“He–hello?” He took a step forward. “Is anyone there? My name is James.”
The floor felt strange against his bare feet, slightly giving way as though he was walking on warm gelatine. The air was frighteningly cold, but even so, it did not seem to distract his attention from the remarkable sight before him.
In the distance, twinkling far from his present location like a minute beacon, a tiny dot of pale light could be seen. It slowly began to grow larger and larger, sparkling brighter before him like individual film frames of a white firework progressively getting faster. As it slowly glided towards him, it began to illuminate the immediate surroundings, not that there was anything to be seen. The darkness appeared to stretch as far as his vision carried and everything the light touched just clarified the desolate area beyond. As the orb grew closer, it floated in front of him, frighteningly bright and beginning to cone his vision. Illuminating his messy hair and stubble covered face, his expression was filled with unabated curiosity. Rising almost to eye level, it began to let out a faint sigh, almost as if life dwelled somewhere within and was being broadcast directly into his mind.
“Akertia…” a voice whispered, emanating from the orb. “Akertia has fallen.”
It was a soft voice, a woman’s voice that somehow immediately garnered his trust and made him feel safe and secure in the barren expanse around him, an area devoid of another living soul.
He could not understand why.
“Akertia?” the young man asked.
The orb lowered itself while staying suspended in front of him briefly, before slowly beginning to move off into the distance, back where it had originally emerged from.
“Wait. What is Akertia? Tell me what it is. Is it an object? A place? A person? Wait!” he shouted, calling out to the orb, as it eventually gained too much distance and seemed ready to flee at any moment.
As he attempted to move forward after it, the sparkling pale hue stopped abruptly, slowly rotating in its calm suspension as it gently bobbed in place. The light began to grow, but not in size, in force. He could feel waves of pressure emanating outward and slamming against his body. Brighter and brighter, it flourished, the air around him starting to become warm and almost familiar. It reminded him of something; safety, security, and — home. Suddenly, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, the orb streaked forward towards the young man and, without giving him a moment to react, shot into his chest with a cacophonous thud. As echoes of recognition reverberated through him momentarily, he was forced backward, sent reeling from his feet. His body flew through the air, his back slamming into the floor as it gave generously beneath him to brace his fall. His eyes steadily glazed over, and it took every ounce of his strength for them not to shut, but it was not enough — he could not resist any longer.
There was nothing but darkness, before he felt his presence return to the land of the living.
The dream had been a constant one, every night lately he had dreamt of the light and been told that ‘Akertia had fallen’.
He slowly opened his eyes trying to remember how it felt; the darkness, the frosted air that seeped into his core, the light growing brighter and the warmth gradually vibrating around him. It always ended the same way; the light rushed forward and penetrated his chest with such force that he would wake up. He always felt so hollow during these moments and could not understand what they were trying to communicate. If they were trying to communicate anything. After all, it was just a dream.
He forced his arm over to his bedside cabinet and rummaged for his mobile phone, knocking over a cerulean, blue lamp as it clattered against his alarm clock, sending both tumbling away from him off the wooden surface and out of his reach. His blind search in the general vicinity he believed he had left it continued, as he tried to force open his eyes, wearily staring down at his pillow. Finally finding his phone, he began to clamber over to the side of his bed and placed both feet on the floor, stretching his neck and back. A sudden melody of cracking joints filled the air; one, two, three. He rolled back his shoulders and sighed deeply, dragging his head back up from its previously hung position.
Perhaps all the biking was starting to catch up with him, as his entire body felt as if it had been overworked the last few days.
Raising himself onto his feet, he slowly walked over to the sofa and turned on the television. Flicking through the channels, his hearing still fragile to the sudden pops of audio each new image had to offer, he settled on the morning news.
He always enjoyed the steady stream of bad news and sad stories that seemed to fill early morning TV. There was a fine line between realism and cynicism, but they seemed to have it perfected in such a way that it slowly seeped into the unconscious mind and set you up with the right amount of anxiety for the day.
“Twelve people have been killed in a possible terrorist attack with dozens more injured.”
Stepping past the sofa, he wearily made his way over to the kitchen island to allow his mind to wake up. It did not take long for him to look upon his abode begrudgingly, as he stumbled through the interior. It could be described as a modern and comfortable studio apartment right in the heart of the urban lifestyle. Cramped clusterfuck in a crime ridden shithole probably would not attract the masses to seek a tenancy, but in the end, it was a roof over his head.
The light struggled to make its way through to him, the other buildings being in such proximity, but it was enough to remind him where he was. The light was kind like that.
The area was maintained but not pristine; clothes were piled up beside the bed and the kitchen sink still had last night’s dishes fermenting. The wooden island worktop had papers, promotional flyers, and letters strewn across the surface, littering the marble, and leaving little to no space. Grabbing a bowl from the drying rack beside the sink, he pushed a few of the letters to the side to create a clearing amongst the junk, a couple of small branches worth of paper plummeting to the floor below. Opening the fridge, he grabbed the nearest carton of milk from the shelf, quickly inspecting its current state. On the edge, but it would do.
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As he sat down on the stool, he felt his back twinge again just up from his left shoulder blade and slowly pulse further towards his neck, groaning as it did. Seeing his phone light up, he stopped for a second to crane his neck closer and read the alert. A text from Lucy, and she started with his name. He knew it must be important.
(Lucy) James, Sammy said you’re trying to quit! How’s it going?
(James) Swimmingly. I haven’t had one in about six and a half hours
(Lucy) So you haven’t had one while you were sleeping then? What a trooper
(James) I am willpower incarnate
(Lucy) A god among men
(James) Your words. Gonna get ready. See you tonight
(Lucy) My lies, more like. See you then
Pouring himself some cereal, James looked over at the television as he began to empty milk from the carton, the liquid cascading down and into the bowl while his attention was drawn elsewhere.
“Eyewitnesses report that the explosion took place approximately two thirty this morning and started with flashes of light from a nearby alleyway. Police believe this is connected to prior deaths in the city that were also followed by sightings of a thick, black smoke in the area. Investigations are currently continuing as we speak, but the public are being asked to come forward if they saw any signs of black smoke or flashing white ligh–”
Several deaths and now an explosion, all connected to a harmful vapour. He would make some terrible joke about how he had chosen the right time to quit, but it would be to the benefit of no audience. Nevertheless, he chuckled to himself.
It was strange though, crime was a part of life in a big city, but this had been going on for too long. Gas leaks, arsonists, and even terrorism. He’d heard all the theories. So many sightings but still no account of any suspects at all. Something was off, but what did he know. Not like he was a modern day Columbo.
“The weather forecast for this week warns of a coming storm that is likely to bring snow and high winds, we would advis–”
Finally finishing his breakfast, he turned off the tv and threw the remote onto the sofa, before stepping into the bathroom to prepare himself for the day.
Looking into the mirror, he was shocked at the effect so little sleep was starting to have on him. The bags under his eyes were beginning to show, and the stubble covering his face made it apparent that he was prioritizing convenience over appearance.
He dragged his hand across his skin and down the soft facial hair currently covering his cheeks, inspecting his less-than-ideal pallor. His chin was sharp and his jawline solid, the contours of his face showed slight weathering which made his age deceiving. His eyes were a deep azure blue and pierced back at him from the mirror like dull jewels in a blizzard. He was in decent shape, mostly due to the constant demands of his job and the overtime he endured, especially when he took into consideration his joy of post work imbibing. He could still stand to lose a few pounds and finally focus on improving those areas he had been gifted by his work life, but there was always tomorrow. Surprisingly, his overall aura exalted an unexpected stoicism for his surroundings and appearance.
His eyes fell upon the razor leaning against the bathroom wall at the back of the sink. Perhaps it was time. At the very least it would get it out of the way for a few days.
He opened one half of the mirrored wall cabinet and reached in to retrieve the shaving cream on the top shelf. As he stretched up, a small packet on the bottom caught his eye and clasped onto his attention. He paused for a moment, running his eyes over what was visible of the label squashed up to the white, painted wood. For a split second his hand changed direction, lingering as his eyes drifted up and met his own gaze, before righting its trajectory towards the shaving cream and grasping it tight.
He did not need it, not today. He did not, and that was the end of the matter. Maybe the dreams were back and maybe they had been far more vivid than before, but he could take it. This was not the first time, and he was stronger than that. He knew he could push past it. He would find a way. The process was slow, but he was determined to gradually wean himself from the dependency he had built up over the last few years — he had to. He was tired of feeling nothing, tired of not feeling like himself, and most of all, just fucking tired. No more of that shit, no more poison in his body. Then again, he thought of getting to Sammy’s later.
Well, let’s not be hasty. A little of the right poison never hurt anyone.
Smiling at himself in the mirror, he had made a choice, and he refused to give in. However, as soon as his decision was made, it was almost as if his body had recognised his intentions, or lack thereof.
His mind drifted back to the dark expanse, the cold that seemed to drill down to his core. Flashes of the abyss that lay beyond the blinding light before him slowly drew forth from the corners of his vision. The world was fading, his bathroom becoming more of a concept than a certainty, as his chest began to tighten.
The pale orb, the vibrations, the voice. Especially the voice. What did it say again?
“Akertia,” the same voice whispered, as his vision blurred slightly and that feeling of security, of calmness, that he had felt previously quickly turned to panic and dread.
The air in his lungs began to thin, the blood suddenly beating furiously in his ears, and a sudden pain emanating out from the centre of his chest. Cold sweat ran down his face and neck as he tried to steady himself and remind his thoughts that he was awake. Leaning forward, James took a few deep breaths. As he placed the shaving cream on the back of the sink, he wrapped both hands around the edge of the cold porcelain and looked down into the plughole. He focused on the slow inhale of air across his top lip and into his nose, followed by the gradual exhalation as it exited his mouth.
Once more, and again, and again.
Finally, his breathing steadied, control partially returned to him, and he tried his best to centre his mind to focus on the task at hand. The world still lurched in random directions, and he was sure the ground was ready to give way beneath him. The noise began to drain from the room as he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Once more, and again, and again.
Just as his legs felt as if they were about to give way, there was a familiar noise. Suddenly he was pulled back into the room.
His phone chirped to life beside him, reality rushing back and smashing into his senses like a semi-truck filled with concrete. He was back, his eyes quickly drawn to a new notification that had now popped up in the centre of its screen. He could tell who it was by the tone of the message alone, briefly readable before his screen returned to a resting abyss. It was a text from Craig, and he knew he had to get a move on.
(Craig) New packages are in! Get your ass here pronto, Mr. Lawrence