Absolution (Version 2 of “Reverse Reflection”)

Clara gazed at the pictures along the wall while she waited. When Greg came down the stairs, he saw her staring at the one of a young man with dirty blond hair and a swimmer’s body. He knew she would assume it was a picture of him.

“I’d tell you it’s not me in that picture. You may think me a liar, but more than likely you would ask…” He paused so she could.

“Then who is it? If not you?”

“My twin brother, John.”

“You don’t have a twin brother.”

“I did. He…died. In a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was driving,” he said, surprising himself. He’d never told the story even to his friends. “We had gone to a bar for a friend’s birthday and he had too much to drink so I took the keys from him. I was being responsible, but someone else that night wasn’t. We were hit head on. John died before the ambulance showed up.”


John woke to the calling of his name. He sat up and stretched then climbed out of bed. He came down the stairs and saw a young woman looking at pictures in the hallway. He’d never seen her before, or anyone in this place, but somehow, he felt like he knew her.

“I’d tell you that’s not actually me in that picture. You may think me a liar, but more than likely you would ask…” He paused, letting her.

“Then who is it? If not you?”

“It’s actually my twin brother, Greg.”

“You don’t have a twin brother.”

“I did. He’s still alive.”

“That’s…. good?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It’s good. When the paramedics showed up, they went to him first. I guess we were both on the same time limit, but he got to stay behind.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wish he were here?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” John said, “It’s too late now, but he’ll find his own way.”


“We were pretty close,” Greg said, “Practically best friends. We did everything together.”

“Do you miss him?”

“All the time.” He fell silent. Thoughts rushed through his head. Of John, of what happened. Of his parents. He began wondering where his parents were and then wondered how Clara got in the house. He began to realize he had never met her before but the feeling vanished when she spoke again.

“Come on, I’d like to show you something,” she said and walked out the front door. He followed her outside and into his car. The fact that she was driving never occurred to him.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

He didn’t argue. He looked out the window at the row of old oak trees that lined the road. The newly formed leaves were still wet with the morning drizzle. They drove in silence. Greg turned and looked at Clara. Taking her in for what seemed the first time. She had jet-black hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her bangs hid her forehead and stopped right above her blue eyes which shone brightly against her fair skin.

She noticed him staring and smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“Have we met before?”

“Here it is.” She slowed the car suddenly and turned onto a narrow road into the countryside. A short distance brought them to a small house with a red roof. It was his grandparent’s cottage.

“Here we are,” she said.

“And why are we here?”

“It’s a surprise, silly.”


“So where are we going today?” John asked as if they had been spending the past several months together.

“There is a place I would like you to see.”

“And where would that be? I can’t be bothered going out to the city again.”

“It’s actually in the other direction.”

“You said we weren’t supposed to go out there.” He paused. Their previous conversation floated through his head while his memory doubted every word.

“It’ll be okay,” she smiled.

He followed her outside and they walked along the dusted landscape away from the abandoned city. He was thankful for the change. He wondered why he never explored outside the city before. He was surprised that he felt nervous.

“Are we able to die here?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Well,” he paused, “because I’m already dead.”

“You look alright to me.”

“But you know I died.” Another conversation echoed in his mind.

“That’s the only way to leave that other place,” she said matter-of-factly. “Come on.” She waved him to continue and he followed obediently. He was curious.

“Are there ways to leave this place?”

She stopped at this and smiled, “This isn’t the last stop, silly. Let’s go.”

They walked along remnants of the road away from the city.


“Why are we here?” Greg repeated

“It’s an intermediary of sorts.”

“An intermediary for what?”

“Today? For you.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored him and skipped out onto deep green grass of the field south of the little cottage.

“Aren’t we going inside?”

“That’s not where it is.”

“Where what is?” he called after her.

“The intermediary. Don’t you listen?”

He sighed, trying to calm his nerves before they fired up. She was becoming extremely trying, but he followed her out onto the grass and into the sun. He instantly felt its heat beat down on him. He suddenly felt obligated to see whatever this was through. He briefly looked back at the small cottage where he and John spent every holiday. Then he looked at his car. He couldn’t just go home. She had the keys. He turned just in time to see Clara disappear into a small grove of trees. He couldn’t remember the trees being there before.

“Come on,” Clara’s voice yelled.


They had been walking for hours. John didn’t know who to thank for the clouds blocking the sun so he thanked the clouds themselves.

“Are we almost there?” he called.

“Yes, yes. So impatient,” she called from in front of him.

He looked at her then as if for the first time. She had jet-black hair that fell straight to her waist which swayed side to side when she walked. He began to wonder where they first met when she abruptly turned and stared at him with her bright, blue eyes. A smile flashed across her lips.

“Here we are,” she said.

John looked around at the dirt covered road and vacant landscape. “This is it?”

“No. This is just our turn.” She stepped off the road, onto the dead grass, and walked off in a straight line. “Come on lazy bones,” she yelled back without looking at him, “Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

He tried to think of where else he would like to be, or could go, but nothing came to mind. He still wasn’t exactly sure where he was. He sighed heavily and stepped off the broken road and followed her.


“This is it,” Clara said, popping her head out from behind a tree as Greg entered a small clearing in the trees. In the center was a stone well.

“A well?”

“No, it’s the intermediary.”

“The well is the intermediary?”

“Of course. Take a look,” she pulled him to the edge of the stone circle. He looked down and saw nothing.

“It’s empty.”

She looked inside then checked the watch on her wrist.

“Hmm, we must be a bit early. I guess we’ll just have to wait,” she said and sat down on the grass. She pulled up a few blades and began braiding them together.

“What are we doing here?” Greg asked.

“Waiting now. You’ll see. Just be patient. It will happen in a few minutes.”

He could feel his shoulders tighten as she said the words. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer but he asked it anyway. “And what are we waiting for?”

“For the intermediary, silly.”

He sighed.


“Here we are.”

John caught up to her and looked at the stone circle. “This is it?”

She hit him. “Don’t be silly. It’s inside.”

He looked down into the well and saw nothing.

“There’s nothing in there.”

She looked at her watch. “Hmm. Keep looking. It should be happening soon.”

“What’s going to happen? We haven’t done anything but walk all day and now we are standing at a dry well in the middle of nowhere.” He looked around at the brown fields that surrounded them. “I know there isn’t much going on in this place, but I’m sure there are better things to do than be out here.”

“Oh hush. Just keep an eye on what’s down there.”

He sighed and returned his attention to the well. He glanced at her when she sat down on the dead grass and began ripping blades up. She tossed them into the air but there was no wind to catch them.

“Keep looking.”

“I am,” he said, and turned his attention back to the depths of the well.


Greg kept looking down in the well as she instructed. Nothing happened for a while and he was growing more and more irritated. Then he saw something move. Something was coming toward him. It took a moment before he realized it was water quickly rising. The well was filling up.

“Somethings happening,” he said.

For a moment he thought it might not be water because it was as clear as the air it replaced. It rose to the brim and stopped. He looked down through the water and into the darkness behind it. His reflection soon came into view.

“Now,” Clara said, popping up off the ground, “we are finally here, and with only a minute to spare.”

“For what?”

“Your choice.”

“What choice?”

“You can bring your brother back. If you want to.”

“What?” He looked up from the well and his throat caught.

“At the cost of your own life of course.” She said matter-of-factly.

He stared at her in disbelief. “But…”


“All you have to do is jump in,” she told John.

“Who would ever do that? I mean, yeah it’d be nice to be alive again, but not at that cost.” He stopped looking in the well and focused on her. “No one would make that choice.”

“Some do. But that doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that you only have a handful of seconds to decide.”

“No,” he said, “That’s my decision. Consider it made.”

“Okay,” she said, “but I do have to warn you. Your brother was given the same choice.”

“What?”

“He has the same choice, but vice-versa. He can jump in the well and trade his life for yours. You may see him briefly depending on what he chooses.”

“That’s insane.” He ran back and looked inside. His reflection stared back, as if it had never left the water.


“So I jump in and he comes back?”

“Yes. You may even see him briefly.”

Greg looked at his reflection in the water. “He’ll come out of this well as if nothing happened to him?”

“All in one piece. Healed. Presto. Alive again. That’s the intermediary for you, but time’s running out. You have to choose soon.”

He stared down into the water. It was an obvious decision and his brother deserved it. He reached one hand in and watched it disappear into the blackness behind the surface. The water remained clear but his hand was gone beneath it.

A hand emerged a second later next to where his had entered. Its palm opened toward him. On it, written in ash, was the word Don’t. He stared at it. Then the hand rotated and the middle finger lifted from a clenched fist.

Greg smiled. “You’d hate me for it, wouldn’t you? Dick.”


“That should do it. Now, when will this be over?” John said.

Both of the girls named Clara said in unison, “It already is.”

John looked over to see girl had duplicated. He looked back at the well and found it empty again.

“Congratulations.” The girls said.

He shook his head. “Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Talking at the same time.”

“Sure,” one Clara said. “It’s time for you to move on,” said the other.

“So it wasn’t real?”

“Of course it was real.” “Now it’s time to go.”

“Where are we going?”

“You are going on to the next place.” “And we are staying here.”

“What about Greg?”

“He will live his life.” “Until he moves on to his next place.”

“This place?”

“Whichever place is next for him.” “With your decision, he will likely skip this phase.”

John smirked. “Good. He wouldn’t last two days here.”


Greg jumped at the knock on the window. He looked up to see his grandfather waving to him. He was parked in front of his grandparent’s cottage. His grandma waved to him from the front door. He got out and stretched.

“What brings you by?” his grandfather asked.

He didn’t remember driving into the country and wasn’t sure why he had come out this way.

“Just thought I’d come say hi,” he answered, “Get out of the city for the afternoon.”

“Well you’re always welcome out here. Come inside. Your grandma just made some fresh scones.”

Greg let his grandfather guide him toward the cottage. He glanced over at the field south of them. The open ground was filled with nothing but rolling hills of grass. A memory of a cluster of trees flickered across his mind then faded into nothing. Something about him felt lighter. He turned and hugged his grandmother before going inside.

Pay the Paradox

The little boy ran into the room to where his grandpa was reclined in a chair snoring. Bright sunlight shone through the window and warmed the room as a gentle breeze blew through the screen door. His parents were still unbuckling their seat-belts as the boy jumped onto his grandpa’s large belly.

“Ooooooooohhhhh,” Grandpa moaned and sat up suddenly. He looked down to find his grandson hugging him, and he couldn’t help but smile while the pain slowly receded.

“Jack, my boy,” he said, “You need to be more gentle with me. If you get any bigger, you’ll break me next time.”

“You can’t break Grandpa. You’re too big to break.”

“Maybe,” Grandpa sighed and rubbed his abdomen. He silently promised to cut down on the snacks but knew it was his mind making the promise and not his heart.

Geoff and Marie walked through the door with their bags and an extra small one that belonged to Jack.

“Dad,” Geoff nodded before taking the bags to the back room. Marie gave him a hug.

“I think Kate could use your help in the kitchen.”

“I’m here less than ten seconds and you want to put me to work?” She asked in mock offense.

“She’s making cinnamon cake.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed at him. “Mmmhmm.”

“Grandpa, show me the trick.” Jack was grabbing at his shirt.

“Serious,” Grandpa said. He remained wide-eyed and as convincing as possible until she wandered toward the kitchen. He heard her greet his wife, then heard her ask if that was indeed the cinnamon coffee cake. He smiled and turned his attention back to Jack, who kept pulling at his shirt and asking to see his trick.

He picked the little boy up and they wandered into the basement where he had a little workshop. He sat on the stool at the workbench and hoisted the boy onto his lap. In front of them sat a little cube. It was the same cube as last time. A metal frame with small, intricate machinery inside.

“This is the last time,” Grandpa said before they started.

“Awwww,” the boy whined and looked up at the wrinkled face of his grandfather.

“I’m sorry Jack, but this is the last time we can do it.” He looked down at the pouty-face his grandson made and quickly gave in. “We can do it twice this time okay. But no more afterwards.” The pouty-lips turned to a smile and the boy focused on the cube in front of him. His little hands gripped the edge of the workbench as he tried to get his face closer.

Grandpa picked up the cube and turned it to the side with three small dials. He checked his watch then set the dials accordingly before placing the cube on the workbench again. He crouched until his face was next to Jack’s and they stared at the cube.

A second passed. Then the inner parts began to whir and spin. The cube began to rattle on the flat surface. Neither pair of eyes dared to blink. Grandpa glanced at Jack to see the wonder on his face. The same wonder he had when he first saw the cube. The wonder he kept until he learned its inner workings. He turned his attention back to the cube just before it vanished.

“Whoa…” The boy stared at the spot where the cube had been.

“Yeah. Whoa.”

“When will it come back?”

Grandpa checked his watch. “In about ten seconds. Keep your eyes glued.”

They waited in silence as seconds ticked by. Jack’s breathing was steady but shallow. A whisper escaped him, “Two……one…..” The cube appeared exactly where it had been moments before.

“How does it work?” the boy asked.

“You’ll learn when you’re a bit older.” When you are fifteen and back in this basement looking at my old stuff without me, he thought. “Remember, this is the last time.” He picked up the cube and calibrated it. Then he sat it back down on the workbench. “Watch closely this time.”

The boy’s face shaped into a serious expression that he had to restrain himself from laughing at. Together they watched the cube. The seconds passed until it vanished again, except this time it didn’t reappear. Jack stared at the empty space waiting.

“It’s not coming back this time champ.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t. Now let’s go get some food, huh?” He paused as he finished his question, suddenly realizing the futility of it and the implications of what he had done.

He knew Jack was going to stick to the workbench with a vice-like grip, looking at the empty tabletop for the next two hours, only to finally be persuaded by his mom to go eat dinner. He knew it because he remembered it, just as he remembered an older Jack coming back to his workbench to see the cube reappear next to a journal. The journal he was going to purposely leave out after his grandson left in two days. It would collect dust for a decade only to be opened and read by Jack. When he read the journal himself, he had learned who he really was and who his own grandfather had been, and it will be the exact same for his grandson and himself. The journal held the secrets of the cube, and the designs for the machine that were too tempting for the curious mind.

He had always believed that the cube was the catalyst. It led to the journal and kept the mystery alive until it became an obsession. Now, at the end of his life, he saw the cube was the cause. The journal was the catalyst. The cube was now lost to time. Set to reappear in exactly ten years on June 5th where it will cause the innocent boy in front of him to recreate the same machine he did, and use it in the same way. The thoughts consumed him.

He did nothing for the next two days but think about how to undo what he had done. He wasn’t sure he could, or wanted to, considering what may happen. He could very well undo himself. His wife worried about him on that second day. Enough to call their son.

She was looking at him while she talked to their son, but it wasn’t until she said the phrase “I’m worried” did he get the uneasy feeling of nostalgia. He remembered that phrase the heaviness it sat his own father. His father who stood at the counter on the phone with his grandfather while they both were putting a puzzle together. He remembered those words “I’m worried” and realizing it was his grandmother.

Now he heard the words from the other side of the call and knew what came next. A calmness filled him moments before his coronary artery clogged and pain radiated through his chest and down his left arm.

Arithmetic

Luke laid down on the couch with a sigh. He waited a few seconds then began.

“It all feels like a constant countdown, you know? Like I’m constantly calculating how much time I have before I have to be at work next, or how much time before I should go to sleep so I can get a decent amount of sleep before I have to work. I even calculate the hours I have free or try to guess how long an obligation is going to take. I’m constantly figuring my life into blocks of time. I know it sounds stupid and doesn’t make much sense, but I feel like I do it in an attempt to get the most out of the time I have for myself. In the end though, I feel like it does the opposite. That I set up an expectation about what time I have and try to figure out if I can fit what I want into that time block. If I can’t, I often give up on that task altogether. Even if that task was something dumb like watching a show. If it’s an hour-long show and I only have an hour, sometimes I don’t watch it because I know I’ll have to go do something else before it ends.

I feel anxious all the time about stupid stuff. When I realize I don’t have the time to do what I want to do, even if it’s just sit down and read, I get sad because I feel like I’m not in control of my life. I feel like everything is constantly tugging at me and I can’t shake it off. Between work, helping my parents, my relationship, yard work, hanging out with friends, even talking to you sometimes feels like too much, which is absurd. I talk to you because I do feel better afterwards and things don’t seem so glib, but I’m always trying to figure out what is happening next. What should I be doing besides what I’m doing right now? I’m doing it right now. I’m thinking I should not be laying on this couch talking to you, and that instead I should be cutting the grass or catching up with someone I haven’t hung out with in a while. This all seems crazy. Right?”

He heard a few clicks behind him and waited. A second passed and he felt the need to fill the silence so he continued.

“I mean. That isn’t normal is it? At the same time, I feel like it is. Everyone is constantly trying to fit more in their schedule. They are always connected. Looking at their phones. Checking all the notifications. That’s another thing too. Sometimes I feel like I have to check my social media so I don’t miss anything. I’ll always answer texts as quickly as I can. But that’s another thing. I feel like I don’t hang out with my friends that much anymore. Yeah, we talk sometimes on the phone and text a lot, but we don’t meet up like we used too. I understand the few that have babies now and that takes up a lot of time, but it should be easier, right? I mean, there is only so much you can do with a baby. It just sits there. Why can’t it sit there while we hang out?”

He paused. This time there were three clicks, but still no answer. He sighed again.

“Maybe it’s just that I’m getting old,” he said, “Maybe I feel like I should have accomplished more by now. I know what you’ll say. That I shouldn’t compare my accomplishments to others, but I can’t help it. I have dreams, but I can’t find the time to work on them. Maybe it’s because I don’t really want to. Or that I’m afraid to fail. Or even because it’s simpler to have the dream and think about than to actually do it. And what happens once you achieve that dream? Then you have to come up with another one. Doesn’t that seem weird? Wouldn’t it be easier to just not have one? To just live life with no aspirations and enjoy where you are and in the moment? But that would just be existing, and I can’t just sit there and do nothing. Yeah, TV and video games can help pass the time, but you don’t get any real feeling of accomplishment from those. I’m not going to wake up one day and think ‘Man, I was really good at that one game. I totally nailed that match that I won online against a stranger,’ you know? That stranger could have been a little kid. I’d never know, but I’d think it and then get sad because then I’d believe that I beat a little kid at a video game. Who would feel proud of that?

Sorry. I got a bit off topic there. What were we talking about? I guess it doesn’t really matter,” he sighed, “I just get so stressed out. I know it’s about dumb, small things too, which makes me stress about stressing out. I appreciate you letting me vent. It does make me feel better just to get this stuff off my chest.”

He looked over and into the eyes of a beagle. The dog placed one paw on Luke’s shoulder as he laid on the couch and shuffled, clicking its nails against the hardwood floor. Luke smiled. “Thanks buddy. You want to go for a walk?” The beagle’s tail started wagging. Luke got up and grabbed the leash.

They went outside and walked for an hour. The entire time they were out, he never once thought about anything he’d said on the couch. He simply enjoyed the sun setting on the horizon and the fresh air. He was able to forget about time altogether. He enjoyed the calm and quiet of the twilight hours. He let himself forget about everything, despite knowing it would all be there again tomorrow.

 

Reverse Reflection

She gazed at the pictures along the wall while she waited. When he came back, he saw her staring at the picture of a young man with dirty blond hair and a swimmer’s body. He assumed that she presumed it was a picture of him.

“I’d tell you that’s not actually me in that picture. You may think me a liar, but more than likely you would ask…” He paused, letting her.

“Then who is it? If not you?”

“It’s actually my twin brother, John.”

“You don’t have a twin brother.”

“I did.”

“Oh…”

“He died…in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was driving. We had gone out to a bar for a friend’s birthday and he had too much to drink so I took the keys from him. I was being responsible, but someone else that night wasn’t. We were hit head on.”


 

John woke to the calling of his name. He sat up and stretched before climbing out of bed. He came down the stairs and saw a young woman looking at pictures in the hallway.

“I’d tell you that’s not actually me in that picture. You may think me a liar, but more than likely you would ask…” He paused, letting her.

“Then who is it? If not you?”

“It’s actually my twin brother, Jared.”

“You don’t have a twin brother.”

“I did.”

“Oh…”

“He’s still alive.”

“That’s…. good?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It’s good. When the paramedics showed up they went to him first. I guess we were both on the same time limit. He got to stay behind.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wish he were here?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” John said, “It’s too late now, but he’ll find his own way.”


 

“We were pretty close,” Jared said, “practically best friends. We did everything together.”

“Do you miss him?”

“All the time.”

“Come on, I’d like to show you something,” Clara said and walked out the door.

He followed her out to the car and got in. They drove in silence for a while.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay,” he didn’t argue. He looked out the window at the newly formed leaves still wet with the morning drizzle. They drove for nearly a half an hour. Neither of them talked until she pulled onto a narrow road out into the countryside. He refrained from asking her his question since he figured he would only get the same answer.

The car rumbled to a halt. “Here we are,” she said.

He got out and looked at the small house. “And this would be?”

“The surprise, silly.”


 

“So where are we going today?” John asked.

“There is a place I would like you to see.”

“And where would that be? I can’t be bothered going out to the city again.”

“It’s actually in the other direction.”

“You said we weren’t supposed to go out there.”

“It’ll be okay,” she smiled. He followed her outside. They walked along the dusted landscape away from the city. He was thankful for the change, but found himself nervous which surprised him.

“Are we able to die here?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well,” he paused, “I’m already dead.”

“You look alright to me.”

“But you know I died.”

“That’s the only way to leave that other place,” she said matter-of-factually. “Come on.” She waved him to continue.

“Are there ways to leave this place?”

She stopped at this and smiled, “This isn’t the last stop, silly. Let’s go.”


 

“What is this place?” Jared stood looking at the small cottage.

“It’s an intermediary of sorts.”

“An intermediary for what?”

“Today? For you.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored him and skipped out onto the grass beside the little house.

“Aren’t we going inside?”

“That’s not where it is.”

“Where what is?” He called after her.

“The intermediary. Don’t you listen?”

He sighed, trying to calm his nerves before they fired up. She was becoming extremely trying, but he followed her out onto the grass and into the sun. He instantly felt its heat beat down on him. He hated sweating, but he couldn’t leave her now. She had the keys. Jared briefly looked back at the small house and the car before turning back to see Clara disappear into a small grove of trees. He heard thunder boom in the distance.


 

They had been walking for hours. John didn’t know who to thank for the clouds blocking the sun so he thanked the clouds themselves.

“Are we almost there?” he called.

“Yes, yes. So impatient.”

“How?”

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

He tried to think of somewhere else he would like to be, or could go, but nothing came to mind. He still wasn’t exactly sure where he was.

“Ah, here we are,” Clara said.

John looked around at the dirt road and vacant landscape. “This is it?”

“Of course not. This is our turn.” She stepped off the compacted dirt road and onto the dead grass and walked off in a straight line. “Come on lazy bones,” she yelled without looking at him.

He sighed a heavy sigh, but stepped off the dirt road and followed her. She was beginning to get annoying.


 

“This is it,” she said, popping her head out from behind a tree. Jared walked around to find a stone well.

“A well?”

“No, it’s the intermediary.”

“The well is the intermediary?”

“Just look,” she pulled him to the edge of the stone circle. He looked down and saw nothing.

“There’s nothing in it?”

She looked inside then checked the watch on her wrist.

“Hmm, we must be a bit early. I guess we’ll just have to wait,” she said and sat down on the grass. She pulled up a few blades and began braiding them.

“What are we doing here?” Jared asked.

“Waiting now. You’ll see. Just be patient.”

He could feel his shoulders tighten as she said the words. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer, but he asked it anyway. “And what are we waiting for?”

“For the intermediary, silly.”

He sighed.


 

“Here we are,” she said.

John caught up to her and looked at the stone circle. “This is it?”

She hit him. “Don’t be silly. It’s inside.”

He looked down into the well and saw nothing.

“There’s nothing in there.”

She looked at her watch. “Hmm? Keep looking. We only have a little time left.”

“A little time left for what? We haven’t done anything but walk all day and now we are standing at a dry well. I know there isn’t much going on here, but I can think of better things to do.”

“Oh hush. Just keep looking.”

He sighed but kept looking into the well. He only glanced over at her when she sat down on the dead grass and began ripping blades up. She tossed them into the air but there was no wind to catch them.

“Keep looking.”

“I am.”


 

Jared kept looking down in the well as she instructed. Nothing happened for a while and he was growing more and more irritated. Then he noticed there was water coming toward him. The well was filling up.

“Somethings happening,” he said.

At first, he thought it might not be water, but he soon realized that it was simply clear and he was seeing the darkness behind it. It rose to the brim and stopped. He kept looking down into it but only saw his own reflection.

“Now,” Clara said, popping up off the ground, “we are finally here, and with only minutes to spare.”

“For what?”

“Your choice.”

“What choice?”

“You can bring your brother back.”

“What?” He finally looked up from the well. Her face was all seriousness.

“At the cost of your own life of course.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “But…”


 

“All you have to do is jump in,” she told John.

“Who would ever do that? I mean, it’d be nice to be alive again, but not at that cost.” He stopped looking in the well and focused on her. “No one would make that choice.”

“Some do. But that doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that you only have a few minutes left to make your decision.”

“No,” he said, “That’s my decision. Consider it made.”

“Okay,” she said, “but I do have to warn you. Your brother was given the same choice.”

“What?”

“He has the same choice, but vice-versa. He can jump in the well and trade his life for yours. You may see him briefly depending on what he chooses.”

“That’s insane.” He ran back and looked inside. His reflection stared back, as if it had never left the water.


 

“So, if I jump in he comes back?”

“Yep. You may even see him briefly.”

Jared looked at his reflection in the water. “He’ll come out of this well as if nothing happened to him?”

“Yep. All in one piece. Healed. Presto. Alive again. That’s the intermediary for you, but time’s running out. Gotta choose soon.”

He stared down into the water. It was an obvious decision, and his brother deserved it. He reached one hand in and watched it disappear into the blackness behind the surface. A few seconds later, a hand emerged from the water next to where his had entered. Its palm opened toward him. On it, written in ash, was the word Don’t. He stared at it. Then the hand turned and shifted until its middle finger was raised at him.

Jared smiled. “You’d hate me for it, wouldn’t you? Dick.”


 

“That should do it. Now, when will this be over?” John said.

Both of the girls named Clara said in unison, “It already is.”

John looked over to see both of them. “What the…”

“Congratulations.”

He shook his head. “Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Talking at the same time.”

“Sure,” one Clara said. “It’s time for you to move on,” said the other.

“This was a test?”

“Yes.” “You passed.”

“So it wasn’t real?”

“Of course it was real.” “Now it’s time to go.”

“Where are we going?”

“You are going on to the next place.” “And we are staying here.”

“What about Jared?”

“He will live his life.” “Until he moves on to his next place.”

“This place?”

“Whichever place is next for him.” “With your decision, he will likely skip this phase.”

John smirked. “Good. He wouldn’t last two days here.”

Hypnagogia

In the late hours, while lying in bed, motivation creeps in like spiders and apparitions of a different life appear. The walls between conscious and subconscious blur from opaque to translucent just before the dream projector begins its reel. This is where possibility lives. My eyelids become stone gates. I see determination; to improve myself, help others, make this world better with…but the idea is burned into my retina and can never been seen directly. I become the urge to create but do not know what needs to be built. I am too late. My eyes have closed and dreams begun. Dreams erased in morning light. I will forget even the ghost that propelled them. My eyes will open clean and unbound as drawings in the sand are washed away by cold morning waves. I wake to a familiar reality but I do not remember building it quite like this. Tonight, I must remember to hang a dream catcher.