Emptiness. Nothing continued out forever on all axes and every frame of reference.

The thing out of place was him. He was cramping oblivion’s style. Apologising profusely to the abyss, he attempted earnestly to fix that.

Were it not for an incessant voice that kept rapping on his skull; he would have achieved dissolution long since. It said, “Let me in!” Thud. “Let me in!” Thud. Like a broken record, it would not relent.

No conscious effort to remain was being exerted on his part; he was happy to go away. Why anyone wanted to intervene in this completely consensual state of affairs was beyond him.

But the voice was very insistent, so he tried to appease it. It could come in for a bit, and then he would go: a small decency that cost him nothing.

How to let it in was another matter. Jon looked up and about, trying to orient toward the source. Not there, or there. He closed his eyes to isolate it better. The voice and accompanying pounding felt as if it was physically pressuring him with every attempt. Like his skin was an unintentional barrier; it pressed in on his every pore.

He definitely didn’t mean to hold it back but on further introspection realised an unconscious element of his will was the culprit. It resisted the foreign visitor, no invader, on primal instinct. It was an almost feral, primitive thing. Were he not immersed in an abyssal void with no other distraction, he might never have isolated it.

Even as he faded, it fought intrusion with no less zeal. The visitor and it both had a passion about them to which he really couldn’t relate: like a guard dog trying to impress his owner by barking and growling at anything trying to enter its territory.

Chill, whoever it is they won’t stay for long. We’re leaving soon anyway remember? He quelled the indignant part of himself and it, very reluctantly, acquiesced.

The churning pressure beyond him immediately flooded inward, and he gasped in surprise.

The abyssal curtains pulled back, and he saw the rush of verdant greenery enter from every direction. Before he knew it, instead of the comfortable nothingness, there was a fucken forest!

He blinked as the breeze abated. This is new, not bad, but new.

Walking forward, he appraised his luscious scenery. An old forest of tall ferns, mossy logs, and stones surrounded him.

“Thank you.” The voice sounded quite relieved. It came from everywhere resounding through the forest, rustling through the leaves and vibrating the stones underfoot.

“No, thank you!” Turn about was fair play. He could dig a forest, why not.

An uneven stone path led his way, so he walked. Nowhere, in particular, he had no pressing needs. The air he breathed deeply was fresh and crisp. The forest almost felt part of him as he progressed as if its life suffused him. It made him feel different: younger and energised. That was kiff, forests weren’t really a thing where he was from, but he could totally understand the allure.

“I feel him slipping! He has lost too much already.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Well if he had to go, he had to go. Such was life.

“Don’t feel bad. Leaving is fine for me. This was nice anyhow.”

“Do it.”

“Do what?” There was a hiss, and mist blew in from behind his feet. Turning about, the path he walked on was no longer there. In its place was a moss-covered glade and a strange metallic stand rose up in its centre.

That wasn’t part of any forest he knew. The stand was a matte silver with a large red button. He understood what red buttons were for, but he was fuzzy on whether hitting or not hitting them was the most important. He checked pockets for a coin to flip but came up short.

“Kel,” said another voice, “you have to choose. I will know when you do.”

“Choose, huh?” He mulled the idea over. Meh, what harm was a bit of fun before the end? He strolled into the meadow and stood before the button. “I push it right?”

“I am losing him! Why isn’t it working!”

“I’ve received no indication yet. I’m sorry the rules are clear and for good reason.”

These people were ignoring him, fuck it. The sun was setting, and if he didn’t push the button soon, he might not have enough light to see what it did.

Doing nothing was clearly doing nothing, that left only one option. Jon lifted a hand and, with a brief pause and final breath, boldly bashed the thing with his fist.

No response.

So, Jon bashed it a few more times. It was definitely the right technique. Buttons were meant to be bashed, especially big red ones.

“Okay, okay!” The second voice chuckled with melodious undertones. “His signal is clear! It can proceed. The little tike bangs hard, even on death’s door!”

And something did proceed; a star bloomed in the sky like a second sun returning the world to midday.

“Woah, nooit bra!” Jon had to shield his eyes.

Then the stand rapidly melted into a mercury-like puddle. It soaked through Jon’s boots and proceeded to soak up his legs like he was a glorified washing sponge. Except, sponges didn’t soak up mercury, and he was no sponge, so the metaphor completely failed. Actually, that was a simile, he corrected. Semantics aside it didn’t change the fact that metallic shit was turning him silvery grey like the Tin Man!

So he did what all great men did in situations such as this, which is none that I can recall: he freaked the fuck out! That entailed running around the glade, rolling and sliding, all in a botched attempt to scrape the shit off on the grass. Instead, it inexorably covered him from toe to head, oblivious to his actions. He also screamed like a little bitch, all the while doing it.

After running out of breath, and having to pause, he realised it was probably the second stupidest action he had performed in this glade so far, and he had only done to two things!

Looking down, he was completely grey. Well fuck. Then it sank below the skin, and he was back to normal again. That was probably a lie, but if you can’t lie to yourself, then who can you lie to.

He huffed in defeat, “Okay, your kak is done! Can I go now?”

There was no reply.

“Hello?” Who was he kidding, this was an empty bloody forest. He was likely talking to himself and having the most epic trip ever. He didn’t recall what drugs he took, so some investigative deductions were in order once he came back down; this wack place was worth revisiting.

“HELLO, KEL,” boomed the second voice.

“Holy shit!” It startled the piss out of him; he haplessly ducked and covered his ears. “Why are you so loud! Am I high? I’m high right now, aren’t I?”

She laughed a little, and the volume modulated rapidly to comfortable levels. “You are… not high. But you need to sleep for a little while. It’s temporary. Can you do that?”

Of course sleep was temporary, was she high? Whatever, sleeping off a trip was a waste in his book. But if the gigantic voice in the sky said so, then who was he to argue.

“Okay. Do I lie down here?”

“Whatever works.”

“Wakarimashita!” He flopped down on the soft grass and shut his eyes. Darkness took him again almost instantly.