Unreal City

by A. R. Meyering

  “Izanami...to Izanagi,” Masami pointed to each of the jellyfish, then laughed as if she’d made a little joke. I laughed too to show I was listening, but the spirits’ dance was making my head drift further and further away. My vision blurred until it was just a smudge of glittering lights on the black ocean waves, the shimmering waves of the aurora, and the floating tentacles in their pale luminescence. I stayed there until shadows washed in and wiped the color and light away, and a heavy sleepiness weighed down on my shoulders. I fell from Unreal City peacefully, with quiet in my heart and the gentle crashing of the waves in my ears.

  WAKING UP WAS pure agony. I groaned into life, my joints aching, my throat and nose burning with sickness. My head was pounding like a jackhammer was going off inside it, and I was soaked through to the bone. A thick layer of mud and pine needles had ruined my clothing, and as I rose from the forest floor dripping, coughing, and sniffling, I wanted nothing more than to return to that place where no pain was allowed. I felt hundreds of pounds heavier as I rose to my feet and did the best to remove all the debris from my hair.

  “How are you feeling, Sarah?” asked a voice, and I looked over my shoulder in surprise. He was still there. Felix had followed me home.

  “I need to get home. I think I’m sick,” I sniffed, and took a few steps in the direction I thought would lead me back.

  Felix corrected me, and I followed him through the glistening ferns. The forest always seemed to shine too brightly the morning after the rain. I couldn’t quite see things properly—my whole mode of perception seemed skewed. Every time I stopped to take a short break I would lean against a redwood tree and the entire tower of it felt alive. I was more aware than usual of its growth, of all the creatures that made its body their home, of the moss and lichens feeding off it. It was too overwhelming. I found it hard to care when my horrified hall mates saw me stumble in and make straight for the shower.

  I spent the entire day in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of all the things that had happened to me. Felix watched me from the corner, never making a peep but lashing his tail back and forth the whole time. I had questions aplenty for him, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to ask him and break the silence. Silence was what I needed, to try and organize the anarchy that had been set loose inside my brain.

  I had to start from square one now. I had to rewrite everything I knew about life. It wasn’t just whether Unreal City existed or not, it was that reality as I knew it had been altered forever. The worst part was, I would never have any true way of defining it. I knew things and had seen things that the scientific tools of today could never measure, that no one would ever be able to explain to me, or give proper names to. It was daunting, and I wondered if that was how our ancient ancestors had felt, staring up at the sky and catching a glimpse of lightning as it ignited the earth and split the sky. There was an extraordinary power in what I had been playing with; it something I could explore and use, but never, ever understand. Every time I looked around my room, I saw the objects that had only yesterday meant so much to me—felt so solid, so material—now they seemed like toy pieces in a board game. It felt like years had gone by since last night.

  After spending hours in quiet contemplation, I rose to find a meal. I was hollow, and though I didn’t know how I could keep any food down, I knew I had to try. Felix wanted to follow me, but something in his prowling form and ever-watchful eyes disturbed me, so I bid him to stay in my room and headed to the dining hall for dinner. The entire way there, I felt like I was walking underwater, as if the entire campus had become an aquarium.

  The food was tasteless in my mouth, but it sustained me, and I decided to keep walking around after I finished my meal. Luckily, Smiley Guy didn’t recognize me as the infamous milk thief and I escaped the cafeteria without incident. The trees with their red crowns of leaves shuddered as I walked by. I made my way up and down the campus until my feet were sore and my bones ached.

  I returned that evening to my room and found Felix in the exact spot I’d left him. His bat ears quivered with excitement. “Did you bring me anything, Sarah?” he asked and I hesitated before shaking my head. Poisonous anger filled his eyes and he drew back his lips in a snarl.

  Shocked, I held up my hands and attempted to placate him. “Tomorrow. I’ll bring you something tomorrow,” I promised, but he growled and began pacing the ground near my computer. My stomach started to twinge and I wondered if I was going to throw up after all.

  “Felix, I have—I’m curious about certain things.”

  “Ask me.”

  I could tell his usual patience was wearing thin. “Can I go back again...to Unreal City?”

  No matter what, his answer would be awful. If no, I would live the rest of my life empty, longing for the sweetness of that other world I was no longer allowed into. And if it were yes, it would alter my life, forever. I might even abandon it altogether, in search of greener pastures.

  “If you feed me, I might let you go back again. And if you give me something a bit more satisfying, you’ll be able to go back whenever you like until the day you die,” Felix told me, that unsettling growl still in his throat.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean right now if you decide to send me away or don’t give me the nutrition I deserve, I’ll disappear and search for another person to join the Cunning Folk. But if you offer me, say, your hair for example, I shall make my services available to you.” Felix leapt up on the bottom bunk—Lea’s bed—and I frowned at him.

  I was starting to see what Mama Stella had meant. Felix never seemed to lie, but I couldn’t quite get a straight answer out of him, either. “So if I bring you milk for a while, will you stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you let me go back?” I sounded desperate even to my own ears, and when he shook his head my heart leapt into my throat. “Why not?”

  “I told you, I want something more. Give me your hair. You’re not using it,” Felix coaxed, and I touched my wispy blonde hair, considering. The idea unsettled me. I was sure there was another important detail he wasn’t revealing. I had to be more precise in my questioning.

  “Will there be any consequences if you eat it? For me, I mean? Will it change anything?”

  Felix shook his head. “No, nothing will change. So will you do it?” His voice was high-pitched, excited and hopeful.

  I faltered, sinking down into the desk chair as I thought. The things I’d witnessed there—the intrigue, the beauty—I needed it again. I needed the auroras and the romps through the forest and the star-sailing and the feeling of being in complete control. After tasting that once, I couldn’t even consider going back to this life. All I had to look forward to here was a struggle through a mire of grief—

  A horrible thought occurred to me. If I can make anything happen in my garden….

  “I’ll do it, but not until this weekend. You get milk until then, because I’ve got to go to school. But next Saturday you can have my hair. But you’ve got to take me there again. Is it a deal?” I offered him my hand, and he placed his paw on top of it, victory glittering in his smile.

  THE FIRST THING I did after Sociology ended on Monday night was hurry over to Joy as she was standing up. She saw me coming and concern flashed across her face, though she offered an amiable wave.

  “Joy,” I stuttered, at a complete loss of how to relate to her how sorry I was. “I—look, I—”

  “It’s okay, Sarah. You don’t have to say anything. I understand, it’s...” she left off, and I felt a little relief flow through me. The old me begged to tell her I didn’t know what she was talking about, that I had just came over to talk about the project, but my anger didn’t seem to burn as glaringly this evening.

  “Thanks, Joy. For understanding. Want to, um, like, get coffee and talk about the presence of scare tactics in the media, or something?” I offered. I repressed the urge to slap myself in the face. Where had this person come from? Sarah Wilke
s had never stumbled over her words before college.

  Joy flashed that signature heart-warming smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. When?”

  “How about right now? At Cowell?” I asked, and felt another wave of relief when she seemed happy about the idea.

  We left class together, walking side-by-side with our breath streaming out in clouds. I noticed a sticker of a mermaid on her phone, and made an errant comment about the “darling mermaid darlings” which set us off on a conversation about the quote’s television origin. After discovering we were both big fans of Pushing Daisies, we chattered away about other shared interests as the temperature continued to drop.

  By the time we’d pushed open the door to the coffee shop and made our order—we’d both decided to get a slice of pie in honor of Lee Pace’s character’s profession—we’d covered Neil Gaiman’s novels, Les Misérables, Keanu Reeves, and how much we both adored cats. I got so wrapped up in debating the little things I cared about, I almost forgot that detached feeling that had consumed me since I’d returned from Unreal City. It seemed little more than a vivid dream as we unpacked our laptops and forced ourselves to work on our research paper.

  “I’m still not sure where we should go with this, but I thought maybe we could look into news reports of crimes and how they are portrayed. I wonder if we can find any articles that would show just how much grisly details are exploited to scare the people who read or watch the news,” Joy began, putting on her reading glasses and hitting keys with fervor. “You know, how sometimes they blow things out of proportion and make it seem like everyone is constantly in danger—things like supposed terrorist threats, sickness outbreaks, or over-the-top storm warnings. It’s almost as if creating a general feeling of anxiety to promote their ratings and get viewers to tune in is more important than giving accurate information. They make everything into a ‘feature’—just look at the graphics on the news and the catchy titles they create. Like it’s a movie or something.”

  “That’s a good starting point,” I agreed, and began a few searches of my own on the topic.

  We settled into working for about twenty minutes, scrawling things in notebooks. I’ll be honest: I wasn’t trying too hard. My thoughts weren’t truly dedicated to work. The importance of school seemed to slip after what I’d seen and done, and without conversation my mind was drifting back to the delights I’d found on the astral plane. My heart leapt every time I considered what I was planning to do when I went there again. As I wondered for the thousandth time if I had the courage to attempt the most tempting of them all, Joy’s voice disturbed my thoughts.

  “Oh God, just listen to this: ‘More Details Uncovered in Oregon Mass-Slaying: Twin Rivers, Oregon. Police have uncovered more about the shocking mass-murder that occurred sometime last Friday evening. Among the nine missing people, two performers, Samuel Baker, thirty-six, and Oliver Stout, forty, were found brutally mutilated in a local community theater, with a third member of their troupe, Simon Shaw, twenty-four, still missing. Police have identified a third burnt corpse, found in the home of missing person, Penelope Fairfax, twenty, as nurse Helen Malinski, thirty-one. Fairfax is still nowhere to be found, though authorities suspect her professor, Hector Arlington, twenty-nine, to be responsible for her disappearance. According to a report given by her close friend—’” Joy broke off, catching sight of my face.

  I put up my hand before she could stutter out an apology or further brace herself for another emotional storm from me. It jangled my nerves to hear that story, but I couldn’t muster the energy to be angry with her.

  “It’s okay, really. Forget about it,” I said, somehow void of my usual feelings regarding this sensitive subject.

  Joy’s lips stayed parted for a moment as she considered how to reply. At last she lowered the screen of her laptop and tried to meet my eyes. “It’s…it’s not okay, like you said before—” she began, and it was my turn to blush. I tried to object that I had spoken rashly that afternoon, but she overruled me, “No. I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love. Nothing ever is the same, you’re right about that.”

  I was stunned at this declaration. I’d grouped her in with all the rest unknowingly, pegging her for one of the insensitive rabble who’d been lucky enough to never be touched by the stinging hand of grief, but I’d been wrong. My shame intensified, but something even deeper inside felt like it had become unhinged and allowed a bottled up, venomous emotion to leak out. It was painful, but it was as if my heart was lanced and a little of the poison it contained had drained out.

  “When I was small, I lived with my parents in Kobe. They were both killed in the Hanshin earthquake. I’d been visiting my grandmother in Okinawa that week. I don’t remember much of them, because I came to live in California with my aunt and uncle right after they died. But I remember going to their funeral and crying for them. When I got old enough to understand, my uncle finally told me how they died. The true loss of them didn’t hit me until then. They were trapped underneath rubble for hours and ended up suffocating. No one could help them, and they couldn’t get out.” Tears welled up in her eyes, making those dark, inky circles shine even brighter. Her sorrow set my own emotions into a tailspin, too, and I felt my breathing turn aggravated.

  “I’m sorry, Joy, If I had...I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

  “I’m not telling you this to try and get sympathy, or anything, Sarah. I just can’t stand to sit by and watch someone else suffer alone with their pain like I did. It’s wrong to not give kindness where it’s needed. That’s why I tried to pry the other day. I just want to be there for you, because it doesn’t really seem like anyone else is.”

  I was dumbfounded by her forwardness and insight into what I thought to be the most private sector of my life. My initial reaction was to push her away, to tell her that I appreciated the thought, but I was fine. I opened my mouth with the intent to say it, but the words got stuck in my throat.

  I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t reject her, because Joy reminded me too much of Lea. They were the same: bleeding hearts, looking for a project. Lea loved a good fixer-upper; she had been surrounded by them. Kids who were having trouble in school, wallflowers that were just a confidence boost away from being popular, and misunderstood off-beats had been Lea’s disciples. She had been such a help-a-holic, that she’d successfully transformed her boyfriend, Stephen, from one of the most bullied students in our school to a member of our Winter Formal court.

  I had a strong inkling that Joy, too, had a similar addiction of nurturing the downtrodden, and though I intimately understood the inner-workings of her modus operandi, I couldn’t turn her away. Though I didn’t say a word, I managed to look her directly in the eye for the first time that night. From the look she returned, I knew she’d understood that I was going to let her in.

  TUESDAY AND WEDNESDAY passed in a blur of nervous anticipation. The highlights of my days were my capers in the dining hall. I was on my way to becoming the campus’s most infamous milk smuggler, and every evening Felix lapped up the spoils of my thievery with greed.

  I went to classes just to keep my head busy, and though I always attempted to do the homework assigned to me, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything. After a day or two of ordering Felix to stay locked up in my room, I decided to let him move around campus with me, once he assured me that no one else could see him. He was manic, constantly moving around, chasing things, shaking his head or observing nothing. I’d watch him during the lectures I attended as he floated near the ceiling, ice-skating on air. His apparent madness amused me, but it was also sort of frightening to glean from this behavior just how unhinged and inhuman his mind was.

  Nonetheless, he was always captivating to behold. There wasn’t a moment that passed when he seemed to be truly there, and this fascinated me. I could never concoct a theory about him that didn’t seem ludicrous, or settle on just what he was made out of. Ectoplasm seemed like a possibility.

  I was pretty sur
e my classmates and those in my dorm noticed my eyes always tracking what they saw as thin air. No doubt their concerns regarding my sanity increased.

  On Thursday morning in the middle of the Core lecture, the first in a series of very peculiar occurrences began. As I was trying to focus on what a fellow student was saying—something ridiculous about hip-hop music being like Walmart—a sharp ringing hummed in both of my ears. The sound grew so loud it blocked out everything else in the room. I tried to make it stop by swallowing and shaking my head to clear my ears.

  Felix looked over at me, stopping his midair dance, as still as if he were a painted image rather than a sentient being. The ringing increased, along with my heartbeat. It continued for the rest of my lecture, then faded as suddenly as it had come. When I asked Felix about the incident and his stare, he responded, “I just heard it too. That was all.”

  That evening, Joy texted asking if we should get together again, this time just to hang out instead of do work. She and her boyfriend, Kyle, were going to take a walk in the woods to the Wishing Tree, and she asked if I wanted to come. I didn’t feel like staring at a blank page while telling myself to start my homework, so I agreed to tag along.

  It was drizzling, but Joy and I had a decent talk when Kyle wasn’t butting in. He seemed to be the sort of person who was desperate to prove his intellectual superiority to anyone in the vicinity. I learned right away he loved correcting trivial mistakes and slips of the tongue in a condescending tone. Scoffs and eye-rolls were his go-to response for anything that a person said, even something as harmless as “Wow, it’s cold outside” was met with “Oh, how original”, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what Joy saw in him. I guessed that their relationship was the sort that begins out of a need for comfort and affection when forced into a new environment devoid of close friends or family.