I’d talk about it so damn much it just felt like normal to her now, but I was always serious. I didn’t expect to come back from it. In all honesty, I didn’t even expect to live long enough to wave to her happy ass down on earth that night either, but life would continue to shine its little light on me, despite my skull being reduced to an inch of dust—but that part came later…
The phone buzzed again. I let it be. There didn’t seem to be a point in responding anymore anyway. I looked out the window and tried my damnedest to feel impressed knowing I was in outer space, but the truth was that it all just felt sort of hum-drum, probably because it looked exactly the way it did in every movie about an astronaut that ever existed. Watching movies equates to no surprises. It seemed I had experienced all there was to experience through watching movies. I’d felt every emotion, been through every kind of disaster, tragedy, and time period one could imagine, and all while wrapped in the fetal position, nestled on my couch. Looking out the window of the bullet train, the only feelings stirring within me were the ones associated with leaving home to kill myself, and even though those feelings didn’t sit well in my gut, it still felt as if I’d made the right decision.
It was in that exact moment that I discovered the pain I normally felt every second of every day had been silenced, attributed likely to the adrenaline coursing then through my veins. It acted as some sort of venom, numbing me so I could slip silently and painlessly into death. The human body’s interpretation of morphine. If I could somehow feel this way at all times, I wouldn’t mind living forever. It felt ironic that the only way I could ever experience a life without pain was through the adrenaline rush of committing suicide. Life, man. So fucking cruel.
It didn’t take long to get to the moon, as least not as long as I’d initially thought. The train slowed about a mile or two out and continued to slow until it came to a complete stop just outside the lunar station. An automated voice came over the intercom and my brain naturally tuned it out. Minutes passed and I was growing impatient that the doors still hadn’t opened. It wasn’t until I actually made an effort to listen to the automated voice that I discovered what the problem was.
“We have arrived at our destination, the moon. Please stand and remove the spacesuits from the overhead compartment. For your safety, the doors will not open until every passenger is fully suited.”
Being the only passenger on the train, I stood and followed orders. I found it ridiculous dressing myself in a protective suit just so I could kill myself, but if that was the only way to get the doors open, I really had no other choice. Besides, after suiting up, the thought occurred to me that I should say something important before my death, even if there was no one around to hear it. I often fantasized about this moment, and now that it was here, it should feel epic. The words would have to be perfect. I’d think on it.
Just as I snapped the locks on my helmet to meet the metal ring running around the neckline of the suit, the doors gasped, releasing the pressurized oxygen from the cabin out into the moon’s atmosphere, and slid open.
In my fantasies, at this moment I would leap from the ledge of the train, bounce in that airy, light gravity way all astronauts would do on television, then I’d release the locks of my helmet and spend my last dying breaths screaming at the moon’s surface, cursing it, and burying my head into the dust as far as I could while sucking as much of it as possible into my lungs until they were filled to the throat with moon dust and my never-not-beating heart would finally stop and I would be no more. Disappointingly though, turns out that’s not what happened at all. Instead, I was greeted by a small child.
He stood just outside the train. After stepping off the ledge, the young boy came no higher than my waist in height. He was towheaded and wore black swimming trunks and a grey t-shirt. His eyes were locked on mine as soon as the door released, as if he’d been staring into them long before the train ever arrived at the station. I didn’t understand why he was there, but that wasn’t what initially bothered me, it was how he was there, without a suit or protective gear of any sort. He was standing with his bare feet half covered in moon dust, breathing just as he would on earth, without any sort of apparatus.
Then he spoke.
“Where’s Joan?” the boy asked, seemingly talking to me, even though I had never known a Joan in all my life.
I looked behind me, wondering if perhaps he was talking to someone else on the rock I had somehow not noticed. There was only the boy and me. I shook my head.
“I haven’t seen her,” I responded, immediately recognizing how odd a response it was. I felt as if I should have said more, perhaps I should have explained that I had never heard of such a person, or better yet, instead of even answering, I should have responded with a few questions of my own. Who was this kid anyway? And what the fuck was he doing here on the moon? Or the real head scratcher—how the hell was he even alive? But I didn’t ask any of that. Instead, I waited patiently for him to speak again.
“Where’s Joan?” he repeated.
That time I didn’t respond. His eyes seemed to flicker as he spoke, as if they were two flames dying out.
“Where’s Joan?” he asked. Blood trickled out of his nose and down along his lips and chin. He did not bother to clean himself. His stillness had me wondering if he’d even noticed the bleeding at all.
“Excuse me, do you know you’re bleeding?” I asked.
The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, as if he was having difficulty processing my words. It had me wondering if perhaps he was deaf. Then the thought occurred to me that we were in outer space. It felt silly forgetting a detail such as that, but the sudden appearance of the troubled boy, alone on the moon, had my brain scrambling for answers, some sort of explanation for his existence. It caused me to forget where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. Snapping back, I remembered something I’d once heard in my youth, something that stuck with me through the years: sound does not travel in space, therefore it is impossible to speak and be heard, at least that was my understanding of it. Still, even if that was the reason he could not hear me, it didn’t explain why I was able to hear him. Perhaps there was some sort of scientific explanation for it, something about the composition of the moon’s thin atmosphere or something of the sort, but I wouldn’t know. All I really knew about the moon was that it owed me death, and I had come to collect that debt.
“Where’s Joan?” he asked again, but before he’d even said her name this time half the boy’s head caved in and blood sprayed violently from the wound, running down his cheek and the back of his head, and soaking into his t-shirt. Again, he seemed completely unaware any of this was happening.
The boy opened his mouth to speak again, most likely to repeat those same two words, but before he could do so, his body collapsed to the dusty surface of the moon. That’s when I noticed the reason he fell, the skin and muscle that once covered the bones of his feet and calves had been gnawed off, and rather messily too. By what? I wasn’t sure. There was nothing or no one around for miles as far as I could see. Curiously, the flesh around his knees and lower thighs vanished right before my eyes, with each little piece disappearing inch by inch, as if the child, right before me, was being eaten by some invisible pack of dogs. I thrusted my hands into the air around the boy’s legs, trying to grab hold of whatever ethereal thing was behind all this, but could feel nothing.
I could not save him.
The boy wasn’t left alone until every little strip of flesh had been torn clean off the bone. The curious creature left no evidence of its presence, no footprints or the like, only the bloody skeleton of the child, along with tiny bits of gore stuck between each bone, the parts of him not so easily accessible to invisible demon’s wild maw. The stripped corpse rested in the dust before me and I could do nothing but stare at the nightmare. How strange, his eyes still seemed to watch me, even in death. It must have been only my imagination, but regardless, it still felt like the same fear to me.
Looking into his lifeless, lidless eyes is what led me to find the switch, a small button located on the center forehead of the boy’s skull. I wasn’t sure what it was at first glance, but upon closer inspection it most certainly was a switch, something installed in the child, an unnatural electrical attachment fused masterfully with his biology. Out of curiosity I pushed down on the switch and it moved deep into the skull until it clicked and held in place. Immediately the skeleton sprouted what looked to be iron wings, causing it to resemble some sort of mechanical angel drenched in bloody afterbirth. It rose from the dust and ascended into the heavens above.
I wasn’t sure what it was or what it wanted, but I hoped it was off to reunite with its beloved Joan. Restless spirits never make for warm company. I decided it best not to try and overanalyze the situation or else I would have driven myself mad trying to explain any small part of it logically. I took a step and bounced along the surface of the moon, making a new set of footprints in the dust. It had me wondering what it must have been like for those first few visitors, making tracks in dust that had been undisturbed for centuries. Walking there now it was almost impossible to distinguish my set of footprints from the thousands of others spread out in all directions and spanning the entire surface. The moon may have once been a surreal extraterrestrial landscape to the people of earth, but now it was just another vacation spot, and not even a popular one so much anymore. The allure quickly wore off once it became possible for everyday folk to travel there. The mysticism fell away like a pulled curtain the moment humans realized it was something they could have. It’s always been human nature, after all, to want the things we know we cannot have and to dismiss them once we do.
Something strange happened then, and not surprisingly, if my trip so far was any indication of what was to come next: an airplane, a regular old jet airliner, came speeding through the black sky, hurdling straight towards the surface of the moon. It was coming down much too fast to make a clean landing. In retrospect, I probably should have high-tailed it out of there, somewhere away from the direct vicinity of the impact point and future debris field, but I didn’t. I remained still and watched the diving airplane speed towards me the same way I would if it were only a 3D movie. The realization of the difference only came as it finally hit the surface. I could feel the impact and rumbling at my feet as the steel shell of the plane crumpled like a beer can, up in a crescent shape, until it resembled a furious scorpion with its tail prominently displayed overhead. The plane skittered continuously in my direction, tearing into the moon’s terrain like jagged metal through skin, yet still I could do nothing but stare at its horrible beauty as it barreled toward me. I could not get my legs to run in either direction, to save my own life—as much as I tried, I could not think of a single reason to do so.
The plane hit me, throwing my wilted body on top of it and snagging my spacesuit in the process. Material from the sleeve got pinched between two pieces of steel as the crash forged them together. I rode along, bouncing violently against the top of the plane as it pushed into the great sea of dust, until finally it came to an abrupt halt.
To someone watching from a distance, not that anyone was (well, perhaps Kayla), I’m sure the wreckage was quite the sight. The plane didn’t quite look like a plane anymore. It was bent in a C-shape, so that the ass-end of the thing was hanging over the cockpit, and split in several places, making the jagged metal resemble wicked tree limbs. Dust billowed and engulfed the plane, just as it would have on earth, despite the differences in gravity and atmospheric pressure. Flashes of light bathed the wreckage and the moon’s surface as if there were storm clouds hanging overhead. The scene was quite surreal and dream- like, yet in that moment, I didn’t question a thing. Perhaps it was due to my emotions and how caught up in death I was at the moment, blind to reality, like a young child receiving a love letter, but regardless of the answer, I accepted everything as truth and kept pushing through.
It wasn’t until I discovered it wasn’t light that was flashing that I became nervous, it was the dark, and moments later there was only dark and dark alone.
In a panic, I pulled on the hand with the pinched sleeve and applied enough pressure to tear the material free from the plane’s grasp, causing me to fall slowly to the ground and bounce along the surface. Curiously, it seemed I was the only thing affected by the lunar conditions. As I struggled to pull myself to a standing position, I felt a pulsing vibration inside my pocket. It was my phone. Surely it was Kayla texting again, but inside the spacesuit I was unable to check. I wondered if she had seen the crash, though I doubted it, seeing as how the wreckage now stood in the shadows of the dark side of the moon. Perhaps she’d seen something on the news about it though. After all, how often does a Boeing 777 break through the earth’s atmosphere and crash-land on the lunar surface without the media being all over it?
My wondering stopped suddenly as a blinding beam of light shined down upon me from somewhere deep in the darkness above. I turned my face to the ground to keep my eyes from burning out completely. The brightness was so incredibly intense it almost felt like a weight pushing down on me, trying to pin me against the ground. I felt trapped in a way, not unlike an insect burning in a beam of sunlight intensified through a magnifying glass. It felt like something was attempting to exterminate me. For a moment I welcomed it. I even considered stripping my suit and clothes to lay naked in the heat until either suffocating or burning to death, but as I turned to the wreckage, I caught a glimpse of something peculiar and had an overwhelming urge to investigate.
As the light beamed down on me, it also illuminated part of the plane, revealing two bodies strapped to chairs inside the cockpit. The bodies belonged to the pilots, and although they were still draped in their formal flight suits and caps, their skin and internal gore had vanished completely. Only their bare skeletons remained. I pulled myself to my feet and moon-stepped towards the wreckage. The spotlight followed me.
The passenger door of the plane had broken off, lost at some point during the crash, so getting inside was rather easy. It was dark on the inside, but not so dark it was impossible to see. The intensity of the spotlight was just enough that it leaked in through the windows, illuminating the passengers seated in the outer isles of the plane. Every passenger was also reduced to only a skeleton, as if they had all been dead for years. Perhaps just as unnerving, the passengers were all still seated, despite the terrible crash they’d all just experienced. Surely seatbelt technology wasn’t so advanced that they were now able to keep bodies from flying out of their seats, despite the entire plane having been bent in half and split apart at the end. Something was wrong, at least it was finally starting to feel wrong to me.
It was at this moment I started to suspect I was dreaming, so I decided to test it. I’d always heard it was possible to awaken yourself within a dream by finding a light switch and flipping it on and off. I’d never tested the theory, but thought it was just as good a time as any to try it out. I walked down the left aisle of the plane, scanning the walls for a switch with no luck. I couldn’t remember seeing a light switch inside a plane ever, at least in real life, so I wasn’t sure I’d find one in whatever version of reality I seemed to be experiencing in the moment, but still I felt compelled to check regardless. The aisle began to curve upwards as I approached the mid-section of the plane, so much so I was unable to access the second half. Instead, I leapt upwards and grabbed onto a broken section of the floor, which stood vertically at this point, and heaved myself up until I was able to squeeze into the space below. Between the floor and the bottom of the plane, there was a space containing wires and electrical parts, so I thought if there was a switch to be found somewhere on the plane, it would be there. However, the search for the switch was quickly abandoned once I stumbled upon what very well could have been the reason the plane crashed in the first place—the battery.
It wasn’t in great condition, that much was certain, though it wasn’t immediately clear as to whether that was due to the wreck or something else that happened prior to the plane spinning out of control. It was a large box bolted to the undercarriage and all the surrounding wires and cables seemed to lead back into it. There was some sort of buildup around the cables that had a blue tint to it, most likely battery acid, and there were several large cracks that split the box in several sections on each side. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as though the battery itself, which I discovered was actually contained within the damaged box, was expanding, growing larger than the shell that contained it. There was a rhythmic pulse as it expanded, I noticed, as if the thing was breathing, or beating like a living heart. I pulled away a section of the steel box that was already knocked loose from the damage, a section that very curiously displayed the word “Pinky” across the length of it, and what was revealed on the inside turned out to be no battery at all, at least not in the sense I had initially thought—inside the box was living tissue, large pink and grey folds of it, an honest to god living, pulsating brain.
I pushed my gloved fingers against the flesh of the nerve ball and electricity instantly shot through my hand, took hold of my bones, and set my entire body on fire. I stumbled backwards in shock, tripped on one of the cables running into the box, and fell deep into a dark ocean.
I was no longer in control of my body. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get myself to move my arms or kick my legs. The surface of the water became farther away with every passing second as I sank deeper into the ocean, then for the second time during my trip, I’d become swallowed in darkness.
Out in the distance, thirteen orbs glowed in a variety of colors, and swam ever closer to me. They moved as if confused or perhaps drunk, dipping and spiraling outward in the water, then back towards me. Then, inexplicably, the little lights were suddenly naked women, swimming in circles around me, or at least that’s how they appeared to me. My vision was quickly becoming blurred from the condensation collecting on the inside glass of the space helmet, so it was unclear if the orbs were ever even orbs at all. Perhaps at some point they had morphed into women, beautiful, if not a little thin, and curiously all equipped with the tails of large fish where there should have been legs.
Mermaids.
They said nothing to me, or if they had I could not hear it. The mermaids only seemed interested in the spacesuit I was wearing, which of course was something I doubt they had ever seen before. How could they have? They took hold of the material, studied it, and tugged gently at the arms and legs until each piece separated and swam out into the surrounding darkness. I could do nothing but watch as the creatures murdered me. Water immediately rushed inside, filling the spaces between the suit and my legs, abdomen, and breasts, and started to push its way into my helmet. Two of the mermaids unlatched the locks and pulled the helmet away, removing my only source of oxygen, and continued to pull at my clothing until there was absolutely nothing left.
I was naked and cradled in the arms of thirteen mermaids.
Somehow even my hair had become lost in the mix, as if just through their touch poison was released into my body causing every follicle of hair to die and fall away from my pale skin. I felt uncomfortable being so exposed and with the frigidness of the water and how each of the strange sea creatures were examining my body, looking at me as if I were some sort of vessel they could crawl inside, perhaps to procreate, my womb a nest for their eggs. As they swam around me, I noticed they all had the same wound, what looked to be rope burn in a ring around their necks. None of them seemed to be feeling any pain, so I assumed they must have been only scars, something from long ago, but of course I wasn’t certain.
By then, some of them were running their tongues along my skin, as if they could taste the death that was creeping in. Others pushed needles into my flesh, syringes full of bright yellow liquid, glowing like pure electricity riding the skies, and feeling just the same as it coursed through my veins.
They sang my body electric.
A salty tongue parted my lips, and it was not my own. One of the creatures pushed her lips against mine and took hold of my tongue with her tongue, forcibly. The kiss did not feel like a kiss at all, instead it felt threatening, as if she was ready to rip the muscle clean from my mouth. It felt like a definite display of dominance, the alpha female silently commanding for me to submit to her and her sisters. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I remained paralyzed and at their mercy.
That’s when I heard a voice, but not with my ears.
“Bricker, it’s time to wake up,” it said to me. The voice did not seem to be auditory, but rather telepathic. It was the mermaid. Her tongue had connected our nervous systems and she was sending messages directly to my brain.
“Bricker, you goddamn wolfcat.”
The voice was familiar, a deep static-filled voice that didn’t seem to be her own. It was definitely the voice of a man, a man that must have been part of my past. Memories swirled… Inexplicably, at least in the moment, the voice felt almost like my father’s—but he was not my father.
“You’ve been wandering long enough. It’s time to go,” said the voice. Then the mermaid let loose of my tongue and swam away and the voice was no more.
My eye caught a glimpse of a large hook shining in the dark water above me and I followed it as it made its way down. The hook was attached to near invisible fishing line, but somehow it knew exactly where I was and how to get to me, as if it were equipped with some sort of homing device [or again it very well could have been that I was in a dream, but had no way of telling for sure]. One of the sisters grabbed hold of the hook, pushed the sharp end past the opening of my mouth, and pierced the inside of my jaw till the end of the hook jutted out about a half a foot from my face.
Consciousness was waning at this point and I was unsure if it was due to the lack of oxygen, the pain of the hook piercing through my skin, or from whatever it was the mermaids injected into my veins. My vision flickered like a strobe light as the hook pulled taut at my cheek. I was being pulled away from the grasp of the mermaids, and when my vision returned they again appeared only as glowing orbs to me. My eyes closed for what felt like an eternity, but very well could have only been minutes, seconds…
When I opened my eyes, Gordon was holding me by the skin of the neck, in the same place a mother cat would carry her young. He looked at me not with disappointment, but rather with intent, as if He was studying my face for clues. I remained silent, hanging there limply in his grasp—wet, hairless, and naked.
He threw me to the floor. It was only then that I noticed we were back on the bullet train, speeding through dark matter somewhere in outer space. He pointed to a bench that ran along the wall and told me to get dressed. Folded neatly at the end of the bench was a hospital gown. I unfolded it and wrapped it around my body. It annoyingly clung to the wetness of my skin. If given the choice between this and being naked, I would have stayed naked. However, I was not given a choice.
“Where are we?” I asked, surprised I was even able to speak.
Gordon turned away from me, and at first I thought He was not going to respond.
“Where are we? When are we? What are we? Who are we? Why are we? How are we?” He said.
I decided to sit down.
“We’re headed for the edge of the universe,” He said, after some silence.
“The edge? But there is no edge of the universe. It is without end, and constantly expanding,” I said.
“No, there most certainly is an end,” He said. “A definite and abrupt end. That’s where we’ll soon be.”
I looked down at my feet and shook my head. I wasn’t sure of what to say next. Gordon spun around angrily and before I could even process it, He was right in front of my face and screaming at me.
“So you think you’ve figured it out, huh?” He yelled. Spit leapt from His mouth and landed directly on my face. I didn’t wipe it away or even flinch. “You know nothing! You’ve never known a damn thing!”
He took hold of my gown and pulled with great force, violently throwing me to the steel floor of the train. He pulled so hard the gown tore away from my body and remained clinched within His fist. I attempted to run from Him, but I panicked and tripped before I could ever fully get up on my feet. He stood over my quivering naked body and wrapped the ends of the gown over each of His fists.
“Let me teach you a little something, Bricker,” He said, and as he spoke my name, the outer image of my body flickered from female to male, then back again. For just that split second, my breasts and vagina had disappeared, replaced instead with muscular pectorals and a dangling penis and testicles. It was a maddening thought, especially trying to make any sense of it, but I couldn’t deny what I had just seen with my own two eyes.
He wrapped the gown around my neck and choked me out. I did not resist or try to push Him away. I was ready to go. My blood pressure felt as if it were doubling with every millisecond that passed, so much so it felt my head was going to blow right off my shoulders.
“Bricker, you goddamn wolverine,” He said, and again I had morphed into a male. I reached down to take my penis into my hands, just to verify I wasn’t hallucinating, but it appeared and disappeared all within a second. I felt around my groin looking for it, but found nothing except my female parts. Gordon looked down at my hands as I was examining myself. He seemed confused. He let up on the gown and I instinctively took in a large breath, sending myself into a terrible coughing fit.
“Is this bothering you?” He asked, pointing to my vagina. “Do you feel ashamed?”
I could not respond due to the coughing.
He stood up and walked over to the back of the train. I could hear Him fumbling through what sounded to be a mess of equipment, perhaps a toolbox of some sort. When He returned He had a roll of silver duct tape in His hand.
“This should help with that,” He said, then proceeded to wrap the tape around my hips, covering my nakedness and more. By the time He was finished, I was tautly wrapped from my hips to my ankles, not unlike a mermaid. He then folded my arms over my breasts and taped them in place so I couldn’t move. Again I was paralyzed.
“No,” I finally managed to say.
“No what?” He asked.
“No, I do not feel ashamed.”
He laughed.
“Well, you should. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He asked.
I wasn’t sure what He was referring to and therefore could not respond.
“This cycle is over. I’m ending it,” He said, then seemingly from out of nowhere, He heaved a large moon rock high over His head and came down on my skull with such force that pieces of my brain splattered all the way to the back of the train.
But. I. Lived. Through. It. All.
“There is no end,” I said, with broken teeth and bleeding lips. “It never ends.”
“Bricker, my boy, it ends when I say it ends,” He said. “This is all just a simulation within a simulation. If I want it finished, it shall be finished. I control everything, even the sun you see out there in the distance. It is all my creation. Just watch…”
And instantly the universe was dark and the sun was no more.
“If I want there to be light, there shall be light,” He said.
And then there was light and the light was good.
“If I want to manipulate time to instantly turn you into a 163-year-old, I could do it faster than I could even snap my fingers. You and all the lives you know exist only in my creation, this simulation within a simulation. You are the product. You are the experiment. You are the subject. Your life has already been lived, spent, and now you are forever dreaming. Day after day the dreams return. They are cyclical and automatic. Automated daydreaming. All my creation. You are a lie. Nothing is real.”
“Please kill me,” I whimpered, unable to say anything more. I wanted nothing but to die, and more so than ever in that moment.
“I understand. After all, there are certainly things worse than death,” He said. “But I can’t let you go, Bricker. We still have so much more to explore and discover together. Don’t you remember? You wanted this.”
“I wanted to escape,” I said.
“You ingrate! What do you think this is?”
“I feel even deeper within the nightmare than I ever had before,” I said. “This is no escape.”
“You cannot get any further than you are—,” He paused. “Right now.”
As soon as He said this, the train stopped and the doors opened. Outside the doors there was a solitary white square, maybe ten feet by ten in size, surrounded by nothing but darkness.
“We’ve arrived at the edge of the universe, and at the edge, we do not speak,” He said, then placed a strip of duct tape over my mouth.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head and suddenly I was visualizing myself in a field. The wind blew through the tall grass as I sat in a lawn chair, staring up at the night sky in total disgust. The moon would not kill me. My lunar suicide had failed. Again, I couldn’t even do the work of a failure. So what did that make me?
Then I remembered what made that night bearable, and all nights, if I was being completely honest: Kayla. I thought about the last conversation we had together, and for the life of me I could not remember what it was. Then it occurred to me that I couldn’t remember because I never responded to her last text. I hadn’t even read it. Now my phone was lost somewhere deep within some strange dark sea and I would never get it back. I hadn’t even the slightest idea of where to look. If I were to guess what it was she had said, my guess would be that it was short and simple, perhaps even a single word: ‘goodbye.’
I muttered this word repeatedly to myself, muffled of course by the tape over my mouth, as I hanged there from the white square by the hospital gown wrapped around my neck. My bashed skull hung limply on my shoulder and blood dribbled from it, drops falling into the eternal nothingness below. I could do nothing but watch as the train pulled away, growing smaller with every second, until it disappeared completely. Just watch, it was all I ever could do.
I was alone again.
Alone and forever alive.
The only thing more terrible than living this life, I’d imagine, would be discovering it was someone else’s all along. Was that what Gordon was suggesting when he said I was living in a simulation within a simulation?
Whatever he meant, he was right about one thing for sure: there were things far worse than death itself.
This much I was certain.
The Edge That Would Not Speak
© William Pauley III, 2016
All rights reserved.
Storytime: "THE EDGE THAT WOULD NOT SPEAK"