On Hard Stone (Chapter 1)

5th of April, 2012

Dr. Richard Burns sat at his desk under the window, idly twiddling his thumbs over an open notebook; at its top lay the name of his next patient, the final patient of the day. Sydney Bergen, age 15; he had called the office to book a meeting himself, without the knowledge of his parents. This was information he had given to Dr. Burns’s secretary of his own accord and seemed unconcerned about it. The elderly secretary had later mentioned that the boy’s tone, upon booking his appointment, had seemed almost one of mockery. Since then, both the psychologist Dr. Burns and the secretary had been curious to see what oddness Sydney Bergen would bring to the office later that week.

And at last it was Friday. Dr. Burns sat twiddling his thumbs while a sheet of rain battered the large window behind his desk. Waiting for his young patient to arrive, in the semi-darkness that was his workplace, Richard felt more than a little uneasy. “What can the teenager possibly want with an adult psychologist?” Dr. Burns scoffed to himself. “Actually, this could be interesting”, he then thought.

Sydney would already be in the waiting room, no doubt, sprawled out on the couch. Dressed in long baggy jeans and an offensive jacket. Maybe this was his idea of a joke. A dare, even. On the other hand, he could be a nerd and be dressed in neat clothes, have combed hair and clean skin.

Either way, the question remained: what did he want?

There was a sharp jolt of lightning and the small office was momentarily black and white; the door swung open and the secretary presented herself.

“He’s here, Dr. Burns,” she said, her face expressionless. Sally the secretary had been employed in Richard’s office since he had begun working. Apparently, she had been the department’s secretary since the late 80s, when the property was built.

“Excellent,” Dr. Burns sat up in his chair. “Tell him to come in then, Sally.”

“Ok,” Sally said, withdrawing her lean figure.

“Oh, and Sally,” Dr. Burns called her back. “Why don’t you leave early tonight? It’s raining and I bet the roads will be a hell.”

“Thank you, Dr. Burns,” and she smiled.

The doorway was empty for a moment. Richard Burns cleared his throat and sat up straight. This was it.

Sydney Bergen strolled into the office and stopped on the carpeted floor. Dr. Burns noticed a quick flash of the eyes as Sydney inspected the room; books, objects, everything he owned was visually, and almost instantly, devoured by the boy who stood before him.

Sydney himself was strangely hard to describe. He had brownish hair that fell over his forehead and made the color of his eyes hard to distinguish. He was dressed in regular and uninteresting clothes, as if he unobtrusively wanted to blend in with the modern fashion.

Dr. Burns opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. Sydney spotted his delay and took the opportunity to say, “Hello.” His voice was dry and somewhat deep for a boy his age. His lips barely moved when he spoke.

“So you’re the mysterious Sydney Bergen,” Dr. Burns observed after taking a quick sip of water from a personal bottle. “Sally and I have been wondering why exactly you are here. I treat adults, young Bergen.”

“Good for you,” Sydney remarked, and there it was; a faintly detectable disdain that Dr. Burns did not like one bit. “But I don’t need treatment.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. May I take a seat?”

“Well…” Dr. Burns paused. “Of course, but… I still want an explanation as to why you are here and not out in a video arcade with your friends.”

“First of all,” Sydney replied, seating himself across from Dr. Burns at his desk, “I have no friends. And second… because I need to speak with you.”

The office was quiet for a moment.

“Listen, kid. Has it occurred to you that I might not be the person you want to speak with?”

“Yes,” Sydney observed. “Please do not take me for an ignorant and childish teenager. I am not one.”

“Then what are you?” Dr. Burns asked politely.

“I am… me,” Sydney echoed. He was extremely fluent while speaking and showed virtually no hesitation before uttering a phrase or signs of choosing his words.

Lightning crackled outside as Dr. Burns collected his thoughts; a teenage boy with an obviously above-average intelligence and self-awareness was sitting at that moment in his office of his own free will. This wasn’t, however, what struck him as odd.

“Now let’s start making sense out of this meeting,” Dr. Burns suggested. “You said you wished to speak with me. If so… please tell me what of.”

“Whatever you wish, Dr. Burns,” Sydney grinned. “I’m here to talk with you about the Dark.”

The psychologist frowned. “The dark?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. But… why not tell your parents you were coming here?”

Sydney flinched, but only slightly and was instantly himself. “They… wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh. Why do you say that?”

“I have answered your question, Dr. Burns,” Sydney replied. “I have no desire of being analyzed. Like I said… I am here to talk about the Dark.”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you,” Sydney breathed. “You must understand… my parents think I’m mentally ill and have attempted to institutionalize me numerous times.”

“I see,” Dr. Burns muttered. He sensed an unpleasant energy flowing from Sydney’s controlled narrative; he was talking of serious matters as if discussing a television program.

“Except I am, of course, NOT mentally ill,” he declared matter-of-factly.

“And exactly what led your parents to think you mentally ill?” the psychologist insisted; it was a common mental disorder for certain people to deny a condition when most others were certain they suffered from it.

“The Dark. I tried one day to tell them all about it, but ever since then they’ve never trusted me.”

“And what IS the dark, Sydney?”

Lightning, once more; and in that moment, Sydney disappeared. In his chair sat an unsightly bulk that appeared to ooze blood from its every pore and grinned slaughter.

Or maybe not.

“I have caught your attention, then?” Sydney beamed and the apparation was gone.

A pause. “Naturally,” Dr. Burns indulged in his convoluted yarn.

“Ok. For me to tell you about the Dark, you will have to believe everything I say. Not once may you challenge what I am about to utter. I assure you beforehand, it is all true.”

“Very well.”

Sydney paused to take a short breath and shoot Dr. Burns with a hovering stare that caused serious inner agitation in the peaceful doctor’s mind; Sydney’s eyes, perfectly clear and normal, hinted at an underlying evil that lurked in the boy’s consciousness, attempting to escape and wreak havoc upon the human plain.

Dr. Burns willingly dismissed these thoughts, however, as soon as they entered his brain and attempted to concentrate on Sydney’s story.

“It all started when I was very young,” he began. “I saw… shadows. They were everywhere. In the street, my house, my school, and yet somehow I thought everyone could see them.”

“Visions?”

“No, doctor, not visions. What I saw… and see… were real living moving shadows,” Sydney replied ominously. “The contours of indescribable beings that move about the human world unnoticed by most people.”

“So you’re saying that these… shadows reside in this world but only you can see them?”

Sydney sighed impatiently, as if speaking to a child. “I asked you to cast away all skepticisms at the launch of our conversation. Why, then, are you asking such questions?”

“Sorry,” Dr. Burns leaned back in his chair. “Do continue.”

Impossibly, the rain outside seemed to fall harder now against the window, creating a stentorian atmosphere in the office and causing the pair to raise their voices when talking. The dim lights on Dr. Burns’s desk flickered periodically; soon enough, no doubt, the power would be cut due to the storm.

Sydney continued.

“I quickly became aware that only I could see these abnormal shadows. They, of course, were not able to sense my acute observation and ignored me like they ignored all others.”

“Is that so?” Richard attempted to sound engrossed and attentive but decided Sydney’s tale was nothing more than a standard schizophrenic’s behavioral pattern.

“Yes. Except… except in the Dark.”

A moment of silence.

“So what’s so important about the dark, Sydney?”

Sydney’s face remained eerily expressionless. “People just don’t appreciate the eternal qualities of the Dark anymore. In the old days… everyone knew about the Dark and its impenetrable power. They simply knew of the shadows without actually knowing of them. They knew… and I know now… all is doomed within the reaches of Darkness.”

Dr. Burns was forced to reflect upon Sydney’s latest statement; it was true, History tells us about certain rituals and beliefs centered around the concept of the dark as an entity and unexplained deaths linked to these cults. In other words… a long time ago, people were actually afraid of the dark and avoided it at all costs.

“Dr. Burns?”

“Yes,” he said, jumping slightly in his chair. “Yes, Sydney, go ahead. I’m sorry, once more. I was thinking. Listen, so what exactly are you getting at?”

“I needed to see a serious doctor of some sort. Someone I could tell my story to and have it analyzed from a scientific point of view,” Sydney explained. “My parents, on the other hand, were quick to dismiss my feelings as paranoia.”

“You made a wise choice, but…” Dr. Burns sighed helplessly. “You’re asking me to acknowledge a lot of information I honestly don’t want to set free in my mind. You DO realize what you’re saying, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you… are you seeing the shadows now, Sydney?”

No answer.

“Look, this should come to you as no surprise, but I cannot admit the fact that living shadows lurk in-”

“So you’re just like them,” Sydney said, and Richard Burns was forced to stop and listen closely; the voice he had just heard was not Sydney’s.

“Do you know what happens in the Dark?” Sydney asked, his voice normal again. Dr. Burns relaxed, but not much; he was anxious to end this meeting and never see or talk to Sydney Bergen again.

“No.”

“The shadows become flesh, Dr. Burns. Don’t forget that.”

And, quick as the flash of lightning that lit the room, Sydney was out the door and Richard Burns was alone in his office. “Oh, at last he is gone,” he thought mercifully, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead with a cold handkerchief. But was that a low breathing he could hear above the rain?

Thunder clapped outside.

The lights went out.

The Dark pressed forward.





Unknown date, roughly 3 years later

It was a dark morning when Gail opened his eyes and stared at the tattered ceiling of his bedroom. He sighed. His bare bedroom window, a simple square hole in the wall, breathed pollution and tainted air into the room. Outside, the industrial landscape of Barasile jumped and clanked and rattled in a frenzy of bronze machines and whizzing pumps and factories.

Gail got up. He had been living in Barasile already for a little over 3 years so the noise, shouting of workers and overall damp and ruined air was something he put up with every day without complaining; not that he even wanted to complain, anyway. His position at the local Meat Masher facility was, as was everyone’s, very unstable to begin with and Gail had no intentions of losing his job. It was what he lived for.

He prayed, kneeling down beside the bed. An insanely small number of people believed in God or virtually anything besides industry magnates and banks anymore. The world of 2015 was a world of money. A world of greed, consumption and smog.

Gail accepted this, but tried to hold on to a few things. He didn’t believe in God, anyhow. It was something from the Old World and Gail wanted to preserve anything and everything he could before it was completely forgotten. He still kept a few books and videocassettes of movies he had enjoyed. Both were now unavailable anywhere in the whole urban Earth.

Basically, all culture had lost its meaning and had been wiped into the past of the primitive Old World. Televisions were used solely to broadcast the news and even this consisted only of business and financial goings-on.

Other than that, Gail was proud to own a digital camera that he could never use because it had only 3 minutes of battery left on it, a dark blue Hard Rock Café T-shirt from Rome and a chess board. A few pieces were missing but he was glad to have it. One day, he hoped to complete the set with pieces he would carve out of wood. This was, even so, just a hope and Gail knew that. It was the desire for a worthwhile activity or pastime, something that would give his daily life a sliver of meaning. He would, however, never have the time, skill or tools one needs to carve chess pieces out of wood. He didn’t know how to carve anything out of wood, for that matter; his main area of expertise was no longer required. All the world needed now was factory workers, employers and employees. Anyone who wasn’t a factory worker would merely assume the role of customer in the many business chains that held the world up on its rapidly tilting sphere of activity. This could not work forever.

Gail sighed again. His apartment was made up of two rooms: the bedroom and the entrance. The entrance was a little larger than the bedroom and hosted the kitchen. Other than that, it had only a cheap television in the corner that had been the result of a 5 month salary saving. He had a bed in his bedroom and a messy wardrobe to keep it company.

The building had 8 floors, each having 20 apartments. The only people who lived in apartments were factory workers or bachelors. Private houses were located in the center of the city; there was no longer such a thing as a village, small town or settlement. Overall, there were maybe 110 cities in the whole world, seeing as most of its population had been wiped out. Barasile was the second biggest city in America, its capital now being Dolan, a large coastal area in the far North. It was commonly speculated that Dolan could have been built over the Old city Barrow.

There were no longer functioning aircrafts and all transportation consisted of motor vehicles and watercrafts. Tourism was an abandoned concept and very few people bothered to travel between cities. Thus, everything between populated areas was barren and wild.

Gail rarely spent over two hours at home all day without being in bed, sleeping. He had no previously set timetable; the time he spent at work depended on what jobs needed to be done. Nobody, except the overtly self-indulgent suits of the factories, had a previously set job. Everyone just did what he had to, and what was assigned to them. It was the same in all factories.

In the Meat Masher, for instance, there were various tasks that had to be carried out: the unloading of the first truckload of dead animals (namely pigs and cows; birds were rare in the vicinity of Barasile and even the whole world, mainly due to the abnormal but now totally ordinary severe pollution), the removal of hair and subsequent washing of the carcasses (all animals arrived untouched apart from a bullet in their skull), the selection of edible meats (a.k.a. the “slice and dice”), the counter job (carried out in the front entrance and obviously the only part of the establishment open to the public) and the assistant counter job. Other than these, there were a few other small chores like cataloguing and supervising special areas. All these different details were carried out by different people every day; whoever arrived early or first would be in charge of the unloading, whoever had the strongest stomach would endure the “slice and dice” and so on.

Most business and social services were clearly very unprofessional caused by the lack of enthusiasm of the workers and shortfall of any basic political or governmental activity. In essence, it was a virtually free world and everyone was on their own.

One could work and have money to buy food or one could not work and starve. This choice was completely up to the individual. Salaries were scarcely more than enough to buy the essential goods, not that there was even much else to acquire other than food and clothes.

After finishing his breakfast, Gail headed out the creakily complaining door of his apartment. He had eaten two pieces of bread with ham. Sometimes a small group of workers from the Meat Masher, himself included, would set about stealing ham or other easy to hide pieces of meat in way of protesting against the poor pay. Gail never bought food for any meal except dinner, seeing as he would have lunch at the Meat Masher; a bloody slab of pork with a half-empty glass of tap water.

Thinking about this, Gail came close to laughing in the corridor outside. It had suddenly struck him how the world and its current society seemed like a total joke. It could, at every level, be something one could read in an old, crap dystopian sci-fi novel.

When his unexpected irony wore off, Gail fell serious once more. He stopped on his way to the dirty stairway. “Is this what I asked for…?” He looked around at the dark, degrading hall of apartments. “No. I’m alone, now, on my own”, he muttered. “And I should admit it… I still wait for you. It feels good to say it out loud. Maybe you’ll come if I say it out loud.”

Gail closed his eyes. He waited to hear footsteps. All he heard was the steady dripping of a broken tap faucet, somewhere in the damp distance.

So he walked the streets as the ink-black sky kept watch.

The streets were almost deserted during the day; in the morning, workers would make their way to work. At night, they would return. And in-between only a small handful of people could be seen trudging along the broad city trail. A dirt road, everywhere.

It was always sad, Gail noticed. One night, after the End of the World, he had been walking back to his apartment and had spotted a bright, shooting star sweep across the sky. He wished that everything would, somehow, be well again, that everything that existed now would change back to what it once was. He agreed with himself upon the fact that the world had not been perfect, before. But it had been better, and better is always better than bad.

Gail entered the Meat Masher via the main entrance. “’Mornin’, Gail,” Lyle started, from behind the L-shaped counter, upon his approach. Lyle was the regular shop assistant and was currently fiddling with a small and colorless rubber ball while watching for customers. “Butch’s out back,” he said.

Gail held up his hand and nodded in response. He headed for the bowels of the Meat Masher, a dark and sickeningly gore-scented workplace. The Meat Masher chain was owned by Cid Quimple; Mr. Quimple lived in Dolan, like all industrial hotshots. Dolan was more advanced, in terms of reconstruction and quality of life, than any American city. It was larger in size and boasted more comfortable and spacious apartments and houses. There were rumors of there being a few “hidden” bars scattered throughout the city, since bars, cafés or any similar establishments were currently prohibited. The people of Dolan, however, felt as depressed as all others. The new world just didn’t need smiles or happiness.

Butch was sitting on a small wooden stool at the rear entrance, head bowed. A couple of Gail’s coworkers were standing nearby. Everyone was awaiting the arrival of the day’s truckload of animals; when it arrived (and following their unloading from the truck), a select group would quickly be assigned to strip the unfortunate beasts of their fur and transport them to the “Blood Room”. Naturally, it was in this macabre and red-stained white-tiled slaughterhouse that the “slice and dice” took place.

“Hello, boss,” Gail muttered. Butch looked up from his distant reverie and his eyes were still watery from sleep.

“Gail. Ya ready for this?” Butch asked, smiling emptily. They both knew it was pointless. It was just one more pointless day in what would undoubtedly be a never-ending chain of them.

“As always,” Gail said. As always.

Butch got up from his stool and looked out at the dusty road from where the truck would soon emerge. “Hey, I got something to tell ya. It’s important, so don’t leave early or nothin’. Got that?” he said, still staring absent-mindedly at the long, winding road. Originally he had been from the south, California or somewhere like it, and his typical southern accent showed it.

“Yes. But why not tell me now?” Gail said.

“It’s not exactly a 3-word conversation I was aimin’ for, Gail. We’ll both need time.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Good. In that case, I’ll come see you when I’m able.”

And then the truck arrived. Everyone started to work, each at their own odd jobs. The day moved in a slow blur. It consisted of things everyone had done before, uninteresting things that everyone wanted to forget. At last, it was time to leave; the Meat Masher staff obediently filed out into the street, mumbling bored goodbyes to each other. Gail, however, did not leave. He stopped in the front entrance and leaned against a wall in the dingy shadows. Across a normal day there were very few actual light hours; the pollution took care of blocking out the sun for most of the time. And now, at a quarter past seven in the evening, it was darker than the darkest night.

For some reason, Gail didn’t like it.

And the meat stank.

Butch emerged from the gloom soon after. “So you waited,” he noted, making his way into a convenient spot of light that washed in from outside. “I got somethin’ important to tell ya. Real important, so listen close.”

Gail pressed his head eagerly forward and tried not to think about what Butch was about to say. But for some reason, he felt a delicate flicker of hope deep inside him, a longing for change or an opportunity to leave Barasile on an epic adventure. A return to the old days, maybe? A return to his former self?

“So this guy approaches me in the street,” Butch began, waving his hands theatrically but maintaining a straight face. “He’s wearing a long, black cloak and cape and I couldn’t make out his face in the dark.”

“So you don’t know who he was?”

“Yeah, I do. He said his name was… wait, what was it?” Butch scratched his head. “Uh… Zulok, I think.”

A pause. “Zulok?”

“Yeah. Ring any bells?”

“No. What did he want?”

“Well he asked me if I knew any Gails and I said yes. I’m pretty sure it’s you he’s looking for, but… maybe there are other Gails in Barasile…?” Butch offered flimsily.

“I doubt it. What else did he say?”

“He said he wanted to speak with you. But that don’t make much sense if you don’t know who he is. Right?”

“Right,” Gail agreed simply.

Butch raised his brow suspiciously. “You really don’t know who he is?”

“No.”

“That settles it, then. Must be looking for another guy.”

“Yeah.”

Except he wasn’t. Gail was very much aware of who Zulok Gant was, and what his somewhat unexpected return could mean to him; it was a worrying thought.

Very worrying.

In fact, he remembered Zulok telling him they would not meet again unless the entire world was under threat. Zulok’s arrival could therefore only mean one thing: either the world was at risk once again, or…

“No,” Gail thought. “There are no other possibilities. Zulok and I parted on bad terms, he would not want to see me if there wasn’t something serious going on. And for some reason, he wants me to be a part of it.”

Suddenly Gail was met with a painful onslaught of memories and forgotten feelings. Things he had done. People he had known, people he had loved. They all seemed to be mocking him from the past and sneering at his failed present, reminding him of just how much he had left behind, forcing him to curse the End of the World for its bad timing and unmerciful snatching of all that he cherished.

But now… maybe Zulok actually had good news for him. Maybe Zulok was to present Gail with an opportunity to return to his old lifestyle and somehow reclaim his lost majesty. Maybe… or maybe not. On the other hand, Zulok could bring terrible news and, ultimately, nothing would change at all.

“So listen, I’ve been thinking,” Butch appeared to change the subject, cutting short Gail’s brooding thoughts. “What exactly did you do before the End of the World?”

Gail hesitated. “I… don’t really want to tell you.”

“Why. Something embarrassing?”

“No,” Gail sighed. “It’s just… I don’t know much about you, boss, and I don’t feel comfortable entrusting you with potentially controversial information. All about myself, of-”

“That’s a lot of big words there, Gail. Mind translatin’ ‘em?”

“Look, I just don’t know where you stand,” Gail said.

“I’m standing in front of you,” Butch smiled. “Come on, I won’t do nothin’ if I don’t like what you say. Promise.”

“Ok, ok. I… I was a sorcerer.”

“Oh. Just that?”

Gail exhaled deeply. “Yes, just that. And thanks for understanding… after the End of the World and all those strange stories about the sorcerers being its culprits, I couldn’t know if you thought the same way.”

“I really don’t know what to think. Whoever placed those bombs around the world was certainly a very sick person but I couldn’t give a damn if he was a sorcerer or not. Who cares?”

“It is a proven fact that every single sorcerer in the world survived the End of it. Now even I find that somewhat suspicious,” Gail said cautiously, still wary about Butch’s sudden involvement.

“True… but Zulok Gant himself spoke for the sorcerer community and…” Butch’s features fell abruptly. “What the hell. Is it possible? Was that man in the black cloak…?”

“Yes,” Gail confirmed tentatively. “It was Zulok Gant. My mentor.”

“Darn. Zulok Gant was your mentor?”

“Yes, he taught me everything I know about magic. If there is one person I still trust in this world it is him, and now he is here for me once again.”

“Uh… darn,” Butch said in mild disbelief. “So I actually spoke to Zulok Gant, the greatest magician ever.”

“Sorcerer. Magician is a term used in fairy tales.”

“Right, sorry. I’m just still amazed at how I didn’t think of it before. Talk about obvious, and I… oh well. Do you know what he wants?”

Gail said nothing for a short moment. He took a few paces into the dark and said, “No. But I have a pretty good idea.”

“And?” Butch insisted. “Or can’t you tell me?”

“No, I can. I… do you remember when I first came to Barasile?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’d just had an argument with Zulok,” Gail said, unwillingly recalling that fateful day when he lost the very last shred of his previous life. “We were traveling together, ever since the End of the World and… he entrusted me with certain disturbing stories. Stories about the exiled sorcerer, Sydney Bergen.”

“Sydney Bergen, huh? Never heard of him.”

“He was accepted into our ranks at a very early age,” Gail explained, his voice echoing in the empty room. “He was… unstable, to be kind. Sometimes he would talk to himself, or hint at a parallel universe. Needless to say, he was a very unnatural individual but a sorcerer nonetheless, and Zulok forever pleaded for his acceptance.”

“So he was an outcast,” Butch said plainly.

“Yes, and we all did our best to befriend him but Sydney was simply hard to talk to. Other than being an accomplished sorcerer, he was a clear genius and liked to show it. Except one day… he killed someone.”

“I see. Lemme guess, with magic. Don’t your rules prohibit the use of magic against a fellow human?”

“Correct. He murdered his father and later said it had been a merciful act. The poor man had been close to dying of cancer. Anyway, this was something Zulok would not accept, so he ordered Sydney into exile. We never saw him again.”

“Sounds like a nasty guy.”

“He was.”

“But where exactly does this lead us?”

“Ah, the disturbing stories. Zulok and I had kept together after the End of the World but for some reason he delighted in wondering aloud who the mastermind behind it all had been.”

“Sydney Bergen?”

“At least that’s what he thought. And with Sydney’s history, I started to believe him.”

“So what’s disturbing about that?”

Gail returned from the dark and made slowly for the exit. He stopped there, and closed his eyes, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “I… really don’t know. Maybe it was when Zulok mentioned that Sydney was still alive. He’s still out there, and most probably the End of the World was not enough to satisfy his devilish lust for destruction. With Sydney’s power and mind… he could forge evil.”

“Christ,” Butch said hollowly, clearing his dry throat.

“Eventually, I asked Zulok not to speak about that again. He refused, of course, and I had no choice but to leave him. The closest city was Barasile and… here I am.”

“So I guess you never wanted to live here in the first place.”

“No. But thanks for giving me the message, Butch. I might not be coming to work tomorrow,” Gail finished, pulling open the door and looking over his shoulder to face him.

“It’s ok. Nice workin’ with you and… good luck. Give my regards to Zulok,” Butch grinned warmly.

“Will do. If anyone notices I’m gone…”

“I’ll make something up. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” Gail said, holding out his right hand. Butch shook it firmly and Gail left. The shadows outside teased his movement and followed him across the lonely streets. It was a hot night, his last in Barasile. Where he would be tomorrow only the shadows knew.





Earlier that day

Billy Nilrem stumbled hastily into the murky classroom and took his usual seat at the back. The school itself was a poorly costructed shed in the outskirts of Barasile and consistently smelled of sweat and moisture; the very few children who lived in the city would mandatorily spend their day at the school and be taught History and Literature of the Old World. What seemed like an incompetent set-up was indeed led by cultural survivors of the Old World and lectured with a relatively good-natured spirit. While the young scholars were not overly enthusiastic about sitting in a steamy classroom all day, they recognized there was mostly nothing better to do in Barasile and accepted its refuge.

The teacher eyed Billy sternly. “Yet again, master Nilrem, yet again. Must you always arrive so late?” Mr. Taylor noted testily.

“No, sir, I…” Billy trailed off, pulling back his sweaty brown hair. What would his excuse be this time? He had no desire of unleashing the truth upon his promptly deriding colleagues. No doubt they would laugh and crack nasty jokes about him. Clearly, he would need to improvise once more. “I lost my way, sir.”

Mr. Taylor did not look impressed. “I’m afraid this can not go on, Billy. I would like to speak with you at the end of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,” the teacher began aloud. “History! Today we shall discuss the End of the World and its consequences on society and economy.”

Billy sighed and slumped down low in his rudimentary wooden chair. It was all the same, year after year; in his first year at school after the End of the World Billy had endured certain principles which would then be repeated, albeit in a slightly more serious and deeper manner, the year after and now even in his third year. Being 16 already he took solace in the fact that he would need only to attend a further 2 years of school before being introduced to the factory life. Having harbored dreams of becoming an actor in the Old world, the current state of his sad and empty being proved to be sickeningly depressing and a reminder of just how much he lost; a lot.

“Stop being selfish,” he thought. “Everyone who survived the End of the World lost something, and you’re no different. Get over it. You have bigger problems now, anyway. When school is over you run back home and tend to your father.”

“Billy?”

“Huh?” Billy mumbled suddenly, jumping slightly in his seat. “What?”

“Get back to class, you’ll have ample time to daydream this evening after school,” Mr. Taylor said.

“Except I won’t,” Billy thought sadly. “I’ll have my dying father to take care of.”

“So what can you tell us about the End of the World, Billy?”

The entire class turned around to watch him. With their backs to Mr. Taylor, there were more than a few who made grim and mocking faces at him.

“What is there to say that hasn’t been covered in our previous years of school already?” Billy replied smartly, to which he received a disapproving stare from the teacher. “Ok, ok. Uh… it happened 3 years ago, nobody knows who did it, there – ”

“Enough, Billy,” Mr. Taylor cut him short. “Quite obviously you are not in the spirit of participating today, so I shall continue myself.”

Snickering unpleasantly, the class returned their attention to the Mr. Taylor.

“But you’re right, the End of the World occurred a little over 3 years ago. On the 5th of June, 6 especially enhanced nuclear missiles were detonated around the world. Who can tell me where?”

A fat boy in the front row raised his hand. “North America, South America, China, Australia, Germany and central Africa.”

“Exactly. And why were they placed in those locations?”

Once again, the fat boy commitingly raised his hand. “Because that way, whoever planned the attempt could guarantee a concentrated area of destruction.”

“Right. But that word, “whoever”… see, nobody actually knows who executed this horrendous assault against our world,” Mr. Taylor explained eagerly. “Care to elaborate on this statement, Billy?”

Billy shrugged. “Sure; I suppose you want me to speak about the suspicions held against the sorcerer community, but… I just don’t buy it.”

“Do tell us why.”

“It doesn’t click. I remember when Zulok toured the world and gave public talks. He spoke for the sorcerers and asked for everyone to drop their doubts against them. I watched him talk, right here in Barasile and… he seemed honest enough.”

“It is true,” Mr. Taylor agreed. “Zulok Gant has always been an ethical and powerful figure, but still…”

“It’s our fault the sorcerers now live in hiding and fear,” Billy said. “After the End of the World, we simply drew them away when humanity could seriously have used their help in the rebuilding process.”

“Again, true, but…”

“I’m sorry, but this conversation could go on forever,” Billy finished curtly. Mr. Taylor looked unsure of what to respond.

“I… well Billy has certainly presented us with sturdy arguments. Does anyone wish to counter?”

Silence.

“Very well,” Mr. Taylor finished slowly. “Let’s continue.”

And so they spoke of times past. The End of the World. The teacher believed that everything, one day, would be right again, but Billy knew better. Even Mr. Taylor knew better. Cruel people had taken this opportunity to begin a whole new world and it would, most probably, be like that forever.

At last, the class was over and Billy was left alone with Mr. Taylor.

“Glad you stayed behind, Billy,” Mr. Taylor noted bluntly, sitting awkwardly behind his makeshift wooden desk. “Now I really would like to know why you’ve been arriving late to class the last few weeks.”

Billy remained expressionless. “It’s my father,” he said. “He’s… he’s dying.”

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Taylor sighed glumly.

“We live alone and… he doesn’t have anyone else to care for him.”

“Is he sick?”

“It’s a tumor. There was a date set for the operation before The End of the World, but… that’s not happening now, is it?”

“No, you’re right…” Mr. Taylor said. “I suppose he mustn’t be in very good shape.”

Billy said nothing.

“Well, I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, Mr. Taylor,” Billy sniffed discreetly. “It’ll be over soon, anyway.”

“I know how you must feel. I lost my daughter to cancer when she was only 13, and my wife in The End of the World.”

“That sucks.”

“I know,” Mr. Taylor groaned mournfully. “But that’s all past now and… your father will soon be, too. Who are you going to live with?”

“There’s a kind woman in our apartment, Julie, who says she can take care of me after…” Billy stopped and swallowed dismally. “After my father dies,” he finished, at length.

“Good. If not… you know I live alone myself, and…”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor, Julie’s cool. She won’t forget.”

Mr. Taylor nodded gently. “I hope not. You don’t talk much in class, but I’ve always appreciated your presence, Billy.”

Billy smiled. “Thanks.”

And he never smiled again.





Sluggishly navigating the dark streets of Barasile, Gail took the opportunity to reminisce upon his memories of the Old World; he and Zulok had been great friends following the completion of his. Zulok, in turn, had proved an excellent tutor and rightfully held the title of most powerful sorcerer on Earth. After the End of the World, he had decided to begin a worldwide journey in order to give public speeches of notification concerning the non-envolvement of sorcerers in the sudden bombing of Earth. Mostly he had been received with considerate behaviour but there had been occasions of revolt against him.

Gail had accompanied Zulok on this trip and had found himself surprisingly lonely and unsatisfied upon being left in Barasile. Zulok had simply wished to go on alone and Gail accepted his request.

“Good times,” Gail thought. “No… occupied times. I was occupied. I had things to do. Now I have nothing.”

Lost in self-reflection, Gail was abruptly and quite startlingly met with a moving human body. Both members of this coincidental collision were instantly thrown off course. Gail stumbled but hastily regained his control.

“Who’s there?” he called into the dark avenue, expecting the response of a drunk wanderer. Instead, a boy’s painful groan rose from the ground.

“Watch where you’re going, man,” the boy remarked slowly. “Can’t… go running into…”

Gail knelt beside him. “Don’t talk. Close your eyes, you’re still disoriented.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Must’ve hit you pretty hard,” Gail said. “Sorry, I had my head in the clouds.”

“I like you already,” the boy snorted vaguely. “That is… if having your head in the clouds… something… a pastime you indulge in... frequently. I… I… hit my head on the curb.”

“Don’t talk. Wait – what’s your name?”

“Bill… Bill…”

“Ok, Bill, don’t talk now. I’m going to take you back to my place, help you pull yourself together. That sound, uh… cool, to you?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’m going to have to pick you up now, though. Here we go.”

Gail smoothly lifted the boy off the sidewalk and briskly carried him back to his grimy apartment. Having no other choice, Gail lay him upon his unmade bed and simply left him there in a sprawl.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Gail muttered drily when examining Billy’s gentle but rugged features. Frown lines sparingly creased his forehead; this was not a happy person.

“Where am I?” the boy cried suddenly, launching into a fit of tangled bedsheets and limbs.

“Hey, hey! Stop it, I’m not going to hurt you,” Gail said calmly. Sure enough, Billy’s tantrum was quick to die down. “This is my place. Remember me, Bill? We collided, in the street. You weren’t so well so I brought you back here.”

“Yeah, I remember. You had your head in the clouds, right?”

“Right.”

“And by the way, my name’s Billy. Guess I just wasn’t able to finish saying it back on the street.”

“Oh. Billy,” Gail repeated. “Ok then. Welcome to my home, then, Billy.”

“Yeah, thanks for slowing me down,” Billy retorted unpleasantly. “I got a dead father at home who needs help and now I’m gonna be late. Thanks a lot.”

“I, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Of course you didn’t know. Talk about stating the obvious.”

“You’re obviously as fit as a fiddle now,” Gail replied testily. “So maybe it’s better if you just leave. I was just trying to help. Anyway, I didn’t hit you on purpose.”

“I know. But you’re right, I have to leave. Exit?”

“It’s an apartment. You don’t need an escort, do you?”

“No.”

But Billy took only two steps from the bed before his head erupted in mind-numbing pain; the assault was brief but alarming.

“Hell, that hurt,” Billy grunted wheezily. “Maybe I… I better stay here a little longer.”

“It’s ok,” Gail reassured him stonily. “You can stay as long as you like. Just keep the insults to a minimum.”

“Sorry,” Billy sighed, sedately reclining back atop the bed. “I get anxious, sometimes. I need more time to care for my father but I can’t seem to grasp a couple extra hours when I need them. It’s all so unfair.”

“I know what you mean,” Gail said, sitting at Billy’s feet. “One has so much to do, so many dreams and projects to plan and execute but there just isn’t room for them. Life is short, no matter what some people say, and organisation is the key to doing what you want.”

“Organisation?”

“Yeah, you’ve got to organise your time.”

“I know,” Billy agreed soberly, uneasily stretching his legs. “But there’s no point. My dad’s gonna die soon, anyhow and I’ll have all the time I need.”

“Don’t say that… come on, I’ve lost stuff too.”

“People?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

Gail paused; there it was again, the wave of nostalgia and forgotten happiness. No! He fought it back. NO!

“Someone I loved,” he answered noncommitally.

“She die with The End of the World?”

“She?”

“It was a she, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to be asking so many questions. Actually, I didn’t catch your name,” Billy noted, smartly changing subject at just the right moment.

“Gail.”

“Gail? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Billy asked seriously.

“I suppose it can be. But it’s my name, too, and I’m a guy. Think of it what you will,” Gail explained, still dwelling on thoughts of his previous life. “It was a she, wasn’t it?” Yes, it was a she. I’d never met anyone like her, neither have I since. And she loved me. I know she did. She told me.

“Gail?”

“What?”

“Your head was in the clouds again.”

“Oh.” Gail shook his head in a vigorous dispelling of unwanted thoughts and memories. “You’re right, it was. It’s this atmosphere, this air. It forces you to hate your life and return to better times.”

Billy yawned. “You know, I still remember my old life. School, friends, dinner with my family every night. I’d go to a movie on Friday night, sometimes with my friends, sometimes with my dad. Mom wasn’t a fan of cinema, but I loved it. I loved it so much I wanted to be an actor.”

“An actor, huh?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to become some teenage superstar who does it only for the money and publicity. We had enough Lindsey Lohans.”

“Who’s Lindsey Lohan?”

“Guess.”

“A teenage superstar who does it only for the money and publicity?”

“Right. Although she did some good work I’m afraid she broke down and wasn’t very well looked upon after that,” Billy explained knowingly. “See, that’s what I didn’t want to happen to me. I had this idea of doing stage work before giving Hollywood a shot, but that’s all down the drain now.”

“Yes,” Gail agreed sorrowfully. “Sad, though. Cinema was our strongest artform in the early 21st century.”

“Sure was. That’s what makes me hate The End of the World. Well, that and…”

“And?”

“And whoever’s behind it,” Billy growled, somberly tensing his shoulders and clenching his fists. “Only wish I knew who it was…”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Gail said, gazing dismally out his square-shaped window in disgust at the glowing and sinister landscape of Barasile. “The window is a portal to Hell,” he thought. “That glow… it’s the stuff of nightmares.”


To be continued...