…

Regardless of my intention, we reached the survivor group before I completed my thought. We passed each other, actually. Climbing to the fourth story, a whole group of like, thirty, or so met us eye to eye. I could hardly count how many with how much they took up the staircase in an unorganized way. Rebecca jumped and, with wide eyes, pointed to someone that I could only assume was her friend. They reciprocated. It was a scrawnier girl who had a pixie cut in black and olive skin.

Upon returning to one of the landings, I took stock of the group. A lot of them had torn, dusty clothing. Many of them looked worn out from their expressions. I felt like I was taken out of the moment from the shock of how beat up they were. My attention simply sank, taking in the difference between them and Rebecca and I. Sure, they asked about me, and I gave surface-level answers. I wasn’t really there or opening up, though. I got a quick rundown about the group that I’m bound to forget later. No one was in the mood to pull me out of the depths of myself, either. Once they got moving, I simply followed quietly. Most of the group, Rebecca and her friend aside, were quiet, too.

I wonder. I know picking apart last night’s dream is bad. It’s a toxic mess and won’t do anything but fluster me. Really, it’s just a dream; my mind is simply scrounging together leftover resources while the rest of my body is inoperative. None of it meant anything; none of it mattered, and none of it should affect me. But, I wonder. The very moment that a large group of people met eye to eye, they ignored me. Did they really not notice me- am I just a ghost to them? Are they tired, actually really tired? Are they just trying to ignore me? I wonder.

I begin to bounce from person to person just to pester them. Names, faces, primary defining traits, and previous whereabouts all go from one ear and out the other for me. None of them gripped me, but none of them tried to, either. Sure, they were worn out, but they looked more uncomfortable than anything else. You would think maybe I’m just being weird, but I don’t believe I was too loud, in their face, or anything. I get no spark, forced to shuffle down story after story with the only tangible sounds being their shoes shuffling, as well as Rebecca and her friend joking around with each other.

Forget it. I gravitated closer to Rebecca and her friend and traded introductions. Her name was Anna. Casual introduction, easy and informal. I was instantly hooked back into the interaction, though, as if Rebecca inexplicably hired me as a jester to entertain the two of them.

We only had a few minutes before we arrived at the makeshift train stop, though. It was so lazily dug that I relished in their chutzpah, believing a hole like it was in any way acceptable. I respected it.

Here’s the setup: we’re one floor below ground. There’s some carpeting, primarily around the staircase and middle of the hall. Some of the carpet was pushed aside to dig the hole, but not the entire carpet. The lights are still on, so the hole didn’t damage anything essential. Our way down is more like a dirt mound, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, I see a wooden ladder thrown onto the ground below. The hole isn’t even a particularly uniform shape; it’s just a blob.

By the time I fully analyzed the room, I was peering straight down to the Metro stop.

Rebecca was the first to notice me being entranced, smugly saying, “Watch your step,” then, promptly, she and her friend burst into a chaotic fit of laughter.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

In return, I pretend to nearly fall into the hole, swiveling around at the last second. I was forced to stop horsing around at the leader’s command. We were put into a single file line and helped down.

“You know, I really don’t think I can do people with long names. I’ve been having trouble with quite a few names at this point, and I think I’ve narrowed the reason down to how many syllables they have,” I said.

Before sliding down to the station, I asked the leader for a small introduction and such. I can’t, for the life of me, remember their name. It was, like, four or five syllables at least, and I don’t know how even they could remember it.

“So what, you’re just going to pretend people with long names don’t exist?” Rebecca tried to hold back a short giggle.

“Worse, I think these people should just be executed. Like, anything longer than four syllables? Gone. Out.” I made a chopping motion with my hands.

“I’m imagining someone who’s exactly like you but the exact opposite.” She responds.

Anna jumps in, suggesting: “Yeah, there’s just this guy who fights everyone who doesn’t have at least five titles and thirty letters in their name.”

“We just fight to the death, like it’s some gladiatorial battle. I secretly reveal I’m hiding my best friend and lifelong partner, who has a name that could be four syllables long, depending on how you pronounce it.” I extend my hand as if I wielded a sword.

“He’s actually- wait, what about my name?” Anna asked.

“You’re Anna, right? That was easy to remember,” I had to pause before answering.

“Oh no. No, you don’t know, do you?” Rebecca held onto saying ‘no’.

I pretended to panic, extending my arms, gasping, and widening my eyes. “What?” I respond as quickly as possible.

“Oh, I guess you’ll have to kill me now. My full name is Anastasia. Ah-Nah-Stay-Ja,” She spelled out her name with her hands.

I fell to my knees and hit the ground. I looked up, pleading with my hands balled together. “It can’t end this way. I can’t believe I was betrayed- by a nickname of all things!” Rebecca then helped me up.

“You’re just forced to die now- we hand you a dagger that has a sulfur crossguard, and you’re then put on trial in front of thousands of people who happen to barely have more than a three-syllable name,” Rebecca nearly stumbles over her words while speaking so quickly.

“And then I decide- wait, why sulfur?” the rate I speak nearly matches hers.

Anna jumps up and down while raising her hand. “Oh, oh, oh, I can answer this one. Okay. It’s a cultural thing, alright? Sulfur has a connection to rage. There’s also a connection with consumption: eating, devouring, digesting. Think of it in that direction. Think of rage like an all-consuming desire. Someone in the City would just know, right, that what they’re doing might just destroy them and everything around them. It’s a nifty way of- let me think of it a different way- I guess putting your money where your mouth is? Signaling that if you continue down a certain path, your desire will destroy you, your goal, and everything you have?” she nearly violently throws her frail arms and hands up and down while making each point.

I nearly choked on my own spit. Something was finally explained to me. “Now I’m being forced to participate in weird rituals?” I said.

“Well, it’s not that weird. It’s like writing the word ‘gullible’ on a knife; you’re gonna get the point of it,” Anna flopped her arms while emphasizing ‘that.’

I moved on, as the subtopic felt like a dead end. “Did you ever learn why you were named Anastasia?” I pecked to continue the interaction.

She nodded. “My parents said it was some sort of promise.”