World War II

June 9th, 1944

---

There are daisies beside me. Two of them, in fact. My daughter’s name is Daisy. My wife chose it. I think it’s a beautiful name, well-suited for a girl.

I’m lying on the ground - it’s hard, and rocks dig into my back.

I can’t move much, or else it hurts. I can feel something gushing out of my chest. I think I’ve been shot.

I touch the spot on my chest to make sure. Sure enough, there is blood. A lot of it. He must have shot me more than once. I should have been paying attention, but I had stopped for one second to reload. One second too late.

I saw his face after he did it. It was blank, expressionless. Merciless. The effects of a long, drawn-out, bloody war. But I don’t blame him. I would have done the same thing. Every one of us would. There are no feelings in war.

My face is dirty with soot and gunpowder.

I’ve had a rough day, and I’m not sure I’ll make it home alright.

But that’s okay. I’ve done my duty.

Funny. I always thought it would be painful, to get a bullet through your chest. But I don’t feel anything besides the soreness of my legs and the pounding of a migraine. My body and mind are numb from the constant drilling, battles, and fear of death.

But now, in the face of it, I do not think I fear death. Now that it’s here, I think I accept it. I let my arms fall beside me, and I squint up at the sky where the sun is gleaming overhead. Ironic how the sun still shines over a battlefield where hundreds of men are dying violent deaths. Or how a daisy still grows in the midst of pain and suffering.

People all around me have died. Every one of my friends that I’ve made here, gone. If they have done it, maybe it shouldn’t be so bad. Right now, death sounds like a deep, restful sleep . . . and I am so, so tired.

I think of my wife at home, baking bread with our daughter. Their clothes are messy, my wife has her hair in a bun, and Daisy’s nose is dotted with flour. Oh, my sweet girl. And the unborn child I will never get to meet. I hope it’s a boy, I hope he’ll have my eyes.

With little strength I have left, I take a torn photograph out of my vest pocket. It’s them, it’s my two girls. Daisy is smiling, her mother is, too. They are happy, and I want to smile, but I am too weary. I look at them for one last time before I see them again, and when I get there I will hold them all in my arms as they shout for me, for Daddy.

Maybe it’s a horrible place to die, but then again, maybe it isn’t.

My soul will go up along with the others that I have fought so desperately with, the ones that I have cried with, and shared my last moments of joy with. These are the men that I will die with. And I am happy for that.

Sometimes, there is peace in tragedy.

I close my eyes . . .

And I think . . .

How lucky I am . . .

To lie here next to a daisy.

"God, I can't believe our moms made us do this," says Simon.

"Me neither," I reply, rolling my eyes.

Above us, a disco ball spins, spilling colourful lights on our slow-moving, hesitant bodies. Etta James' song, "At Last" blasts through the speakers, which is a nice song when you're not dancing with your sworn enemy. All I want to do is plug my ears and curl up into a ball and die.

"We're gonna take it slo-o-o-w now, folks. Go on and grab your favourite partner and show them how much you think your love has come along . . ." the DJ had blurted into the microphone, and I wish he didn't, because that's when Simon's mother and mine thought it would be the perfect opportunity to push us together and threaten to take away our cellphones for a month if we didn't dance.

I look over to the edge of the dance floor where our mothers are snickering and giving us the "thumbs up" sign. I would have given a better hand gesture, but I thought better of it, lest I wanted more things taken away or more time touching this dweeb in front of me. Let them have their moment of temporary folly.

"It's like they don't understand us," he says as his arms are wrapped around my waist. I loosen his grip, cringing at how he could even have the nerve to lay his hands on me.

"I think they just want us to get along," I justify.

As much as I hated where they were coming from, I could see where our moms were coming from. They had been best friends in high school and still are to this day. It must have been a shame to have their children grow up and hate each other. But it's not my fault that Simon used to steal my pencils in third grade and never gave them back. I paid three weeks worth of my fifty cent allowance to buy those sparkly pink pencils! The erasers hardly worked, but at least they were pretty. Simon spent the entire year smudging his homework, which serves him right.

"Like that's ever going to happen."

I smile. At least we could agree on one thing.

Granted, I hadn't been a saint either. In fifth grade, I would throw balls of crumpled-up paper at the back of his head in class and pretend it wasn't me when he turned around. Oh, and there was that time where I flushed his favourite toy car down the toilet when he wouldn't let me see what he kept it a drawer in his room. It turned out to be his underwear, but still. He could have just said so.

"All you lovebirds out on the floor right now, stay put . . . and put your head on your partner's lovin' shoulder . . ." says that ridiculous DJ.

Before I can protest, "Put Your Head on my Shoulder" by Paul Anka starts playing throughout the dimly-lit room. I can't believe my ears. I was not doing two songs. I look over to our mothers - mine is waggling her finger back and forth to signify that we had to continue or else, and Simon's makes kissy faces like a fish. Both are laughing hysterically. Who were the kids, anyway?

"Look, all we have to do is pretend like we're enjoying ourselves and it'll be over in a few minutes," I say, trying to stop myself from sweating through my dress with all the nerves running through my system.

"You know, this isn't so bad."

Wait, what?

I look up at Simon, the boy who I had declared my sworn enemy back when we were four years old on the day he poured sand down my shorts at the playground, and I wonder just what on earth has gotten into him. I start getting a sick feeling in my stomach as blood rushes to my cheeks. Hold up, what is this feeling?

"It's actually kinda nice. Don't you think?" he continues.

I just about faint when he says that. Do I think? Do I think? Oh, Simon, I've been thinking ever since you went and told Johnny in seventh grade I hated his guts when I actually had a huge crush on him. . . . But you knew that, didn't you?

"Maybe," I mumble, and I can't believe I'm doing this, but I put his hands right back where they were before, and he doesn't protest.

I turn to look at our mothers, but they've already gone to refill their glasses of punch. Simon doesn't notice, and I don't tell him, as Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love With You" comes on.

This wedding annoucement was submitted to the newspaper I work at:

"We the parents of Imran Hussain and Desiree Chatham would like to inform you with great uneasiness that Imran and Desiree have decided to tie the knot on November 10th, even after repeated attempts by both families to break them apart. Their love remains steadfast and their decision making skills, poor.

The wedding will not be held at a religious place as etiquette suggests, but at some boho-hippie lounge. The dress code is casual, but both families implore the guests to dress in formal cocktail attire in order to sabotage this wedding. They don't want presents, but please bring many extravagant ones as the parents can take them home. Food will not be served. Eat at home losers.

See you then you shameless twats."

People don’t understand that their actions or lack thereof can set an alcoholic back 5 years or a cutter back 5 years as well.

I get it you want to move on but fuck, don’t screw over the person who has never harmed you in any way, who never called you names. Always treated you kindly and opened up to you. Gave you parts of me I’ve never attempted to give anyone and what do you do with my parts. You toss them in a pile, dump lighter fluid on them and set them on fire as all my parts turn to ash.

Do you understand the phrase “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”? Yeah, you must.

Yet, here you are treating me like I’m garbage. Like, you never saying “your home for me”.

Ah, I don’t wish karma on anyone not even you. Everything will right itself at some point.

I am hurting badly to the point my best friend wants to fly to me.

Eventually I’ll heal but unfortunately for the next person to want to come in and love me the way you claimed to love me will have a hard time getting through my walls.

I don’t pity you.

One day I’ll forgive you.

Today I want to spit on you.

But, I’m better than that. Always have been.

I woke up with a weightlessness in my eyelids and an ease in my mind on the first day. It really was remarkable. I was far from religious, but I did feel this peace wash over my body that left behind this inexplicable joy, and an unfamiliar lightness of disposition I hadn’t felt for about a decade. Since sometime in my late fifties. Inching my way out of bed, I began my day by opening the curtains to let the light in.

From somewhere deep in my head there came an excitement and an anticipation. That was first. Then came the awareness, and with the awareness came the most exalted news from a place I could not name. This world - this universe - would be undergoing subtle, but wondrous changes. The force of all matter would be working to improve itself over the coming week, tinkering with a few things in the system. The very fabric of existence would be untangled and rewoven.

I have to take a second to speak frankly. This wishy-washy abstract existential discourse can get tiresome, and it gets away from the fact that I’m absolutely terrified, and have been this whole week since that initial morning. It might be because I’m a severe pessimist. With these evident improvements to the world, I can’t help but think that humanity is one of those things that might have been a mistake. That the universe might see the end of humanity as an improvement.

Humanity is good for it’s own sake, don’t get me wrong. We can cure ourselves, we can move wherever we want in the world, and while we can’t turn water straight into wine I did find a kit online the other day that can make wine in under a week if you add water. I thought that was pretty neat. But ask any other living thing, and it will tell you that humanity is one big pain in the ass of everything. We’re constantly finicking with things to suit us. We don’t like that it gets dark at eight in the evening, so we invent our own light. We don’t like how cold it gets, so we make heaters. We don’t like how hot it gets, so we make air conditioners.

To get to the point, if the universe was going to work on improving itself, I can say with absolute certainty that we’re a bug in the system, and we’re going to be fixed.

When the message was put out into the universe that it was time for an update, my mind went swiftly from the joyous feeling I described to bone chilling terror. I grew up in a religious household, and knew everything I needed to know about the creation story to understand what was about to happen day by day.

Nothing happened on the first day aside from the anticipatory feeling that hung in the air. It was like every molecule in my body was bracing for the change. It began to feel as though only I knew what this meant. That this was the first day of the coming seven which would be the last days of humanity. That the hovering presence everyone felt wasn’t there to celebrate us, or make our world better, but to evaluate every piece of existence down to the finest detail.

It has taken about fifteen minutes for me to put down everything that occurred to me within seconds of opening my curtain. Once that stream of understanding raced through my mind, I noticed what was going on outside. Children were gleefully playing in the streets, with hockey nets and basketball hoops pulled out of every garage, lining the street. Neighbours watering front gardens, grinning ear to ear, waving at each other for the first time since moving in. One older woman had her head on straight, walking up the middle of the road, cursing at everything and everyone she laid eyes on. She brought a bottle of what I can only assume to be whiskey to her mouth and took a long swig from it. She knew. She’d lived her life honestly enough to know what it meant to be a human in a world that wasn’t actually made for you.

After taking in the scene, I turned away from the window, strained to utter a breathy “Shit,” and spent the day sitting in the front porch drinking tea my daughter would bring me. Whatever the universe was about to do it hadn’t started yet. I sat with my oxygen tank, and still felt like the two months my doctor gave me to live was too long. Now I felt almost grateful it would be cut short.

The first night of the week descended over the neighbourhood. I stayed up as long as I could, noticing the purity of the dark. The stars and moon hadn’t changed yet. That was on the fourth day. The depth of the darkness between the stars, and around the moon, was now inexplicably stunning. I left my curtains open in my bedroom, and was lulled into a soundless sleep by that new darkness. This marked the beginning of the end, as far as humanity is concerned.

* * *

The sunrise was absolutely wild. It was borealis-like in its colours and its pulse. I sat up in bed and watched for about an hour as the sun eventually broke the horizon with a brilliance that can’t be described. It was the perfect brightness. The light penetrated everything, and even the shadows had a luminescence to them.

This was the second full day we got, and it didn’t disappoint. It actually soothed a bit of the dread I felt yesterday and as I sat in the front porch again, watching the flurry of activity and excitement, I noticed even the old woman had a peace about her. Not that she had accepted our fate. I hadn’t really either. But she did seem to feel there was something about the light to be revered. My daughter brought me another tea, replaced my oxygen tank, and sat with me.

My daughter and I have an understanding that speaks through silences, and I appreciate that about her. As I sit here, journaling about what’s been happening, I’m grateful for our relationship. I know she prefers her mother, whose adventurous personality outgrew me as soon as the kids moved out, but I like to think there’s an unspoken love between us. Conveniently unspoken, given how little I’ve been able to speak these days.

She broke the silence and said, “It really is prettier now, isn’t it. Daylight, I mean.”

Taking a long drag from the oxygen tank, I mustered a drawn out “mm hmm”.

“What do you think tomorrow will bring?”

An exciting prospect occurred to me. After the darkness and the light was supposed to come the firmament; the space between the earth and the sky. The cancer in my lungs likely won’t disappear, but maybe if the atmosphere is changed in as remarkable a way as the dark and light had been, I might breathe with ease for the first time in ages.

“Air.”

I will say that the sunset that evening was breathtaking - lung cancer pun not intended. There are no words in any language to capture what it was like. We only ever knew our sunsets to be orangey-reddish-pinkish-yellowy. This one was like a disco in the sky with colours that faded in and out as the sun slowly descended over the horizon. When the sun finally set, leaving behind a dancing twilight, my daughter helped me up to bed where I stayed awake for hours wondering what miracle tomorrow might bring.

* * *

When I awoke, it was like coming to after receiving CPR. Each breath came and went with such ease that I forgot it was my first real breath since even before I was diagnosed. I don’t know if it healed me, but my whole body surged with new energy that must have come from the changes to the atmosphere. The only way to describe the quality of the air, the smell, and the taste, is like a sip of water when you were close to dying of thirst.

I sat in my daughter’s front porch without the oxygen tank for the first time, and watched as everyone drank in the air. She brought me a cup of tea and sat next to me, placing her hand on my knee.

“I haven’t seen you like this in years,” raising her brow as she spoke, gently patting my leg.

Still with substantial effort, I wheezed, “I... haven’t... felt... like this... in years.”

“Maybe after all this is over, you’ll have more than a couple months to enjoy it.”

I wasn’t sure whether to weep because she didn’t know, or be relieved. She didn’t have to know. I didn’t have to tell her. She might enjoy this more in her blissful ignorance. The tables had strangely turned, and I found myself counting down my daughter’s final days instead of her counting mine. The greater good was good for everything but us, and as much as I try every time I stop admiring all the work going on around us, I can’t reconcile it.

But I did enjoy the breath, looking forward to another new sunset, and I wasn’t let down.

“Tomorrow... should be... interesting.”

Then we sat in silence.

* * *

There was a crash through my window, and my room smelled like peaches. I couldn’t see the sunrise through the rich green overgrowth that was outside. With more in me than yesterday I swung out of bed, though I still walked gingerly, and went straight downstairs.

I watched my feet as I made my way, and it wasn’t until the last step that I noticed my foot settle on the softest bed of grass I had ever felt. As my eyes raised, I saw the whole house had been all but ripped apart by greenery. It was beautiful, but I felt the truth of it. There was no consideration for our house when the plant life had been seen to. I doubted there would be any consideration going forward.

Weaving through strange flowery vines, and the odd bush in the living room, I managed to get to the front door, but couldn’t see the street through the erupted garden. There were tomatoes, and peppers, and squash along the ground. I picked a couple berries and walked through the strange new woodland that was our front lawn. Without meaning to, I had carried on forward until I reached the front door of the house across the street. Meeting the eyes of my neighbour, the confusion on his face was clear. I could see him thinking behind his eyes, ‘Sure all this greenery is beautiful, but it’s a bit intrusive, don’t you think?’

I nodded and turned to go back home, stuffing my pockets with whatever bit of fruit and vegetable I saw, tossing the odd blackberry in my mouth.

My daughter was in the kitchen, making a salad and whistling “What a Wonderful World”. She didn’t see this as an intrusion. She was overjoyed at the grocery basket that sat everywhere within arms reach. We didn’t sit in the front porch today. Its roof was sagging, and looked like it might cave in under the weight of the peach tree. We sat on sofa chairs slanted by the shifting earth, and ate from giant pots we filled with what we could find.

We hardly slept that night. When it dawned on me what the evening would bring, we dragged a wealth of pillows into the backyard and set them under the largest gap in the canopy above us. We listened to the new river behind our house as the sun took the shimmering twilight with it, and the sky began to sparkle in the most spectacular fashion.

The moon swelled, and stars seemed to form and explode in the same moment. After a couple hours of this light show, the sky settled again. It was now dense with stars that moved around each other, sometimes colliding in an explosion of technicolor. Some stars emitted a radiant violet, blue, or yellow, and some took on a gentle hue of some new wave of light.

* * *

When the sun rose the next day, stirring my daughter and I, its transformation quite literally dawned on us. The light around us remained as brilliant as the first day, but now we could stare squarely at the sun, and the autumnal colour it had developed. It didn’t hurt the eyes. You could feel the warmth of it, as though it were a campfire you were sitting by.

The gentleness with which the sun carried the day allowed for a deep restful sleep even if you sat directly under it in mid-afternoon.

My daughter wasn’t concerned about me on that day. She told me she wanted to walk around and see as much as she could of what had been changing, and set out from the house. I enjoyed the property enough, and occasionally bumped into a neighbouring house, always turning back home. The dread I felt eased today, and I began to feel peaceful about it all. If this was the world we would be leaving behind, despite ourselves, there’s no sense grieving. You could feel how much more life there was, and I could see how much my daughter enjoyed soaking in every bit of it.

* * *

Last night the birds and the fish happened, and the chirping in the morning was sonorous. When I opened my eyes, the flurry of activity above my head was incredible, and I could hear the river splash excitedly with the flood of life that swam through it.

But I’m growing uncomfortable, feeling crowded and claustrophobic.

The world is overwhelming, and I feel now more than before that we won’t be welcome in it come tomorrow. There’s no way to tell how it might happen, or how it might feel, but I prayed for the first time since childhood. I prayed that it would be painless. That’s all I’m worried about.

I’m writing this now because there might be some thing on the other side of this that is conscious. Some thing to replace us. I don’t know what it will be, or what it will look like. What form it will take. But maybe, and this is probably a futile hope, the universe will spare the books and the things we leave behind under the new growth, and maybe what replaces us - if anything replaces us - will read this and think, ‘We have to make sure we’re a part of this, or else we won’t be next time this comes around.’

It’s been about seven full days since I woke up differently. Since something returned to this universe and found it needing change.

Maybe it was answering prayers. Maybe it was simply due.

I am excited for what this world will bring. I am sad I won’t be a part of it. But life looks good. It looks healthy.

The sun is setting again.

.

I am a house on fire,

an acid rain under your skull

Repeated pounding in my head, muted pain, the heaviness. All that heaviness keeping me underwater. I want to grab on to something, but only the void welcomes me, it spreads its arms for me. It’s so kind.

Eleonore, is everything alright?

The voice feels muffled, as if coming from behind a wall, soft fingers leaving pressure on my wrist. Bringing warmth but not calming my thoughts. The voice belongs to a woman. I want to focus more on it but can’t.

What’s wrong with her? Was she like this when you found her?

The other voice belongs to a male. But my mind is one big messy place build of chaotic thoughts; I can’t even master any names to fit with the voices.

Yes, she must have passed out, she’s not responding yet, but breathing regularly. I checked her pulse and it seemed normal just a bit weak.

Good, yes. Let me handle this from here, Joan.

Are you sure I can’t help with anything?

No, no. She will be fine; she just didn’t take her medication on time.

Medication?

Heart issues, the arrhythmia family.

But her pulse…

It has got stronger now, it’s how it works with her; a form of bradycardia* that sometimes causes her resting heart rate to drop too low when she ignores the symptoms for too long. Besides she chose not to sleep last night. It wouldn’t normally be an issue, but with that and the lack of medication - you know how stubborn she can be.

Yes, I do. Well, this explains why she always looks a bit pale and restless; she should take more care of herself - like she seems to do for others around here. Alright, Charlie. I will be on the third floor if you need anything.

Okay, thanks.

My eyes weigh a ton, but I make myself open them as things start to become less hazy.

That’s right; try to keep your eyes focused on me. Just perfect, now follow the light. Yes, your vitals seem fine and your pulse is in order now. It’s a good thing you don’t actually have any heart issues.

His voice is calm and professional, fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist, sending weak warm energy through my veins. I make myself breath peacefully, watching his blue eyes closely and imagining a blue sky in summer, the best kind. The warmth finally reaching every part of my body, resting in my tired brain. His next words turn into an urgent whisper.

What happened, Nora?

He helps me sit up, as I hold my head with one hand, my skull pounding like crazy. I fear I might throw up and look around in a panic, searching for a bucket or a trash can. I really didn’t want to vomit all over the carpet, this situation was embarrassing as it was, no reason to add to it.

Eleonore.

Huh…? Oh, I… I don’t know, Charlie. I honestly don’t know. My head started to hurt bad. It just got so loud.

That’s’ because the medical team was handling an accident that happened on Main Street, near the docks; we had a lot of patients to take care of.

No, not that.

Then what? I don’t understand.

I stare at him for a moment deciding if I should tell him.

In my head. It got really loud in my head.

Oh.

Yes. It was awful. All those screams and memories blending together.

What kind of memories?

Bad ones.

He stares at me, waiting for more. I don’t know what to tell him.

Charlie, everything has to have a start. But that’s not the problem.

Then tell me what it is.

His voice becomes sterner. I feel his frustration in my own veins, the pain in my head not helping the situation.

The problem, Charlie, is that I am a bad person that deserves everything that happened to her.

Nora.

His tone changes again, he’s finally lost for words.

See? Even you can’t deny it.

I stand up on shaky legs and back out to the hallway, in desperate need of a bathroom;

but he grabs my hand first.

Charlie, please let go. I feel nauseous.

He sees the sweat on my forehead and how my hands visibly tremble.

Fine, but this isn’t over.

I know.

Are you sure?

Yes, I am. I wouldn’t risk losing you like that.

Thankfully the words, “I need you” don’t fall out as well, I didn’t want him to get a wrong idea. He closes his eyes and runs hands through his hair, grabbing on to it - I just hope that he doesn’t rip it all out.

Fine, go to the bathroom, but I’m taking you back to your flat and making sure you are alright. Is that clear?

Very much so.

I head out of the room but then turn back with hesitance.

What about your work?

Somethings are more important. I’m going to call a taxi, take you home then come back to the hospital. Fine by you?

I nod, trying to hide how much his words moved me. Some things are more important. It feels like each letter is sticking to my skin and warming it up. I leave the room and try to block out the events of this day. Reality seemed like a too big obstacle to even consider. I needed to save the few sane remainings I still had left.

_____

Just as promised, he drives me back in a taxi, does some shopping while I wait in the car, then makes sure I am well and comfortable once we get into the flat. Ordering me to lie down and take some sleeping meds that he gives me. He cleans up the place, changes my sheets and makes me tea, leaving a bottle of water and some salty crackers on the nightstand just in case my stomach feels better - but even the thought of it causes nausea to return. I nod numbly as he makes me promise that I will stay in bed after he leaves and that I should call if anything wrong happens.

I try to focus on his words before they all become one blurry mess again. He wants to know that everything will be alright, so I pretend that it will. For him. I would lie anything just not to see that worried expression on his face. My mind doesn’t seem to master any positive vibes, but I remember how to move my facial muscles, so I smile and hold his hand tightly. Pretending. Pretending. Pretending. Broken body, broken fabric. Please just go. The door closes behind him, locks shift, silence slipping from the walls. I walk to my bed and fall on it with a heavy weight, eyelids giving in. I just want to sleep, nothing

else. It’s all I want.

But nothing works.

I can’t sleep, I can’t function.

Finally, desperate, I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom, laying on the cold tile floor. It’s the only thing that seems to soothe my falling apart state. Hours pass as the morning turns into noon. The increasing amount of daylight mucking my state. Maybe if I made myself get up, if I could do something mundane to bring out of this crazy maze. Something normal. Finally, a basic need breaks through numb thoughts. Thirst. That simple.

My feet drag across the floor, hands slipping past walls as I reach the kitchen. I grab the kettle in shaky hands but the handle slips and the thing bangs against the floor, setting my eardrums into a shockwave. My teeth grind against each other as I try to focus on everything but the pain itself. Tears start to fill my eyes and land on my shirt as I take deep breaths. Don’t think, don’t think, just don’t think. Hold on to something. NOW. Cupboards in the kitchen, shelves, table, walls, ceiling. Anything, it can’t take you again.

Hands sprawled against the kitchen sink, I feel the pain growing, distant thoughts that aren’t mine stabbing my mind one after another. Curses, veils, shouts, screams under my skull. Louder, they break in, prowling for more of my barely existing senses. Stab, stab, stab. My palms hit the sink, and stuff around me shakes. The sound of nails scraping against the metal surface, I feel the taste of salt and rust in my mouth; I must have bit the inside of my cheek. I spit out the blood into the sink and quickly rinse it off with water. A proof that you’re going insane, darlin’, might as well admit it.

And suddenly I’m frightened of what might happen next.

My hand trembles as I grab my cell phone from the living room and choose a number. Everything around me shakes and I feel sick again. I couldn’t do this alone this time, they were too loud. They wouldn’t stop shouting. As if I lost any remains of control that I had before. The blow in the hospital unblocking something in my head. Almost as if murdering off the statics that made the noise barrable and tuning my brain into the “right” station, so now I could hear all. That’s how it felt at least. I was being attacked. And as I feel the bitter taste in my mouth, new words overflow me, making me listen only to them. I am a house on fire, an acid rain under your skull. My body shivers and I have to sit down on the floor just so I don’t faint. I preoccupy myself with counting the rings on the line as I wait for the answer.

Charlie?

What’s going on?

I need help.

Two seconds of silence as he analyzes the tone of my voice. Two long, unbearable seconds that make me curse the world and what hell it stands on.

I’ll call Robert to pick you up.

My hand drops the phone as my body rolls into a ball, hands covering my ears. Before I pass out, my mind sends me an image of how he found me the first time around, how I made myself get up from the floor to answer the door to a man, I hardly knew. To someone that didn’t call that cops when he should have. I see it all again with a clear vision, wondering if he hadn’t done that, the pain would be already over. It would all be over. I finally pass out and sink into the darkness.

_____

About 30 minutes later.

Heavy nock on the door, rushed, loud. But no doorbell. Thank god, he instructed him well. The noise brings me back to awareness as I lay on the floor but can’t seem to move, my mind hazy, body unstable. I get up slowly trying to co-ordinate the work of my limbs. I feel like one of those animals brought home from a vet, and waking up from too much tranquilizer. I fight the locks for a moment and open the door just slightly. I look up, narrowing my eyes and staring at Robert’s tall frame. His expression seems to be both worried and confident like he is ready for any challenge that may come his way. His positive attitude makes me want to knock him down with my bony fists.

Come on, I was told to take you; hostage style. Like it or not, you’re coming with me.

What, no hello, no Eleonore how are you feeling? Are you still alive or have you always looked so damn attractive?

I know what I’m here for, and I’m going to do it. Now, get some clothes... and if you want I can carry you down, no problem. It doesn’t look like you weigh anything.

He gives me a once over and my free hand rolls into a fist while the other one digs into the doorframe.

No, I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine where I am.

Good, he said you would put up a fight. You look awful by the way, but that’s fine, I’m not here for the sights.

He says calmly, yet his tone is light. After all, it’s Robert. The man that’s always staying on the positive side of life. Normally that quality wouldn’t bother me much, however now it was more than I could bear without snapping at him. My eyes narrow even more. He didn’t realize who he was dealing with, even in this state. I’m just about to shut the door, but before I can do anything he opens it wide, right along with me, my feet sliding helplessly against the wooden floor. I’m so surprised that I almost fall to the ground. Thankfully he catches and holds me up without even breaking a sweat.

How about now? Will you get dressed?

No.

I growl and almost spit the word at him.

Fine, I’m a reasonable enough guy. We can work around this.

I stare in disbelief as he looks around efficiently, clears out some stuff from my sofa and points at it while staring at me with an amused expression. Ugh, I’ve seen that look before on a different Evans brother. I never liked it, on neither of those handsome, smug faces.

What are you doing?

I ask, crossing my arms and spreading my legs farther apart. I wasn’t going to budge... but just seconds later I feel worse and he rushes over to me, losing the amused grin. He yanks me up and carries me to the sofa before I can protest. He picks up a blanket from the floor, shakes the dust off and spreads it over me. I look up annoyed.

That wasn’t’ necessary.

I have a different opinion on that.

I stare at him coldly as he heads to the kitchen, makes a lot of noise, then comes back, holding a glass of water for me, and a bag of chips for him. He turns on the TV and hands me the remote, then sits next to me, right arm resting comfortably against the back of the sofa. My disbelief grows with every second as he ignores the daggers that I send his way and just grins back. He’s so cheerful. I moan exasperated.

So, what are we watching?

I’m close to yelling at him but then I feel the heaviness of my body and the numbness that covers my mind.

Whatever rocks your boat, be my guest.

My body sinks under the blanket, head resting on a messy stack of pillows that separates me from Robert’s overwhelming enthusiasm. I stare at the colorful screen without seeing anything, then close my eyes to disregard reality in the best way that I knew how.

______

4 hours later.

She’s in there.

I hear Robert’s voice, then look up to see him pointing in my direction where I’m sitting on the sofa, covered in way too many blankets that were added over time when the chills started to kick in. My frustration grows as the feeling of being treated like a helpless child takes a strong stand, seeming to boil through my insides. I should have never called anyone. As if I couldn’t just get up from my own floor after waking up and stagger myself to bed, getting some water and pain meds on the way. It was a moment of weakness, I say to myself. Just a stupid moment of weakness. Do they think that this was bad? Well, they haven’t seen anything yet. None of them saw me after it all started after that first weak passed and everything just kept escalating and growing. Does he think everything was all nice and pleasant before I stumbled to that hospital? That it was the first time when I stole meds like morphine, Oxycodone, or Fentanyl? That I haven’t found ways to survive before this thing killed me first?

Yes, I can see, thanks, I got it covered here.

No problem, see you later Nora.

My stare follows them as they exchange meaningful glances. Wonderful, it was official then, I was on daycare watch, and the new babysitter just started his afternoon shift. I feel the anger grow even more, but I make it slow down before I start screaming. They were just looking after you, none of them had to be here but still, they came, for you. You ungrateful, little shit. I focus on slower breathing as he comes over to the sofa and sits beside me on the edge, as if careful not to break me. My gaze shifts to the wall, as I’m trying to block out my surroundings again. Sadly, I’m not doing a very good job at it.

How are you now? Rob told me on the phone that is was getting better.

He doesn’t seem to be convinced as the words leave his mouth.

Charlie, listen. The only thing that happened today was the fact that I felt bad and fainted.

Fainted, again.

He puts pressure on the last word and I finally look at him, my entire body both tense and exhausted.

Yes, I am aware. But I’m fine now.

It seems that no one in this room is convinced of what they’re saying. Unexpectedly he leans in closer and wraps his arms around me, locking me in a tight embrace. My face sinks into his shirt, arms close to each other, body curling into a ball, fitting into him like a cocoon. My words are muffled by his clothes when I speak.

I didn’t mean to get you so worried.

He moves away to hear me better.

But the lack of sleep and your help must have rubbed more off on me than I thought. And that accident, all those people in need of help... shouting at me, complaining, in pain of their own. It was just too much to handle.

I can feel his gaze on mine, so I just stare at my hands. They feel so cold.

And?

And what?

What about those memories that you mentioned before?

No words answer the silence, my body automatically covering itself tighter under the blanket. I feel his hand slipping under the thick material and touching my hand. I don’t even feel it anymore. And that’s the moment that I finally feel the fear manage to creep under my tired thoughts; heart beating faster as I stare wide-eyed at him. The sounds leaving his mouth barely getting through to me.

Come on, you are staying over at our place and answering some questions when you feel better.

He sounds stern, his fingers adding pressure to my wrist. It’s the exact time when the warmth cracks through my defenses, bit by bit melting the ice away. My body and mind accepting what is being given to them. I relax a little, but then what he just said starts to make sense.

Charlie.

Just a few questions, so I don’t go crazy like you.

Even though those words were meant as a joke, his expression remains both concerned and stern. He’s not going to let it go this time. I sigh, too tired to even protest properly, every neuron in my body begging for any form of rest. His features seem to loosen up a bit at my final defeat.

Good, now get dressed and we can go.

Slowly I get up, hoping to do it with some grace but my head starts spinning and I have to hold on to him instead. He helps me with the jacket and shoes; my moves slow and uncoordinated. Then he puts an arm protectively around my shoulder, and I wrap mine around his waist for the support that I so desperately needed. Trying to ignore how natural and good it felt, to have my body nested against his. Some things were better left alone and I had nothing to offer anymore, the things that once worked inside of me, now damaged beyond repair.

________

*Bradycardia is a condition typically defined wherein an individual has a resting heart rate of under 60 beats per minute (BPM) in adults.[1] Bradycardia typically does not cause symptoms until the rate drops below 50 BPM. When symptomatic, it may cause fatigue, weakness, dizziness, sweating, and at very low rates, fainting.

___

If anyone is curious to know more about the story.

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses (chapter 1 )

19. https://theprose.com/post/288893/loosening-the-knots

20. https://theprose.com/post/292279/list-of-amends

21. https://theprose.com/post/301927/a-tired-mind-is-a-dangerous-one (last 3 chapters)

next chapter :

23. https://theprose.com/post/308900/nerves-in-counting

Shit's about to hit the fan

On time you do all that you can

Face the trials of corporate change

A leader challenging the pains

Be strategic and be clear

Give the orders others hear

Heed the plans asked of you

Praise the ones who help you to

Build a better place to be

Caring for infirmity

Smile and happy you should go

Change the world with what you know

Placed in this position high

A leader no one will deny

The least you are perceived to be

Greatest are you perfectly

I hope you get a raise

Precious little is known of Atlantis in the aftermath of it sinking. In the middle of the 1700s a small, private collaborate of rogue explorers discovered 12 metal scrolls buried several miles into a vast network of caves. Many of the men on that expedition were members of the same family, my family and I want to tell their story.

Three members of that clandestine excursion were brothers that were my great-great uncles. They had academic educations that allowed them to translate the first two scrolls and make notes on the remainder. They believed the first scroll, written in obscure prose, was the author’s own words and experiences.

What if anything is time against time.

From tomorrow, a child, a crow envisioned in passing clouds.

Dark eagle wings scatter closed thoughts and closed eyes as buildings shook.

All dissolved into silent passing shadows.

Come Camario, time doesn’t reflect my mind.

Given? Did I not just hear? Timeaus echo.

Company coming now, coming urgent.

All listen…tumm

Lonely child with hollow eyes rest his dark head on his pillow.

Rolling time, torrent sea. Boat lottery.

Crost, this is it for me.

Brekwhee, I can reach there in the meantime.

I try to leave, but I can’t walk anymore.

Time is come, cornering clast.

In the second scroll, an account of survival was told. It spoke of nine ships that survived, ark type ships that held passengers chosen by lottery because Atlantis’ entire population couldn’t be saved. Many of the ships were not adequately provisioned, they lacked sustainable amounts of food and water for both humans and animals.

The philosophies within the nine ships varied as much as their number. Some of the arks agreed to aggressively conquer indigenous people and settle their land. Other vessels wanted to repopulate uninhabited lands as per ancient aerial balloon survey maps. A select ark held a minority of Atlantean's that wanted to keep separate from all other races of man, respecting their special heritage and vast wealth of scientific knowledge and magic. This ark, the ninth ark set off in a fog never to be heard of again. The explorers speculated that ark’s occupants could have begun the nucleus of Briton Druids.

Another ship elected to pioneer new lands, work with the indigenous tribes and create minor societies of high intelligence and cultural wealth.

One ship, the first to flee with military armaments and the least prepared, forged into river waters and waged war against overwhelming odds. This ark held politicians and arrogant city planners who believed in the might of superior weapon technology, but succumbed to fear and were defeated.

Atlantis had paled in centuries before it sinking. Complacency, abundance, arrogance had made them forgetful. Their society fractured. Once forced from their sanctuary, the privileged refugees were faced with surviving as their long ago ancestors did. But many of the survivors were only diluted shadows of former Atlantean greatness.

*******************************

Notes from the next eight scrolls went into detail about the fabled city. They described how Atlantis was designed in concentric circles and held a culturally advanced society. The center of the rings held the original buildings that were designed to emulate the original temple in the middle of Eden. In attempts to recreate Eden, Atlantis’ society divided, between what the scrolls called the ‘deserving and undeserving’. Because of this attitude, more circles began to form in Atlantis. The inner circle became isolated and out of touch. The outer circles became less reverent of the society’s original teachings, later to separate their rings, more with rhetoric than mortar and stone.

The next circle outward acted as a protective perimeter to the center. Dwellers in that second circle felt privileged but missed the finer, beatific points of life in the center. The third circle was built stronger and higher than the first two. They began a school of learning and a library to collect and hold the founder’s sacred teachings exampled by the center and first circles. The fourth circle housed and manifested a government to oversee the collection and distribution of the teachings for both the outside world and subsequent rings of Atlantis. This circle suffered from confusion brought on by separation from the inner walls and distracted by the social gap growing outside city walls. The fifth circle was originally built for fortification and established a doctrine. Atlantis now stood for something other than its original sacred manifest. The fifth ring became something onto itself. From its high towers and parapets it could look back into the idyllic center and smile believing it was still connected and represented that knowledge, while at the same time it could look out across surrounding lands, high above the rest of humanity, separating itself and raising itself over the masses flocking in awe to it's towering gates and spires. Residences of the fifth circle considered it their duty, their responsibility to hide the revered center and to also mete out distant interpretations of Atlantean teachings to a select few outside the gates. This served for a short period of time, but the gap widened, the flocks retreated back into the natural lands surrounding Atlantis and it was decided that more circles had to be built, to protect against those that fled. These outer most rings did not represent inner teachings of Atlantis other than by proximity. Trade, Labor, basic sustainable crafts were the product of the outer circles. Those that inhabited these structures were born of both Atlantean and outlander blood. A working class that did not benefit directly from nor were privy too the secret lives of those closer to the center.

The fifth circle although the highest built had the least vision as to the original purposes of Atlantis in the days after Pandora. Their obtuse attitudes caused deterioration in the inner circles. Their clandestine usage of advanced technology increased the ills let out of the box. Until one fateful day, the earth moved, the sky broke and the waters poured in to wash the stain away. More Atlantean's could have survived if it wasn't for governmental bureaucracy and demigod attitudes projected by the fifth circle. Discussions were held, lotteries were devised and all acted individually against the greater good until their towers crumbled, sending broken stone and cleaved earth to meet each other and the waters of the sea inundated the debris and sunk the land into oblivion.

My relatives speculated that some escaped, some survived, some reverted back to original teachings and small nomadic bands traveling over land and sea, scattered Atlantis’ surviving knowledge. They postulated that Pandora’s box, ‘filled with all things known to man’ had originated in Atlantis, or rather proto-Atlantis. Initial sharing of Atlantis survivors knowledge at first lifted the common peoples, helping them, but it was a matter of too little too late. The great city’s sinking was like opening Pandora’s box. The strength of the seven sins was too strong and Atlantean teachings were bastardized into greater ills. War, Famine, Pestilence, death. So it was that Atlantean sages withdrew their knowledge all together. Seeing their own time long past, they dissolved into the landscape, silent, invisible, yet ever vigilant. Waiting in hope for a new paradigm to wash the land, to suckle offspring, to raise the soul and spirit to a higher plane so they could once again establish a beacon of inner light for all.

**********************************

Two revolutions on different continents and two world wars scarred the earth and the discovery of my great great uncles and their expedition were lost. Modern societies and empires had to rebuild, so interest in mythological antiquity waned into obscurity.

But, under and back of the universe of time, space, and change, is ever to be found the Substantial Reality, the Fundamental Truth. After hearing stories about my uncles and reading copies of letters handed down through generations of our family, I became inspired to dedicate my life to the study of archeology and antiquity.

I wondered if Atlantis could have been an advanced culture’s attempt at mimicking Eden, if the ancient mecca Gobeckli Tepe was the start of another Atlantis. The modern world had changed. I could smell change in the air. Who living today remembers anything about Gobleki Tepi? Some hypothesize it was built before the days of Abraham, possibly the center of biblical Eden. Some say it’s a temple complex honoring Noah after the flood. Some think these ruins share the same time as the fabled Atlantis. Some hesitate to speculate at all. It is a hallowed ground to be sure.

***************************

There’s something about being in a foreign land, a scent on the air, a stirring of curiosity beneath the surface of conscious thought or maybe an exotic, unknown excitement of being out of your country, away from familiar circles.

I stood outside my tent in the early evening and breathed that exotic air, six miles out of Urfay Turkey where the Gobleki Tepi excavation site made camp. I was living my dream come true. Being able to join Dr. Schmidt’s archeological dig in uncovering the single most important site know to modern man.

Originally discovered in 1963, Gobleki Tepi is well over 11 thousand years old, some say over 20 thousand. First theorized to have been crafted and arranged by prehistoric people who had not yet developed metal tools or even pottery. Dr. Klaus Schmidt, a German archaeologist, has been working here more than a decade, he’s convinced it's the site of the world's oldest temple. Although I respected the Dr. my personal instincts and family history told me there was far more to this discovery.

The camp sat on a perch a thousand feet above the valley. From this perch we can see to the horizon in nearly every direction. Schmidt, 53, asked me to imagine what the landscape would have looked like 11,000 years ago, before centuries of intensive farming and settlement turned it into the nearly featureless brown expanse it is today. Prehistoric people would have gazed upon herds of gazelle and other wild animals, gently flowing rivers, fruit and nut trees and rippling fields of wild barley and wheat varieties such as Emmer and Einkorn.

"This area was like a paradise!” Schmidt, a member of the German Archaeological Institute exclaimed. Indeed, Gobekli Tepe sat at the northern edge of the Fertile Crescent, arable land from the Persian Gulf to present-day Lebanon, Israel, Jordan and Egypt. The bountiful land would have attracted hunter-gatherers from Africa and the Levant.

Schmidt believes this was a place of worship on an unprecedented scale—humanity's first "cathedral on a hill.” In any case, my great uncles felt it was a location of rebirth for a lost surviving culture; but I’d never argue this with Dr. Schmidt.

"There's more time between Gobekli Tepe and the 3300CE Sumerian clay tablets than from Sumer to today.Trying to pick out symbolism from prehistoric context is an exercise in futility.”said over an empty cup of coffee.

The old archeologist studied me a moment longer in the fading light of the sunset, then refilled his cup and returned to his tent. I suddenly wanted to be closer to the ruins, touch the carvings on the megaliths and soak up any spiritual messages this prehistoric place of worship could bestow upon me.

As I walked on the well worn path to the ruins I thought of my aunt Gretchen, a Romany gypsy who claimed she was a distant descendent of Marco Polo. She once gave me a rare, first edition hardbound volume on his life. A quote attributed to the explorer came to mind.

”When a man is riding through this desert by night and for some reason he gets separated from his companions and wants to rejoin them, he hears spirit voices talking to him as if they were his companions, sometimes even calling him by name. Often these voices lure him away from the path and he never finds it again, and many travelers have got lost and died because of this. Even by daylight men hear these spirit voices, and often you fancy you are listening to the strains of many instruments, especially drums, and the clash of arms. For this reason bands of travelers make a point of keeping very close together. Before they go to sleep they set up a sign pointing in the direction in which they have to travel, and round the necks of all their beasts they fasten little bells, so that by listening to the sound they may prevent them from straying off the path."

I wanted to stay on my chosen path to find out the real truth behind the evolution of human civilization. I wasn’t interested in the academic politics or how many times archeological discoveries ended up academic dead ends because of disputes and cover-ups over truth. Gobleki Tepi was truly controversial in that manner.

I stood under a towering T-shaped megalithic whose surface was decorated with uniquely stylized animal and plant carvings. It all seemed so mythical, magical, hinting at a capability of man long lost to history or legend.

A night breeze picked up and like Marco Polo I thought I heard whispers on the wind. I ran my hands gently over the forms of the stylized plants and traced my finger around strange animal reliefs, trying to imagine who carved these images, and how the site was erected. Residential foundations hadn’t been unearthed yet. Again a breeze gently swept through the ruins and this time I distinctly heard a voice.

“The lips of wisdom are closed except to the ears of understanding. He who knows the seven principles of truth possesses a magic key before whose touch, all doors of the temple fly open. All is mind, the universe is mental. As above so below, as below so above.”

The last words echoed in my head. I wearily leaned my shoulder against the tall stele as I sank to my knees. A thought entered my mind, that if super power nations with atomic and digital technology exist side by side with aboriginal people living with only primitive survival techniques today, then why not too in the time of Atlantis? A humming grew in my head as meteors and comets blazed in my mind just before I lost consciousness.

#Challenge Atlantis #short story #fiction #legend #sinking #creative archeology #fabulism #william calkins