Hyperventilating in her room, she read the message sent by Lucas, once more, just to check if it was, indeed, real.
Hey, I don’t know . . . you know what, I know it’s already real . . . Breathing heavily, she mainly hoped it was nothing more than a figment caused by the events of yesterday, though, in Victoria’s mind, she already knew the truth of the matter. Horrified by the latest message sent by him, and the previous one, of which, creepily mirrored the oddity of the last, in a near verbatim, almost as though it were planned to be. However, Victoria dwelled within another subject, for aside from the strangeness of the message, of which would almost certainly be a warning for what’s to come to her, because, for her, she believe the possibility of such a message popping up as a sinister notification, was null, as she believed she had blocked him, shortly after the encounter in Art, yesterday, though it seemed that it was reflected upon her attempt. Confused and evidently scared, she closed and locked every orifice that would allow him to enter in a similar manner to last, though from witnessing his unhinged attack of fellow classmates, it was merely a speed bump to his inevitable entrance, though Victoria hoped otherwise. After the complete lockdown of her quarters, she rested upon her bed, staring at her phone, still laying upon her table, as though it were sacrilegious to hold and read what lay within. But she had, and now knew who would soon come for her, at midnight. Unless . . . it was all a cruel prank? Whatever . . . let me block h-hi-him . . . no . . . it might agitate him . . . I mean . . . better to live in ignorance than be confronted with the harsh truth, right? Is that how the quote went . . . I don’t quite remember. Ugh . . . actually, let’s just block him, Victoria thought, as she got up, out of her desk, to check the text, though it was proven a false plan, after Lucas suddenly began to respond to his previous message.
Hey, I’ve seen you’ve read it. Victoria’s heart was thumping with unpredictable beats of panged thoughts flowing through her mindscape, though soon, it was soothed with the next message from her ex-boyfriend. I am not coming for you. Relief. Yet. More panicked breathing, and with that, Victoria couldn’t help but leave responses to his next calls for her attention.
Hey. R u there?
Yes, Victoria. I’ve been here . . .
Why are u typing like that?
Because, well, actually, I don't know.
K, whatever. Why are u here rn? Talking to me, I mean.
Because . . . I miss you, Victoria.
Ok, but like I dumped u. Remember that?
I miss you.
Alright. After typing such a message, and being in a quite exasperated position, Victoria was considering a more serious method of disposing of his continued bothering of her, but she was, quite simply, bored, and believed it would be fun to continue to talk to him, if only to get crucial information behind his motive on that day, and, certain, other things that had bothered her, for a while.
You can block me, if you want.
I promise I will!
Well, thanks for putting it bluntly.
Will you just shut up and let me talk?
I guess so.
I am guessing u r coming back on monday?
No, I am planning on coming back tomorrow.
You know schools out tmrw, right?
Wait, why? Last time I checked, their wasn’t any holidays, tomorrow, is there?
There. Also like check ur news or whatever u use. Cause you’ve missed out on some important news lol. Waiting for Lucas to respond, and likely to check his subscribed, local newsite, before his equally likely, shocked response, Victoria came upon her exquisite corpse, once more, to finish up some details, with each erasure of straight skin, replaced by scratchy, sketched out lines, more befitting of fur upon a feline subject as that of Victoria’s. Believing it to be near her standard of adequacy, and reaching an impasse of imaginative creation, she decided to check her phone, once more, for any signs of activity from Lucas, before he left on his minor hunt of informing himself on the latest topics, that of which appear to be caused by Victoria’s acquaintances, or, perhaps, possible friends. However, rather unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the second of Victoria’s decision, Lucas hadn’t responded, quite yet, giving her ample time to think about the most recent dialogue between the two exes, and to search for people, of whom she knew, of which wouldn’t lead anyone to begin to create a satirical polemic about her continued association with them. Pursuing for fellow classmates on ShakeSound by typing in their names, one by one, led to multiple, ambiguous results, though only one option seemed apparent for one friend who she had searched up; Raina Kosher, who had likely saved many people from another controversial figure’s wrath, whether warranted, or not. Checking out her riveting content output, Victoria found a multitude of minor dances that were ubiquitous on ShakeSound and nearly generic to the point of nauseating, though it wasn’t quite so surprising, learning this tidbit about Raina, for Victoria at least, though the newest video caught her eye; a video where Raina proudly proclaimed her recovery from a traumatic incident, though of what, she didn’t say in the short video, though Victoria, and likely others, knew of what transpired to create the mar that lied on her forehead, and of what occurred to force doctors to shove sterilized tubes down your throat, though in Raina’s case, quite literally. Choosing to follow her, Victoria quickly closed out of the application, and placed on phone, face down, and off, and began to bemoan the woes, and philosophize about the interaction between her and Lucas, before its abrupt ending.
I mean . . . he does seem . . . sort of out of it . . . then, again, he did cheat on me with Malaya . . . I’m sorta conflicted about her, too . . . maybe I should ask him about her . . . it feels wrong, though . . . I just had a talk with Andrew . . . this is all wrong . . . or maybe, it’s right . . . that Lucas must answer every whim I may have . . . serves him right . . . for doing that . . . to me . . . his own . . . girlfriend . . . god, he’s getting worse with every thought about him . . . but, maybe I can squeeze a bit more out of him . . . let’s see if he’s back . . . Despite the generous amount of time given, he had not responded, yet, which prompted Victoria to decide to take a short nap, though its miniature duration would be challenged by the intense pressure of the continuance of sleep, after its taking place. She decided against it, and merely rested her body upon the softness of her fitting bed, though with each breath, she could hear the exhalation and inhalation grow more audible. Choosing to tough out the feeling of drowsiness, despite its requests of confrontation, especially in such an environment, she would simply wait, until he responded, just so Victoria could drain the last, tantalizing bits of info from him. Her body would continue to fight, however, in its endless resistance towards her requests, though she, despite her history, could resist the deleterious allure of sleep, that had very much faced her; she alike, though, fortunately, the light radiating from her phone kept her will stronger against the efforts of her rebellious brain. She would be awake, for the whole night, waiting for him . . .
. . .
Snoring restfully on her bed, Victoria wobbled and shifted within her patterned sheets, with a face of ease and comfortability, and all as her phone sat, in a similar mood and fashion, to her; peacefully. The lawn grass flowed softly, outside, as fresh air of past rain supplied the room of a smell of petrichor; an ubiquitously loved smell, especially by Victoria, though she couldn’t smell, in an unconscious trance. Her beddings softened her back, and her unfinished, and unannounced corpse, laid on her table like raw, crimson meat; ready for the taking of another artist’s, or perhaps, artists’, hands. Though for now, the scene lies quiet, as outside Victoria’s mother has gone into a similar position of rest, along with her meek husband, as they dreamed of lucid otherworlds, strange and amorphous, with details unclear. The vision Victoria saw, however, was far different from theirs, of a world of realism parallel to theirs, yet completely alien, as well. A world of muddy gorges and painted forests; where the atmosphere is thick with dust and brown fog, suffocating those who dare intrude, but this time, it would be different. Though more or less, the same, as Victoria ventured into a familiar land of her many dreams.
Naively, when she awoke from her position of down, she believed herself to have just woken up, though as lights glared menacingly into her eyes, she would understand her transportation to an unfamiliar place, though the people within were rather familiar, needless to say; vividly remembering their terrifying procedure on her during the dream on the metro. Feeling around, she similarly realized the fact that she was neither in her bed, though with the previous revelation, it was far less shocking, though its synthetic surface gave her a feeling of uncomfortable openness, which caused her some decent panic. Whirling past yellowed, segmented walls made of a fibrous material, possibly bamboo, but judging from the heat and sickening smog that rushed passed her as she flowed through a labyrinth of hallways and rooms, she was in someplace alien to the life of her planet; she knew what this place is, though she didn’t know its location relative to that of where she lived. It was the wrinkled, yet greasy landscape of the mysterious dream she had, not long before this new instance, and, it seemed, that it was populated by the same people, though she was rather unsure on their status of personhood, considering Dante’s unoxidized surface of bronze material. The last she had recalled, she was lying upon a medical chair, prepared for unearthly surgery; at least, that is what she believed they had performed on her, for she fainted before their actions could be complete. Despite the last meeting of the two, not having ended on amicable terms, it seemed they were more trained on the objective of moving Victoria to a new place, but of where, she didn’t know, and of the gargantuan, botanical nature of the structure she seemed to be in, she didn’t quite know, either, though physics may have worked here, differently, relative to her room.
“H-huh? Where am I?” questioned Victoria confusedly, in an appropriate manner that belonged only to her, though soon, it would be kept away with the answers provided from the two artisans.
“Oh!” yelped Dante, surprised by her sudden period of lucidity in this universe. “Well . . . you’re here! In our main building; where we conduct all of our business and announcements, from. It’s peculiar you haven’t heard of us before; then again, artisans aren’t always the most updated in recent topics . . . even if it should reasonably be expected of them.”
“Apologies for . . . his speech,” said Pearl, appearing to glare at Dante with a medium of mental anguish forming in her voice, and though she suspected it to be true upon her features, as well, she was facing opposite to her; unable to examine her features, as she has done, previously. “Dante . . . we have spoken about this. Even if we do have . . . some superficial features between us, it doesn’t mean you can judge them for simply existing, as they are.”
“Superficial? I’m sorry, but I believe they’re fairly importan-”
“Please be quiet with our patient, Dante. They’re in a decent amount of stress, and though we may have reason to stress, similarly, they are all issues that can be ironed out, with time. So please don’t be . . . irascible. With our patient, I mean,” clarified Pearl, before she looked down at Victoria, as they continued speeding forth into the blurry complex of their headquarters. “Speaking of it . . . we still don’t actually know your name . . . we conducted a survey and documentation of the locals . . . we don’t seem to have recorded you.”
“My name i-”
“Wait . . . Pearl, don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence that she was found near the train station? She could’ve come from other locations . . . like, say, for example, Cránevita?”
“No, Dante. Why would they come over to Onaxago if they knew this was a restricted area?”
“Maybe, they wanted to check if a family member was safe?”
“Fair assessment, I guess . . . wait, didn’t we conduct a survey of the people, there, too?”
“Yes . . . wait, Dante, you’re a genius! This could solve this debacle of ours . . . and yours, too!” said Pearl, looking down at the face of Victoria, where she snuck another good image of Pearl. She wore an exotic turban on her head; one that Victoria had never seen, before, other than the famous Dutch painting that she was nearly sick of seeing, considering its popularity, even with people who didn’t look deeply into the visual arts. Her eyes were an ochre brown, with snowy, smooth skin filling her face into the shape of a small, toy doll. Stretching her neck to a painful degree, she could observe that she was cloaked in a tannish dress, and within, a stereotypical lab coat, usually worn by medical professionals, at least from Victoria’s knowledge, and such a descriptor seemed befitting of Pearl, considering her current position in the aid of Victoria.
“Hey, like, by the way, do you guys still, like, want to know my name?”
“Sure!” replied Pearl. “That’d certainly be helpful in our pursuit.”
“It’s Victoria. Victoria Whitney.”
“Well . . . if that isn’t . . . you know, Victoria; thank you for saving Bartholomew a headache, later. I wouldn’t like to see him lose his temper . . . not again.
“You’re welcome? I guess?”
“Yes . . .” said Dante, as they seemed to be slowing down, and with it, the coolness dissipated, similarly, as uncomfortable heat and smokey air closed in, upon Victoria. “Well . . . we’re here,” announced by Dante at the precise moment they had abruptly stopped, and the motion flung Victoria a few centimeters, along with her cranium, giving her a feeling of giddiness in her head. Thanks for giving me a headache, instead . . . ugh . . . Turning her pained head over, Victoria could see an imposing sight before her eyes; akin to a Victorian hotel lobby, though it lacked the distinctive indent in the wall. Decorated with dried, crusty plants that yearned to quench their thirst, the bloodied door in the wall was anything but inviting; a fact not helped by the appearance of a vicious image of polar bears tearing apart a ship, with ribs in the background, that seemed to suggest a gorey image of fate for the bones, when they were alive. Victoria, on the other hand, was fascinated by the painting, for she had recognized it, amongst the many items of her craft; both sentient and inanimate.
“Hey! Victoria . . . can you get off the stretcher, for me? I need to haul it to another sector.”
“Sure . . .” hastily replied Victoria, as she violently scooted off the acclimated transport, and onto the burning floor that lay below, and though perhaps an exaggeration, it was similar to the genuine truth. Wondering about the possibly nefarious plans of Dante, she decided to entrust in Pearl, of which was a decision made easier by his sudden, and swift, departure.
“Hey, Pearl?”
“Yes?”
“What are we doing in front of this, like, ominous door?”
“Well, we’re going to,” sighed Pearl, as though bracing herself for the entrance of this room. Victoria also got a better look at Pearl, at began to wonder how she could layer the numbering of articles of clothing on her body, without melting into a fleshy puddle, though for her, it seemed more likely that she would melt into some form of paint, instead of the meat Victoria was obviously made of. “We’re going to enter . . . the room of him.”
“Who is this ‘him’, you’re, like, speaking of?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Wait, wait,” asked Victoria, “Why are we, here, in the first place?”
“You’re here . . . to be checked for if you are in our records.”
“I see.”
“Well, enough stalling, then. Let’s go in,” confidently said Pearl, though her voice had hints of shakiness, though from rage or fear, Victoria couldn’t quite decipher, though it would soon be pertinent to understanding who would soon appear from behind the carmine entrance.
As Victoria walked within the symmetrical, yet dubiously breezy room, compared to the rest of the complex, though it wasn’t a surprise, considering the man who comfortably sat in an oversized chair had a rather important and imposing feel to him, though on why, Victoria couldn’t figure out, for he was scarily assembled into a small, crooked form that appeared to contain his whole height and weight, though, how, was a similarly unsolvable question to her. He had pale, white skin; that of which resembled the skin of a human being, though there was a unique texture, upon getting closer, for he appeared to be sculpted with lighter, softer parts of a wood, possibly of a conifer, though Victoria wasn’t quite sure. His hair was pushed back, into a refined position, and a groomed, diaphanous beard sat rigidly upon his chin, as though it was made of the same material as his skin, though upon even closer examination, it was made of rich leather that had the color of venetian red; burning with great saturation, and softly laid in layers. He seemed quite small, and rather unassuming, thus, it was to Victoria’s surprise, but also to her vindication of her assuming his nature, that he had a deep, powerful voice, that seemed hollow, at the same time.
“So, Pearl, who is this you have brought into my office? She doesn’t seem familiar . . .” droned the man, as he checked his cabinets, with hues similar to his hair. “My paper containing the data for the census of the nearby refugees from Onaxago . . . doesn’t contain any info on this . . . weird individual you’ve brought in.” Onaxago?
“Well, Bartholomew-” So this is him.
“Call me Bart,” said Bartholomew.
“Well, Bartholomew, this girl was found at the site of wreckage in Onaxago, amongst the debris, nearby the train station, y’know, that one?”
“Oh, yes! Please do continue.”
“But, I am not sure how she got here.”
“Well, beats me, too. She seems,” Bartholomew examined, reaching forward with a shaky hand, to feel Victoria’s arm, which sent slicing tingles that burrowed through her nerves, “. . . organic, which, as you and I know, isn’t exactly common around these parts.” Ugh . . . thought Victoria, clearly and easily made uncomfortable by the unwarranted touch.
“Yes . . . Bartholomew, I’ve already fed her the decomposition droids, so, hopefully she’ll be safe without the suit on, as you can see, right now.”
“Well, what is she doing here, then? Do we have any more space in the tents?”
“Firstly, we are kind of at our max capacity. But, also, according to her, she wants to join us.” This was not what was advertised . . .
“Pearl,” suddenly said Victoria, clearly confused by the happenings of this room, “What do you mean by ‘join us’?”
“Well, it’s our organization, of course!”
“Yes, yes,” merrilly agreed Bartholomew, chuckling along. “If you want to join, then, I suppose . . . you must register, on this little form,” where he reached into the stack of papers, littered with important data, and from whence his hand emerged, appeared a small, short form, containing only a single line for Victoria to participate in; the part where she will sign her name. “Welp, here it is. Sign it, then we’ll start discussing any . . . plans for you,” he said, handing her a small pen with most of its ink missing, with Pearl grimacing in the background. Man, it’s like everything he says is laced with sinister intent. Here goes something I’ll probably regret in the very near future . . . I mean if this is a dream . . . and it feels like one . . . wait . . . the town I was at, before . . . it was Onaxago? That’s . . . a really weird coincidence. Taking her hand on to the contract, which couldn’t be bothered to include any obligations she might have, once signed, as though it was the devil’s deal, minus any positive bonuses it might’ve had. Once it was done in fresh, dark ink, he snatched it from the table after Victoria’s hands were off its form, and read it hungrily, with a smile capping off his experience of reading it. “Victoria, eh?”
“That’s me.”
“Well, Victoria . . . let me talk to one of our, more . . . let’s say, esteemed members, before I come back to you, alright?”
“Sure,” answered Victoria.
“Good, good. Pearl, can I tell you what I have in store for her? I bet it’ll excite you!”
“Sure . . .” unenthusiastically responded Pearl, as though this was a common event, which made Victoria feel an ounce of sympathetic emotion towards her, despite the force feeding that finished, not very long, previously. As the two people of fickle nature talked, Victoria gandered at the the sights taken in the domed room, of which there were an innumerable amount to surmount, if only using her eyes for the short duration given. Breathtaking, and likely painstakingly handcrafted, paintings rested the walls in a symphony of arrays, and ironically so, as embellished instruments in glass casing fitted themselves on the bottom of the beautifully painted walls, with frescos of freshness unseen by Victoria, and likely by a majority of people she knew, in the real world, with the dome completed by a crystalline chandelier; each gem making up the furniture shining brighter than the previous, and crowned with tiny, yet detailed statues of mythology from times before Victoria and her generations. Pupils frantically darting amongst piece after piece, in frenetic nature, had led Victoria down a spiral, of which she had forgotten the main matter at hand, though a reminder would soon be handed to her. The two split from each other, and squinted towards Victoria, who had still been transfixed with a zeal of artful wonder, but, however, the period of childlike whimsy would soon end, as reality faced her, like Bartholomew did.
“So . . . I was just proposing a simple task for you to complete with Pearl, and I do believe, that, we have negotiated to a point of charitable agreement between us-”
“Wait, what? I thought the whole point of that was for you to constantly meander about what you really had planned for her. By the way, Victoria; I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
“And you don’t need to! You are simply just a medical consultant,” snarked Bartholomew.
“Just a ‘medical consultant’, you say? I don’t even need to tell you all my credentials, and whatnot, because you’ve seen it, first hand!” Pearl said back, in clear anger of which Victoria hadn’t predicted from her, considering her usual, soft-spoken voice, and often patient demeanor that held back her soothed rage against Bartholomew, though the barrier had become shattered; broken, it seemed, with the helplessness of her situation, all more, for Victoria’s sympathy, but also, in a similar, yet more negative light, her pity. “Don’t you remember that time I saved you?”
“Can’t recall,” he snidely replied, with a distinct cheer inside his voice, as though he enjoyed toying with her, knowing his authority over hers.
“Maybe, I should tell Lisa about that incident . . . if you catch what I’m saying.”
“About, what?” said Bartholomew, his smug masquerade disintegrating before Victoria’s ears, as he attempts to pronounce his words out of the earshot of Victoria, though years of experience, from spying on her parents, had given her an upper hand in the arms race of the present. “You know . . . if she finds out . . . we’ll be in trouble . . . right?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Ugh . . . I wish we could get those over with, sooner, than later, because . . . well, because I can’t stand being in this room with you, right now. You know it was improper, and, more importantly, illegal, to have copulated with a-”
“Shush! Can’t you see who else is in the room?” he rhetorically asked, turning his spinning chair, delirious and nauseous as it may be, for Victoria, to her position, staring right into the souls of her retina; right through her lens, as though cataloging her with artificial ones, though imprecise, they might be, within the rustic world she had found herself, trapped within. She began to wonder whether if the other, though, likely destructive, decision, that of choosing to rebel against him, and select to not sign his parchment, may have guided her to a new realm, of which hopefully did not include melodrama, of any sort, especially not at the levels only seen in her reality, though as seconds passed, she realized that the building she stood within was likely realer than fiction could be, as unwrappable to her mind, as that may be. Perhaps, Victoria thought, that the delirium she was slowly experiencing was caused by the intense heat, though, at this point, she wasn’t quite sure of any option to lead to this place’s continuance, and her place within its confines. “As I was saying, we have a task, that we require you to fulfill, before, say, we start considering allowing you into our society.”
“You know, Victoria, it’s not that its all cracked up t-”
“Be quiet! Please stop adulterating my conversation with a new member, with your poor attempts at threatening me, which, might I say, in your words, is quite ‘improper, and, more importantly,’ very rude, subordinate. And, anyways, doesn’t this benefit you?”
“Yes . . . but there’s no need to trick her. If you were doing this for me, there would be a noticeable lack in your plain deceit.”
“Well, then, I suppose I must be more sneaky with my dishonesty, then. Anyhow, as I decree, y-”
“You can’t!”
“Oh, shut up; yes, I can!”
“You shan’t!”
“Well, why not? If she’s to join our organization, she has to put in some effort; more incentive for you . . .”
“You . . . okay, never mind, I can’t find another word that rhymes.”
“Well, then, if there’s no objection to my order,” defiantly announced Bartholomew, as though he was genuinely upset at the lack of opposition, though he had already sorely crushed any possibility of their existence. “Then, Victoria . . . procure me . . . some amphibian genitalia!” said Bartholomew, with a rather extreme look of pity from Pearl; as she turned away slowly, clenching her painted fingers, shining with a lustrous texture, before walking outside to meet the hazing, stellar body that shined with greater intensity than of which the sun bombarded Ceres with. Walking out already?
“Uh . . . what?” Victoria said.
“You heard me, didn’t you? We need it for . . . something we’re brewing.”
“L-like a . . . um, elixir of some sort?”
“No, no. We aren’t any sort of alchemist or the such. We’re as real as one can be!”
“Mhm. Sure,” doubted Victoria, and though the sowing of heretical thoughts against the world had already happened, only one day ago, while aboard the maglev, it seemed that every inconvenient problem with its existence had been cleared up, and hitherto, she had been, without difficulty, understanding such a concept of this otherworld, though it didn’t seem that the residents understood such a notion. Now, however, after being thrown within such a spontaneous, and equally outlandish, task, she could’ve thought that this place shared much more with this task, outside their setting, though, she would soon note the perilous nature of the situation that made it more realistic.
“Anyhow, these specimens are quite different from your regular, old frogs. For these have been laced with poisons enough to terminate quite a few people,” Bartholomew turned to Victoria, “Like you.” Well . . . this isn’t threatening at all!
“Okay, so . . . I am assuming you’ll give me protective articles of clothing . . . right, about-”
“No, girl. You need to learn the ways of our society . . . against them.”
“Okay . . . you still haven’t answered who it wa-”
“Anyhow, good luck! Hopefully, you return alive.” Yeah, to do more of your dumb errands . . . As Victoria obliged to the demands of the main coordinator, she walked, sullenly, throughout the searing stone steps of the painted hallways, wondering how she would complete her impossible request, though perhaps, by gathering help from other experienced members, who may outrank Bartholomew, in order to assist, or possibly, even prevent the grave situation from occurring, in the first place. Walking to Pearl’s doorway; the medical consultant for the leader for the retaliation administration, as she walked past emptied portraits, where their focus was missing from the embellished frame. Slowly crawling into Pearl’s office, she heard the soft glow of the heating star sizzle the bamboo floor, with each straw shuffling with hot ruffles of discordant crinkling, with wind softly blowing upon the lighten floor of the central building.
“Hey, Pe-”
“Yes, yes, Victoria. Look. I am sympathetic to . . . what you’re being put through. I don’t agree with it, and you don’t need my confirmation to understand that if I was the second-in-charge, you’d likely never have gotten into this predicament in the first place,” explained Pearl, clearly attempting to explain her decision to not help her, with plenty of sugarcoating, beforehand. “However . . . Bartholomew is right . . . unfortunately. The sexual organs of the frogs contain important chemicals to what I’ve been trying to study and replicate . . . remember the reason you had to be in that suit, yesterday?”
“Uh . . . it was because of a . . . disease?”
“Yes . . . a viral disease, though very unlike any seen here . . . or from where you came.”
“How so?”
“Well, you see . . . we cannot create a vaccine for it . . . as it is not biological in nature; no. Unlike a virus, which exists to proliferate its DNA within its protein shell, these viruses that plague us are robotic, bioengineered to be as enduring, yet as painful, as their capabilities, allow.”
“So . . . they are . . . robots?”
“I guess you could say that. Though their programming is far complex to what we thought, previously, though considering their technological capabilities, I would say hindsight helped . . . open our vision of their limits.”
“Okay, but, you guys still have n-”
“Anyhow, I believe if you outfit yourself back into that suit we gave you, the frogs will probably not gore your skin, and cause any . . . terminal symptoms, to occur,” said Pearl, as Victoria’s face suddenly drooped into a similarly upset position as she was, when she was with a previous member of the institution, likely due to either their immense ignorance to Victoria’s limited knowledge, or their intentional design to prevent more comprehension from falling into the hands of a new stranger, who may have been a member of the opposition, masquerading as a confused newcomer. Despite either option, however, Victoria was far more annoyed at the required chore to be completed, rather than the possibility of animosity from the seemingly friendly allusions to her favorite pieces. “Hey, Victoria!” yelled out Pearl, just as Victoria would leave from her room.
“What is it?” sighed Victoria; exasperated from the dreamlike world of art.
“I have . . .” she said, as she was searching in one of her many decorated drawers for an item, likely to be given to Victoria, and equally as likely to be the aid for Victoria’s minor quest. “Aha! I have this for you!” Upon first examination, it appeared to be a functional wooden watch, which, oddly, managed to fit upon Victoria’s arm. However, it was obvious from the second observation, that, it was very different from any other watch; at least, found on her own planet. It supported two tiny clocks on the top, moving at a different speed than that of the main face. The bezels of the watches supported ornate frames, which seemed tailored for this world’s artistic touch, over utilitarian design, and the crystals of the glasses were stained with saturated colors. And, despite its condition as a carved item, it was pristine in shape; smooth and even on Pearl’s fingers. On top of the interesting additions upon the watch, there also happened to be two hexagonal slots, parallel to the secondary clocks, being completely vacant of accessories; Victoria thought they were only there for aesthetic purposes, though she would soon be refuted by the giver of this particular gift.
“Okay . . . so . . . I have a lot of questions,” said Victoria.
“Go ahead; not like I have anything better to do, right now,” reassured Pearl.
“So, firstly, where did you get . . . this thingy?”
“Oh, you think this is an artifact, or something? Victoria, this is mass produced for the populace; most households have this sort of watch . . . minus the extra faces, of course. Maybe a little bit less . . . extravagant, and perhaps not in mint condition, either, but it’s basically the same.”
“Okay, and also, like, what’s up with the extra faces, anyways?”
“Well . . . that’s for you to find out, silly! It’s a bit too complicated to explain, right now. Just know that they have to do with dreams. Real . . . weird dreams . . . of another universe.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?”
“Like . . . y’know? A world with their devices, everywhere! And us . . . relegated to little prisons in what are basically mausoleums. At least the people there seem to worship us. You know . . . they look an awful lot like you. Perhaps, except the hot pink hair . . . though I could’ve sworn in one of my dreams . . . there were a few curious people with reddish hair, too.”
“Are you talking about . . . Ceres?”
“Ceres? Like the ruler of-”
“Ruler? The only Ceres I know of are the planet, the ancient goddess, and the painting.”
“What? If there was a planet named after that stuffy lady, I would’ve found out the day it was discovered. As for goddess? Her? Really?”
“Well, I was sleeping there, before I was magically transported here, after falling asleep.”
“Huh,” simply uttered Pearl, “That’s . . . a tall tale, if I’ve ever heard of one. A planet named after her, of all people, that you were ‘magically’ teleported here, or whatever, and . . . and . . . wait . . . what were we talking about before this tangent?”
“Uh . . . the watch.”
“Oh, right! So, I guess . . . if you really believe, that, you came from this mystical place that no one has ever heard of, then, I guess it might be useful for telling time, there.”
“Uh . . . we have digital clocks already embedded into our phones.”
“What’s . . . a phone?”
“It’s like a small, transportable computer that can perform a myriad of tasks.”
“Well, Victoria, that’s literally what our watch does! Well, except for the fact that it’s a small computer, unless you really want to think of it, like that.”
“So . . . how do you work it?”
“Simple, really. Place one of these fuel minerals into the slots,” instructed Pearl, holding a small, teal jewel, glowing with power, as two were slotted individually into both slots of the clock, though after placement, never appeared to have changed.
“Uh . . . is something supposed to happen?”
“Well, check out the back of this watch,” said Pearl, handing the watch to Victoria, as she cupped it into her hands. The decorated watch felt sleek yet primeval in nature. Turning the accessory on its front, Victoria saw a hatch, opening to the insides of its mechanisms, and on top, a caramel button with a peculiar hole, unlike the rest of the object’s colored surface.
“Go on. Press it,” requested Pearl, and upon activation, a crank popped out to the side of the watch, and another came out from the other side. “When you crank it, the watch will start melting the crystals, and inside the watch, the combination of the minerals’ composition will create a blend of new energy, discharged from the hole in its backside.
“Oh, okay. I understand.” I do not understand.
“Y’know, these minerals aren’t natural. Only recently, were we able to synthesize the crystals through breaking down the natural jewels we used to place into the slots. Of course, the watch didn’t double as a time counting device, at the start of its history, either. It used to be an amulet . . . only worn by kings and queens of the distant past. And . . . not so distant present.”
“I’m guessing monarchies are still prevalent.”
“Yes . . . especially that . . . uncouth ‘queen’ of Glacondia . . . that just so, coincidentally, happens to be the name of that dream world you call home.” Huh . . . the queen of Glacondia . . . that’s odd . . .
“Well, then . . . Pearl, thanks for this watch, and, uh, yeah. Goodbye!”
“Farewell, then, Victoria. Good luck on your errand!” wished Pearl, as Victoria slowly stepped out of the steaming room, out into the steaming hallway.
After waving before departing Pearl’s domain, Victoria continued to stumble through the melted layout, before climbing down a bamboo pole; in freefall as though weightless, as segments prodded her brittle hands and pressure built from below, before suddenly landing gracefully upon the humid grass covered with shiny dewdrops. Brushing off the coats of dusted paint that coated her dark sweatpants, she arose from the now abraded field of fresh, viscous color, and attempted to dredge through the landscape of endless mud. Just as Victoria was settling within the familiar, and constant scenery, however, the watch began to shake violently; a signal for her that, despite the unassuming, rustic appearance, that it held more modern usage than first observed. Cranking one of the wind-up keys, a spot upon the back of her hand felt oddly warm, and soon, she saw the reason why, for the mineral was steaming, and slowly melting into a liquid form, before vaporizing into the air; seafoam green smoke floating into the hazy sky, far above, as it was consumed by the static of the atmosphere. Victoria believed nothing had occurred, but, just as quickly, the two subordinate clocks flickered wildly, and before long, they held a stable light, and eventually, the lights combined to form an image. A moving image of Pearl, and noise would soon be emitted from her limb’s end.
“P-pearl? Is that you?” said Victoria, in an incredulous tone.
“Yes! Thank goodness it worked; it’s been in there for quite a while . . . well, it’s nice that it is working, so while it is, let me accompany you on your . . . little . . . test.”
“Test? I thought it was just a random chore you guys sent me to do.”
“Well . . . it’s a little bit of both. Anyhow, I don’t think he told you where to go to find the frogs, but . . . they should be in our enclosure that we built for them.”
“Then, where to?”
“Let’s head to your right. Also, where’s your protective suit? Remember, the frogs are very poisonous, and are quite good at their job of deterring . . . potential predators, like you and I!” said Pearl, with a smug expression on her face upon the lagging, blue screen, of which Victoria easily read, as she struggled to stave off a short burst of laughter.
“Uh . . . what’s so funny? Just wondering . . . cause, like, I could die!”
“Didn’t you say you came from that dream land, or whatever you said?”
“Yeah . . . but, like, y’know, I could, and let me emphasize that, real quick, in case it wasn’t going through your carefully sculpted, thickly layered skull. I could, very, much feel the pain of choking on the air while I was on your guys’ little operating table.”
“Well . . . even if you do die, you’ll return back to your world! And if you can interact with our society, with, such, incredibly simple methods, then I’ll bet I could interact with you in your land . . . if you come to my painting in the museum, of course.”
“Isn’t it in . . . the Netherlands? Wait, sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you, that . . . you don’t even know what that is.”
“Well, if it’s in the Netherlands, then you should simply visit there! It shouldn’t be that far of a trip, I must say, considering what we do, on a near weekly basis.”
“Okay, woah. Slow down; that’s a lot to unpack, there. Firstly, it is literally a planet away from us, on another planet that is, quite literally, on the opposite side of the sun . . . wait, sorry, that’s the name for our star. But you get what I mean, don’t you? You are, quite literally, a scientist, after all?”
“Y-you . . . you know, what? I think we are being a bit sidetracked; let’s rendezvous back to our headquarters to outfit you back into the protective gearing,” said Pearl, clearly sidestepping Victoria’s believed to be prominent question, though not surprising, to Victoria’s lens of suspicion towards the strangers, of which similarly share a sentiment like hers, it appeared.
Either way, for the two of them, Victoria would soon reunite, in person, with Pearl, as she hypothesized the possibility of death within this world may lead to nightmares, instead, and she quite preferred the former’s approach of passing the night. On top of this, however, was the possibility, that, this was indeed a new world, accessible to those, when they dream, but it seemed rather unlikely, in Victoria’s point of view, if not purely an unfeasible thought, though the detailed regions of this place, environed with ornate additions, seemed to be a counterpoint to Victoria’s notion, with the unique technologies and inventions, as well as a possible threat, it seemed that this universe was a mixture of warped dreams and bent reality, but in Victoria’s opinion, more time was needed to investigate the scene. Climbing upon the wild pole of the facility, Victoria struggled to climb, as Pearl’s muffled giggles accidentally seemed to come out, but eventually, Pearl’s location changed upon the hologram, and soon, it wasn’t the only place Victoria could spot her.
“Hey! Victoria!” assisted Pearl, as she showed Victoria a handy lever next to the doorway, “Look what happens when I pull this!” As she pulls it, a miraculous event occurred; a luscious staircase unfolded from the bottom of the balcony entrance, slowly growing and twisting upon the yew tree that made up the foundation of the building, until it eventually reached the bottom, with a defiant squish of the muddied floor. Needless to say, Victoria’s progress from the door, rapidly decreased in accelerated fashion, before similarly increasing up, until she reached the finale of her short-lived quest; arriving back within the walls of the drowsing heat.
“So . . .” began Victoria, as they were both walking, “Where exactly is my suit? You never exactly told me.”
“It’s just down this hall, to the left, then to the right, then take a stairwell up, then turn around and walk left, then enter the middle door.”
“Wait . . . what?”
“When we get there, we’ll get there,” reassured Pearl, as they walked forth into the atmospheric construction of the wooden superstructure. Victoria continued to marvel upon the decorated halls; each filled with memorabilia of some of her personal, favorite pieces of art, all of which were mostly made of inks and paints, though some were sculpted into the third dimension, though all of which possessed one singular oddity with their design: their central focus was missing. With each one, Victoria wondered where the humanity in the paintings had gone, and, for that matter, the life, as well, though, using her quick brainpower, soon understood the location of the absent subjects, for one was next to her, of the current.
“Hey . . . Pearl?” asked Victoria.
“Yes?”
“Why do you guys, like, even need the frog’s . . . parts?”
“Well . . . we need certain, special chemi-”
“Yeah, yeah, I got that, already, but why? Why can’t you, and the others, synthesize the chemicals, instead of committing horrible things on frogs.”
“Well . . . they are, indeed, frogs . . .”
“And what? That gives you the abi-”
“Look, Victoria, I am not like the others. Well, by the ‘others’, I mean the regular folk of our planet. Me, Dante, Bartholomew; we are all the same in some way, but the normal artisans? They are . . . anything, but us. I do, somewhat care about their safety; they’re sapient beings of art, similar to us, but . . . they aren’t really, y’know?”
“Can . . . you elaborate?”
“Sure . . . so, basically, I simply believe, that, we are just . . . of a higher level of power over them, is all. I don’t mean this as in . . . we’re superior to them morally or physically . . . or intellectually, you’ve seen that first hand, no?” asked Pearl to Victoria, with responses of slight laughter. “But, you must understand that we have powers they do not have, such as our passive ability to transcend time, itself.”
“What do you mean, by that?”
“Basically . . . we’re immortal, and . . . they aren’t.”
“Are you . . . a god?”
“Nope. The only thing divine about our existence is that death by age is an impossibility. We can die from all the other forms of blight and tearing, and we do not have any . . . you could say, magical abilities, at least of what you believe to constitute, such.”
“So . . . from what I can glean, from, of course, what you said, is that basically you and the others are normal, except for the fact that you all happen to be immortal, as a bonus, right?”
“Correct? So-”
“Okay, so, just because, say, that your lifespan is possibly infinite in a passive environment, that makes you . . . better, than them? Cause, that’s what I am hearing, and that’s . . . kinda weird, to be honest, with you.”
“Well, okay, to be fair, they are technically immortal, as well, though their age is determined by factors . . . beyond our current knowledge, as of current.”
“So, then . . . why do you harbor such beliefs? This seems like it’s a bit of a, like, systemic issue, no?
“Well, there’s other things, too. For example, we do not have parents, nor can we bear offspring, of any sort.”
“So . . . you just popped into this world, on a random day?”
“Maybe . . .” confusedly murmured Pearl, clearly lost within her own thought of retraining her own conception. “I do remember, that, I was born . . . no, that is the wrong word . . . created in . . . the seventeenth century.”
“That’s, like, a really long time, ago.”
“You don’t say.”
“Well, like, you know what I mean. It’s a really, inconceivable amount of time. Also, if you were born in the seventeenth century, then . . . never mind, let’s head to the location of my armor, or whatever,” said Victoria, with Pearl smiling, as they walked up the stairs foreshadowed by Pearl, a few moments ago. As Pearl kept on blabbering about the intricacies of this place, Victoria began to theorize. If this Pearl person . . . was ‘created’ in the seventeenth century . . . then, that matches up with . . . the creation of the painting . . . of ‘her’? What year was it in . . . can’t recall, god, even in my field of expertise, I fail to remember . . . it’s at least . . . a couple of centuries ago, . . . seventeenth century . . . yeah, it’s like . . . a millennium, ago . . . that’s a long time . . . to live for . . . how can someone, live like this . . . for . . . so long?
“Hey, Victoria,” prodded Pearl, waving her arms in a diminutive manner, as Victoria was lost within the depth of her thoughts, though soon enough, she would snap out of her numerous trances, back within the reality that is most certainly unbefitting of such a title.
“Oh . . . yes! I am here.”
“I had a feeling you weren’t listening to what I was saying, a couple of seconds ago, but, whatever. And, yes! We are indeed here; it’s where we stored your suit! Want to take a closer look before you put it on?”
“Sure . . .” droned Victoria, staring at the oxidized helmet that resembled that of a blend between a diving helmet and an astronaut’s helmet, though it didn’t fully resemble either. The armor was a faded, canary yellow, and despite its description by her new acquaintances as a protective garb, the suit was very obviously tattered on the arm assemblies, and the helmut’s tempered glass had a visible crack forming on the edge of it and the plastic material that seemed to make up the main body of the suit. Eyeing the unfashionable, welded armor gave Victoria an insight into the inner workings of this society, even amongst the powerful, which gave a grim sight of this world’s trajectory, indeed, however, it would not be as harrowing as the experience she would soon endure, before being able to equip on the suit.
“Wait,” announced Victoria to Pearl, as the air began to feel more viscous, similar to before. “Something . . . weird’s happening, again!”
“What are your symptoms, Victoria? Do you feel like the air is getting thicker? Do your joints feel stiff . . . perhaps, like it’s gunked up?”
“Yes . . . it’s, like, it’s, like . . . last time!”
“Well, I suppose, then, it’s better than never, to tell you what the final face does on your watch.”
“W-well,” stuttered Victoria, as though her larynx became hardened like pressurized ore in her planet’s mantle. “W-w-what . . . does it do?”
“You see . . . the final face is supposed to be able to feel the concentration of nanobots through measuring the static surging within your body! The choice of a clock is more for . . . cohesiveness, than anything. We’ll have to supply you with more of that mixture that your body seems to receive well . . .”
“W-w . . .”
“Do me a favor . . . please be silent, for your own sake. Anyways . . .” Victoria stumbles over the empty nothing that surrounds her, falling face first into the creaky, hot floor of the building. The suit looked longingly down at her, in a superior position now, though, despite the location of her vision, she could still see Pearl’s hand visibly jamming a teal crystal into the antique mechanism, before smoke billowed forth from her wrist. “Dante!”
“Y-yes, Pearl?” squeaked Dante, clearly surprised by the sudden appearance of Pearl, and the graveness that had stricken her voice, once more, that Victoria had once heard, when they were outside.
“Dante . . . come over to Hallway 001, right away. Victoria’s supply of her air has run out, once more, so come over! And, please make it quick! It could be terminal, this time.”
“Will we design a new ta-”
“No questions; just come over!”
“Alright,” sighed Dante, clearly disappointed in the rejection of his ideas, which seemed to not have been the first occurrence of his unfortunate streak, though Victoria’s mind clouded, and eventually, as the world seemed to slow, and his vision became warped and tenebrous, and, before long, her sight froze at a final frame of the medical consultant staring into her, in the seeming motion of shaking her, at a concerning rate, though all suggestion of such a thing had been removed, when the termination of animation of her form had happened.
Everything transitioned into darkness, before once again moving to a lighter tone, and eventually reaching its destination of the pure glow of whiteness. Then, she returned back into a world of time; where it was nighttime, and where she could feel the entanglement of her sheets warming her colorless skin, though the hues returned to her, with eternity to be evitable, of her current rendition of a still-life of actual reality. She looked over to her mobile phone, and picked it up with a swift, yet frantic motion, her hands shuttering, as she took a deep breath of the fresh air that seeped from her window. No longer withering from the lack of air, she took a second glance at her wrist, and from there, she had found a miraculous discovery. The arcane machine; the watch, was still intently attached to her wrists, and had its flimsy cranks popped out, as though ready for action, which was, perhaps, rather ironic, considering the situation passed, only a few minutes, ago, though she suspected it would be of little use, here, considering the lunatic idea of such an invention, and the redundancy of its seeming existence, especially, when, the other machine held in her hands held much greater esteem amongst the general population of her planet, and possibly the entire solar system, and high function, at least to her knowledge. A doom before reverie, she began to detach it from her hands, and as she opened her phone, she saw the numerous messages; sent by Lucas to her. Shit.