Time passes me by slowly in the darkness. There is no light. There is no warmth. Nothingness is my only companion. I allow it to swallow me whole. With no company to speak with, I relive my self-destruction in my mind. My actions led me to this inescapable purgatory; the worst of my transgressions replay over and over again in my mind.

When my brother was a toddler, I burned him with a hot iron when my dad wasn’t paying attention to us. His screams sent a thrill through my jealous soul. Watching him writhe in pain felt like a jolt of pure ecstasy for me. My dad ran into the room and saved him, falsely thinking that he accidentally bumped into the scalding appliance. My complicity was never discovered. This emboldened me to take more actions against him.

When Roderick turned 10, I stole his birthday bike and sold it to a random kid who lived on the other side of town. He cried and cried for hours. Then, I stole his birthday money and used it to buy a new baseball bat for myself. As his sorrow increased, so too did my pleasure.

Everything culminated on the night that I broke my brother’s favorite game.

When the police showed up at our door and gave my dad pictures of Roderick’s accident, I thought it was super funny. That little scamp finally met his demise, I thought. I wasn’t going to miss him. My life would be better off as an only child, my mind told me. In reality, I was dead wrong.

I started to see his specter around every corner. I remembered his infectious laugh. I found myself craving his warm smile and friendly demeanor. As days turned to weeks, my grief built. When I took the mound for a final time as a high school senior, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Roderick’s favorite bleacher sat empty. His silly red baseball cap wasn’t bobbing up and down with glee after each of my strikeouts. I listened for his cheers, but only heard silence. As evil as I was, he loved to watch me play ball.

I gave up 10 runs in three innings that night, and I never touched my glove again.

I want a fresh start. Can I please have a do-over?

---------------

A sudden burst of cool water splashes me in the face. It tastes of filth and iron; salty, yet bitter.

I heave awake, coughing and hacking, desperate for air. The world around me is pixelated and gray. My new surroundings are damp and humid, but also quite cold.

“Hello?” A raspy voice cries out from somewhere to my right, “is anyone there?”

There is something familiar about the intonation and cadence of this voice: something nostalgic.

I try to croak back a response, but my weakened vocal cords fail to produce so much as a note.

“Mom? Is that you?” The voice cries again. This time it speaks with a sharper intonation.

My chest clenches at what I am hearing. The voice is aged, and more pubescent than I remember it, but it definitely sounds like – “Ro”. I stop and try again. “Roderick”, his name barely escapes my mouth.

There is absolutely no way that it is him. I must be delirious. I’m definitely losing it. He’s dead.

“Who is that?” The voice answers, “Do I know you?”

Panic arises from my core. The anxiety grips every tendon and muscle in my body. I can’t figure out if this is real.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

I’m desperate to find his voice. I scoop my hand towards the ground and pull a palmful of water to my face. I splash it directly onto my eyelids, blinking vigorously to allow the liquid to seep into my heavy and tired skin. Slowly but surely, the world around me focuses into view.

I am in a desolate and dank place – a swamp of some kind, or perhaps a marsh. On every side of me, thick reeds grow vertically towards overcast skies. They tower over my six-foot tall body by ten feet or more.

With my vision now restored and my bearings established, I do my best to channel my anxiety towards something productive: finding my brother. I can’t be sure it is really him. It may very well be a demon playing a trick on me, or a phantom of my own imagination. Still, if there is even a sliver of a chance that it is him then I have to look for him.

“Roderick! Where are you?”

My voice remains groggy and tired. I am able to speak loud enough for him to hear me, but it makes my throat feel scratchy and gross.

“Here. I’m here!” The voice answers back.

I follow the voice into a briar of overgrown reeds; The serrated stalks cut into my skin like butter, causing streams of blood to pour out from my skin and drip into the already rust colored water. I don’t care. I can handle pain. Pain and turmoil have been part of my life for years on end without any break. Stupid swamp reeds are not going to break me now. Not after I have already come so far.

Heaving aside a particularly gargantuan stalk with my brute strength, I enter into a tight clearing.

Lying in the shallow murk of the swamp is a sickly teenager. His blue anime shirt rides up to his belly button, while his faded gray jeans squeeze into his waist. It is an outfit that I have seen many times before.

There is a layer of crust covering the boy’s eyes. It spares the rest of his face, including his wispy brown moustache and his thin chin scar. His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, yet remarkably clean looking. It is obvious that he was only just dropped in this swamp. We are both newcomers here.

Am I losing my mind? I’m crazy, aren’t I? I feel my legs waiver and turn to jelly. There is no way that this is real. Absolutely no way. Though he has aged, this boy is unmistakably my brother; He is unmistakably Roderick.

What should I do? Do I dare approach him? My body anchors itself down with insecurity, but my soul urges me to press forward.

“Please. I need help.” He tells me.

I can no longer remain tethered to my anxiety.

“Roderick!” I splash towards him, trudging up mud and gunk.

“Who is that?” His voice cracks.

“Little bro, I’m so freaking sorry! Oh, please forgive me. Please.” My knees buckle at his side. I expect him to disappear from my vision like a mirage, but his body is real. It’s actually real.

I wrap his body in the tightest hug I can muster, not even a wrought iron crowbar can ply my grip loose. “I’m never going to hurt you again. Never! You are the most important thing to me in this whole wide world – no, this universe!”

“What in the world?” I feel him try to squirm away from me, “who the heck are you?”

I am so completely caught up in our reunion, that I don’t even realize that my ailing voice must sound alien to him. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even recognize my voice. All the time that I spent in purgatory changed it for the worse.

“It’s Derek,” I squeeze him like a stuffed animal, “your brother.”

A sudden burst of energy erupts from within him. He flails and pushes to get away from me, splashing and kicking me full of gunk.

“Lies! You’re a demon. A witch. Something evil. Stay away from me. My brother would never hug me like this. What do you want from me?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A series of elbow jabs bash me in my ribcage, one after another. If it were anybody but him, I would let go, but I can’t risk losing him again. No. I will hold on forever if I have to.

“Let go!” He screams.

“No.”

“Let me go!”

“No!”

Things get desperate, and I worry that I might hurt him if we keep flailing about. If only he were able to see me. He would know that I am not lying.

I remember how my own vision was cloudy and weak when I first awoke. The water from the swamp had cured it. Perhaps it would work on him as well.

I carefully maneuver our ongoing tussle towards the edge of the clearing, waiting for the right moment to strike. I see an opportunity. A gnarled root is only a stretch away from my right leg. If I can reach it, I can use the momentum to force him back to the ground. He is too strong to push down with brute force.

Here goes nothing. I stick my leg out and allow myself to catch onto it. It trips both of us up in the process. My plan works.

Roderick splashes into the iron-rich water face first, while I land flatly on my behind. I quickly flip him over so that he doesn’t choke. He splashes about for a few seconds, and then blinks and sits up. His crust-free blue eyes peer directly into my soul.

“Derek,” he stops, and then blinks again. “Derek, is that really you?”

“It’s me.”

We sit on the ground for a good thirty seconds, soaked, and covered in grime. Roderick stares at me, his expression is one part bemused, two parts concerned, and many parts skeptical. I look at his right arm and see the scar that I imparted on him when he was a toddler. It is definitely him. I am not going crazy.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I find myself ensnared in yet another embrace. This time however, it is I who am being gripped tightly, and my little brother doing the gripping. His hug is genuine and warm. It is more than I deserve.

“I’m so happy.” He sniffles softly. “I’ve been alone for so long. It’s really cold here, Derek. Really cold.”

“I know, little bro. I know.”

“What happened? Where is my mom?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay,” he says, while squeezing me tight, “just please don’t leave me. I can’t handle the darkness any longer.”

“Never.” I tell him as I struggle to control my tears, “I will protect you no matter what.”

This is unchartered territory for the both of us.

I was always my brother’s bully; A brute who tormented him whenever the opportunity arose. I hated the fact that my dad dumped my mom to be with Meredith. I hated the love that he showed to her child. Now, none of that matters to me.

We hug it out and cry like two characters from a cheesy Hallmark movie. It feels like I am pressing a reset button. This is my second chance at building a relationship with my brother. I can’t mess this up.

“Damn it little bro, I’m so freaking happy right now. I can’t believe that I found you. You don’t know how long I have been waiting for this.”

“I don’t know where this place is, but we need to get out of here and find a police station.” He releases his grip and then sits back in the mud. “How did we end up out here anyway?”

“Cumberland Interactive must have dumped us in this swamp. They probably hoped we would freeze to death.”

Roderick looks woozy at my comment. He grabs his forehead and stares down towards the mud. “That name,” he stammers, “it sounds so familiar.”

“It’s the gaming studio where your mom’s boyfriend was working.”

Roderick is downright puzzled and confused at my statement. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, “that also sounds familiar, but I can’t recall anything about my mom’s boyfriend.”

“I went to Cumberland Interactive earlier today, looking for you.” I pull myself to my feet and then explain what happened to him, “some crazy lady in a lab coat and her team of henchmen drugged me. That’s all I remember. Then I ended up here.”

“You went looking for me in a gaming studio? Are you sure you’re Derek?”

“The genuine article,” I laugh and help him to his feet.

“You do look like Derek,” he pokes my flank, “but where did your muscle go? You’ve become soft and squishy.”

I scratch at my back, unsure of what to say, “I haven’t exactly worked out much since you went missing. It’s been different for me, that’s for sure.”

“How long have I been missing?” His eyebrow quirks up.

“Only a few years.”

“What!?”

“Yeah. Dad and I thought you were dead.”

“Whoa.”

Roderick sways like he is going to fall to the ground in shock, but I quickly steady him. “Look on the bright side,” I chuckle awkwardly, “at least you have a cool new mustache.”

“I do?” His arm shoots up to his face. His pale white cheeks turn flush at the realization, “I guess I do.”

“Must be from your mom’s side, I can’t grow facial hair for anything.”

“This is a lot to take in.”

“It sure is,” I agree, “but let’s take it one step at a time. Once we are safely out of this wretched swamp, I can explain everything to you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We agree on our escape plan, trudging into the reeds using the cloud-obscured sun as our navigation marker. We need to find a police station and let them know about everything that has happened to us. I want to use my cell phone to call for help, but it is gone. Somebody removed it from my person.

Our trek is perilous and painful. I insist that I should take on the role of our trailblazer. I push my way through the razor-sharp reeds, but the pain starts to become unbearable. As I exhaust myself, Roderick fills my shoes for me and takes the brunt of the damage head-on. I hate to see him get hurt, but at the same time, I know I need his help.

I explain everything that happened as we bushwhack. I tell Roderick about the supposed accident that he was involved in, my deep-seated regret about his death, Dad and Annie, and even my recent visit to his room. I am certain that he will be angry that I entered his room without his permission, but he breaks out in laughter instead. Our jovial mood helps us push on for hours, even as the reeds become increasingly thick and unbearable.

“What’s that?” A bloody and bruised Roderick interrupts our banter.

I squint through a row of immature reeds, and just barely glimpse the outline of a mountain through the wispy fog. It is still a good distance off, but just knowing that it is there is enough to offer me some hope that we may get out of this situation alive.

“There aren’t any mountains in Illinois,” Roderick says, clearly perplexed.

“Those Cumberland goons must have taken us somewhere else. Why would they go through the trouble of doing that?” I wonder aloud. It makes no sense to me.

“Huh, that’s even weirder.” Roderick squints and then looks at me in bemusement. “That mountain looks a lot like a unicorn’s horn.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” I find myself squinting at it too. To me it looks more like a giant French fry, shoved vertically into the ground.

“It sure does look a lot like Emperor’s Beacon.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In Tales of the Imperium there is a massive mountain in the northernmost part of the map that looks just like a unicorn’s horn.”

“Oh, that’s the game I broke, isn’t it?”

“Don’t remind me.” I feel his cold gaze penetrate my right flank.

“My bad,” I laugh awkwardly, “I regret doing that.”

“That’s okay,” he wryly smiles, “you can buy me another copy once we get home.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that I am flat broke.

We keep bushwhacking our way forward. As we inch along, Roderick becomes more and more inquisitive about our surroundings.

“In the game, the area to the south of Emperor’s Beacon is a fertile valley dotted with villages and interesting quests.”

“Well, this certainly is anything but a fertile valley,” I say to him.

“Yeah, and we obviously can’t use magic either.”

“Obviously.”

“If we could, then we would have made it out of this swamp hours ago. Even a basic fire spell would have made quick work of these reeds.”

“Like?”

“Well, there is one spell in the game that every imperial character starts with, no matter your familial line. You just have to hold your hands out in front of you,” Roderick pauses in place. He stretches both of his hands in front of his body, “and then you say [Fireball].”

I close my eyes, half expecting a massive ball of fire to erupt from my little brother’s palm. Alas, as I open them back up, it is clear that nothing has happened.

“Guess we aren’t in the game,” I sigh a breath of relief.

“I guess not,” Roderick looks disappointed.

“That’s for the best,” I shake my head, “Dad is probably worried sick about me, and wait until he finds out that you are okay! It’s going to blow his mind.”

“It’s going to be kind of embarrassing meeting dad’s new fiancé in these,” Roderick tugs at his undersized clothes. “I think I’m going to need a whole new wardrobe.”

“You can borrow some of my stuff for a day or two, we are basically the same size now. Well, at least the same height. I think I might have put on a little extra girth.”

“Maybe a little,” he snickers.

As I think about it, it does seem like it might be kind of fun to be in a game world. A world with dragons, magic, and all the classic fantasy tropes.

I hold my hands in front of my chest and dream of being a mage. [Fireball], I shout. A sudden burst of light and energy erupts from my palms. Sucking the moisture from the air, it barrels through row after row 0f reeds.

Roderick’s mouth drops agape. He stares at my hands, then at the burning path I cleared. “Whoa,” a massive grin overtakes his face, “that was badass.”

I stare down at my smoking palms. Whoa is right, that was insane. That also means something else.

“We are in a game after all.”