Flicker, Flicker

Everything flickers like a lightbulb gone dead, a stunted stutter that blinks once, twice, gone.

There is nothing but space, here. A canopy of white that holds her in its grasp as a candle holds a flame. She blinks at the wall-less room, lets her fingers drift along its nonexistent edges. She begins to walk, feet moving without her permission.

The air is tasteless and the floor feels like smoothed glass beneath her bare toes. She glides along it like a figure skater on ice, reveling in the grace of her own stride. She has not moved with such ease since before the accident that left her with a permanent limp at age twenty-one. But here, there is no heaviness in her bones. She doesn’t know where ‘here’ is, but she thinks she might like to stay.

Her walk ends at a doorway that towers high above her head. The door is painted in a glossy purple, an elaborate, swirling pattern carved into its wood. Two brass knockers hang ominously, level with the tops of her shoulders. She glances around at all the nothing that surrounds her, weighing her options. There is only one. She lifts one of the knockers and lets it fall once, twice.

Before her second knock is done, the door begins to open, just as smooth as the floor beneath her feet. It does not creak. She moves cautiously into the room, eyes wandering to each and every corner. The walls and floor are cotton-candy pink, made of some strange material that seems to pulse out into the rest of the room, encapsulating everything in soft, pillowy comfort. When she takes her first step fully into the room, it feels like silk beneath her feet. A giant, oak desk filled to the brim with manila folders sits in the center of the room, and there is a man peering out from between the stacks who looks to be no older than thirty. He wears a thin, black tie and a suit to match, not a single blonde hair out of place atop his head.

"Hello!" he greets cheerily, his booming voice cushioned by the airy walls. "Please, take a seat."

She sits in the chair across from him, letting out an involuntary sigh as it seems to mold to every part of her, as if it was meant only for her. The man in front of her smiles, reaching for one of the files in his infinite pile. He places it in front of him and flicks to the first page, making a small tsking noise as he skims the words.

"Ah yes, Madeleine Elaine Borsch!" he exclaims, as if it is the most interesting name he's ever heard. Across from him, Madeleine smiles and shrugs, not quite sure what she is meant to say. But the man continues before the silence stretches too long. "Okay, so. First thing's first: I must inform you that you are dead." A slight pause. "Do not be alarmed. Death is part of life, as it is for all. Your clock has simply chimed its last. And now we move on."

"M...move on to where?" Madeleine asks. The words the man is speaking make no sense, and yet she knows them to be true. If she were still alive, her heart would be beating ferociously inside her chest, but as it is, her ribcage stays silent, her breaths slow and even and perhaps unnecessary. The chair she is sitting in seems to wrap itself more snugly around her, and she relaxes into it a little.

"Well that all depends on you, dear," the man behind the desk grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "If you have lived a life up to standards, you will begin The Ascension. If not, we must choose a Den for you."

"The Ascension? What is that?"

"All in due time. All in due time! Let me just..." the man begins his laborious tsking once again, his eyes moving quickly through the pages of Madeleine's file, licking his fingertips each time he flips to a new one. The file is at least six inches thick, and the man reads for a long time. Somehow, Madeleine knows better than to interrupt. She sits as silently as she can, fidgeting in the comfortable seat, fingernails scraping against her jeans. Finally, the man looks up from the file, grinning. Madeleine smiles back timidly.

"Good news!" he beams. "I will not have to begin the arduous process of explaining The Ascension. I believe I have found the Den best suited to you."

"The De...wait...what?" Madeleine stutters, her useless heart suddenly as cold as death's hold. "You mean I haven't...but I was a good person!" she insists. "I got top marks. I made the honor roll, graduated summa cum laude. Owned my own business, stayed out of trouble. This can’t be happening!"

"Oh my darling, you misunderstand," the man insists, waving a long-fingered hand dismissively. "We don't quite care about all of that."

"Then what do you care about?” Madeleine asks, the panic evident in her tone. “Because I...I gave to charity. I tutored for free sometimes, I..."

"Madeleine, dear. Please allow me a moment to explain,” the man insists. His tone is light, but there is a flicker of impatience in his eyes. Madeleine closes her mouth and waits.

“I will explain it the way I have explained it to countless others, so listen closely, for these words are true. You were born into your World as a child, and you may leave it still a child. Your body grows, and so does your mind, but your soul is perhaps still at its beginnings, an infinite light that has only just begun to flicker. Each life you live helps to solidify that soul, to grow its light inside of you until it is bright enough to Ascend. Each Den or ‘Dimension,’ as you may know them, provides you with another life, another world or set of worlds to explore. Are you beginning to understand?”

“So it’s not a punishment?” Madeleine asks, her voice shaking. “I just need more time to...to grow my soul?”

“Yes,” the man nods.

Madeleine swallows. “How long does it take to get to the end? To the Ascension?”

“Every soul is different,” the man explains, as Madeleine imagines he has explained countless times before. “Some need exposure to only a few Dens to reach their Ascension point. Others take longer.”

“And how many Dens have I visited?”

The man shakes his head, but he is still smiling. “Oh my dear, I cannot tell you that. It is not for the soul to know its own age. And even though your mind will forget this conversation, your soul will not. So we must speak our words with great care, and we must not disturb the process.” He stands abruptly up from the desk and walks around to the other side, reaching out a hand. Madeleine takes it, and the chair she’d been sitting in unfolds from around her, allowing her to rise more easily to her feet.

“Are you ready?” the man asks, a hint of sympathy in his inhuman eyes.

Madeleine bites her lip. “I’m not sure,” she answers honestly.

The man’s grin widens as he walks her to the door. “That is one of the very best things to be,” he says. There is no creaking, but the door begins to open. The man clasps Madeleine’s hand tightly within his own for one, brief moment before letting it go. He slides back a few more steps as the door slides all the way open.

Everything flickers like a lightbulb come to life, a shivering stutter that blinks once, twice, and fills the room.