An alarm clock rang fiercely through the blacked-out room. Myron’s hand fell upon it with vengeance. 6:30 the time showed.

He shot up from bed rubbing his face, bags under his eyes. He remained there, hunched in the dark as his eyes inspected the small room. It smelled of must, yet it was clean, untouched.

He moved through his morning routine robotically.

Then, with a fresh pair of boxers from last night’s shower he headed for the kitchen and eating area. Poured some honey loops and a big dose of whole milk, not cow’s milk. Too expensive, not environmentally friendly.

He pulled out his little treasure, an old console with a single cartridge of a Game franchise he used to love, Pokemon. Maxed out more times than he can remember. At this point the motions where mindless. He simply opened it up and listened to the soundtrack. Staring into his bowl as he ate.

In the utter deadness of the one bedroom apartment, in the cold white-light falling from the ceiling, Myron grew bored.

His phone blared as it opened. The video he was watching last night before he fell asleep blasting through the speakers. A Documentary on the Gate. “Ugh..” He groaned and closed the video, interest lost.

“More incidents in the Secure Zone around the mysterious phenomenon that has rocked the world.” A dolled-up newscaster said. Behind her live footage of the gate played in a constant live stream.

It glowed with its shimmering purple light, golden sparkles swirling within it.

One day it appeared, dropped upon the city, and the buildings couldn’t hold the weight. Thousands died at that moment, tens of thousands where injured, many lost their jobs or home.

Every news reporter and outlet there is, in every country, even the most destitute, had come here, crowding the city’s hotels all to see the cause of a million people’s sufferings.

'A million may be an exaggeration, but it feels like that when half the city is now filled with homeless people.'

“I hate my life.” He whispered to no one. “Maybe it would have been better for that gate to appear closer to my neighborhood instead.

Food eaten, clothes worn, Myron took off for work.

The Gate of Destruction towered over the city, oval and tall, encapsulated in a swirling orange border, showering the heaps of destroyed concrete and exposed steel, as well as the army-men keeping the populace away from it with harmless sparks, which fell like snowflakes slowly upon the earth and disappeared as if melted.

{Tap, tap… taptaptap…. Taptaptaptap}

The relentless tap of the keyboard droned on and on in his skull. Fingers numb, neck strained, shoulders in pain. His eyes turned yellow by the blue light exposure. ‘I hope I go deaf.’ The one thought that came and went occasionally.

{CLICK.}

The Mouse added to the cacophony, the whirl of the tower, the notifications coming form the work-laptop.

Myron could feel cancer grow within his retina, within his soul. Hungry, greedy. Pulsing and growing, and consuming him. Some days he wondered if he was even alive.

He stopped. He chuckled at the sweetness of silence.

That turned heads.

A co-worker even had the presence of mind to turn around and raise a single brow in concern. ‘The pour soul is still new, he doesn’t know.’ Myron prepared his defense of the colleague.

Empathy for a coworker goes against company policy, intrusive and inefficient. A few extra weeks of training would go a long way.

Myron took a breath, he looked at the time. It was still only eleven. Nowhere near time for his alloted thirty minutes of lunch break.

He took another breath, and stretched. Sacrilige. To waste ones limited break time so foolishly could be considered Self-Harm in some circles. Maybe a visit with the Company shrink will do him some good.

“Mister Myron?” The supervisor, walking back to his office, turned to him in shock and asked. “Is everything alright?”

Myron looked at the man, maybe a few years older than him. He’d risen through the ranks like a rocket to space. An accomplished young man from a good family in the northern edges of the city.

His home was worth a few millions in the current housing market. A man that had never felt his knee scrape against the asphalt, or soil on his tongue, or dust in his eyes, a ball hitting him in the groin, or a nylon polyester shirt sticking to every inch of his body.

He grew up on augmented reality and curated company.

On golf and tennis, grass courts and a spring breeze. Rooms of tall glass and polished floors, fake smiles and big brands, yacht vacations and parties. Nature Hikes. A Diamond Spoon.

Myron hated him. He despised everything he represented. Even in the Capitalist Complex that is a Multi-national company, Nepotism stands above all, even merit and efficiency. At the end of the day it doesnt even matter if he works hard.

Work, work, work, and more work. Overtime with nary a reward. More work atop all of that.

At home. Brain rot. Cold beds, lonely nights. Ready-made noodles, the extra spicy ones to burn some life into his dead heart. A Soft mattress bought on sale, one of those that will only aid his morning aches grow stronger.

The Supervisor walked up to the silent Myron and bent down to speak to him, just above eye. He frowned.

“Why aren’t you working? Why aren’t you answering? Everything okay? You went and got sick last week. You can’t take another day off, or you’ll delay the whole department.” His eyes bore into Myron. In them Myron saw the truth. Just another good doggy, chained up to the office, wagging his tail for a treat from the magnanimous greatness that is Edmilian Rex.

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Myron shook his head. Rex chuckled grimly. “Now we both know, that isn’t a proper response Mister….” He searched for a name and came up blank.”

“Do we need to have a talk with HR?” Then came the threat. It was all bark, no bite, for Myron is good at what he does. If if that weren’t the case, a lay-off is certainly not in the plans. They never happen anymore.

Despite that, Myron should apologize. Bent the head down low and rush back to work right after. Forgo lunch to get any added pressure off his back and return to his routine as usual.

Then, a light-bulb went off in his head.

‘Eurika’

It goes against everything he’s been taught to do since school. From a young boy he knew - ‘this Idea is criminal.’

To the surprise of even himself, he sneered at his boss and stood.

He walked past him and didn’t utter a word. The man spoke as Myron left, he raised his voice, he called out, but Myron took the stairs down and didn’t wait for the elevator.

A wave of quiet panic spread through the drab office, but the workers soon got back to work and pushed Myron’ personal matters out of mind.

The trip through the steaming city of glass and steel, under the hot-unbearable sun, was miserable and freeing at the same time.

Myron touched at his cheeks and found himself smiling. An unfamiliar feeling but oh so nostalgic spread through him, eliciting shivers from his whole body. He felt as if on an adventure and a sense of wonder-lust and daring he hadn’t felt since his times prancing about as a little twerp, they came flooding back.

With confirmation that for once in his life he had made a choice, one that felt right, he marched on through the noise and the bustle, through the army of ants, whether in asphalt rivers driving murder machines of metal, or on foot, with the soles of their shoes burning on the concrete slabs they chose to ignore for the comfort of their phones.

Clouds came in, hiding the sun. Turning the sunny excursion overcast. The Sky matching the color of the dog-shit filled sidewalk. If there were any trees in the city, they would be starving for light. Instead the people rejoiced, or they should have.

Myron noticed then that none even took their eyes from their screens. Those that didn’t have a screen in front of their face, were not truly looking at anything.

The Sun didn’t harshly reflect from the innumerable tinted glass windows in the skyscrapers rising up and drowning the world in steel; all around him.

In the reflection of a random window, up on some pedestrian walkway, Myron caught sight of himself.

Yesterday’s shave. Eyes that used to be a sky blue. Light brown hair turned darker from lack of exposure to the sun, pale white skin with flakes and red patches near the nose. A beauty spot atop one of his cheekbones gave way to memories of a more dashing youth. Now he looked beaten down, stepped on, dragged through sewage.

He stepped in a puddle of gunk and water, but it didn’t send him into mad string of curses, as it would usually have. It only brought back memories, of a trip with his parents - back when they were still alive - of imagining himself playing pokemon and running in the dirt.

He took his time through the city. ‘Me, having a walk? Unbelievable.’

His feet took him to the city center. There, the purple gate stood as a monument to those it killed. For the first time since hearing about it, Myron felt a pang of pain well up in his heart for all those people.

He stepped closer to it, over barricades and barriers blocking the 8-lane; two-way; highway. ‘Why do I feel sorrow for them?’ He wondered. ‘No it’s not sorrow, it’s pity.’ He nodded.

Pity that they would never have the chance, despite coming so close to it, to see what is on the other side.

They are left to wither away from people’s memories, while he is given hope.

‘This portal represents hope. Every generation that goes by we lose a little bit more of our essence. Suicide is more popular than ever. This gate is calling out to one and all; to those who feel left out and alone, and to those who don’t. Dive into me and see which version of you comes out the other side.’

Myron stopped. A tall fence blocked his path.

He gaged said fence. Twice his height, if standing straight - a rarity - is a pretty tall and lanky figure.

“There’s nothing else to it.” He shrugged.

Then he ran and jumped. Climbed over the fence, and then another, his clothes where torn, his palms bled as his hands were bitten by the barbed wire. He looked at all the blood falling to the ground, or soaking his clothes and he felt no pain.

With his face stuck in a smile, he walked past guards with a salute and a wave and they let him on by. Shrugging to each other. Why wouldn’t they? It was all so casual.

Then, he was in front of it. It swirled a deep purple, a galaxy all on its own. Magnificent. The most intense moment of Myron’s life passed. His emotions rose, tears flooded his eyes for a silent moment of pure joy.

A female officer stepped before him. “Don’t move sir. This is a restricted area.” A gun cocked and aiming at his head.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous. Please get back.”

“Dangerous. For who? Me?”

“Yes, for you. How was a civilian even allowed in here? What are all these barriers for?” She cursed her lessers and supervisors for their ineptitude and Myron chuckled. He couldn’t agree more with the sentiment.

“So it’s dangerous for me but not for you?”

“I was trained to face danger. I chose this occupation and this post as well. All those who are here volunteered. We have our reasons. Maybe you have as well. But you’re just not allowed.

“Then I want to volunteer as well. To step through the gate. Give me the papers. I’ll sign my life away right now.”

She shook her head. “No can do. Don’t be so stubborn about it. I won’t let you through, and no one wants you to step through the gate. Why are you so ready to throw your life away?”

“What do you care. It’s my life to live. Isn’t it?”

“It is. But life is precious and you shouldn’t throw it away. Think of all the people that died in this things appearance. Don’t you feel even a little bit that you should live on for their sake.”

“No. Completely unrelated these two things. In fact, the more you try to stop me, the more I want to jump through. Who are you to control me? Don’t I even have at least this much freedom in this world? Nothing. I have nothing. Not a single choice that is allowed. Just Work. Work and then Death! I don’t want to live like that. I want to die in my own terms at least.”

“You’re unwell sir. Please step back. I’m warning you.”

“Heh~ What are you going to do? Shoot me?” Myron shrugged. He thought it over and decided that even such a death would be preferred. It was his choice after all. His own damn choice.

So he moved forward. He walked closer and closer without a care in the world.

He didn’t even stare at the barrel of the gun pointed straight at him. Instead he placed his hands behind his head, and looked up at the big purple gate with a smile. “STOP!” She screamed.

He begun to whistle, ignoring her completely. Her hands shook, tears streamed down her face. Her screams resounded through the desolate corner of the city, bouncing off the building still left standing.

He went right past her. The police officer trembled in place.

Sirens shrieked their warnings. Car engines revved up, and military personnel all poked their heads out. A Man, probably - Myron did not look - yelled. “SHOOT HIM!” The police officer fell on her knees as a dozen guns spewed out fire and death. Yet the Bullets would never reach.

One moment Myron was there, in the world of no meaning, where everything he had been all these years remained. No Parents, No real friends, no love interest, no hobbies, nothing.

The next, the gate closed shut and the Bullets whizzed past, smashing into more barricades and fences that had been on the other side of the flat portal.

The world would splutter and stop over the news. The Portal, was gone. After taking a single person. Everything it could have provided in the form of research. All the money it could have made, all the advancement in human understanding, gone with the selfishness of one person, and the incompetence of many.

That is how the world would portray this event, putting all the blame on the soldiers on duty that day.

Myron. He was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less. On earth, he is dead. On the other side, a New Myron, and a new life awaits.