by E. B. Huffer
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to reach you, " said the new Margie smiling kindly at the old Margie."It hasn't been easy."
"Who are you?" croaked the old Margie, her voice as hoarse and rusty as her manners.
"I'm the Collector. I've come to collect your story."
"The Collector?" The old Margie barely showed any emotion. Like her body it too had atrophied. She coughed, her throat and lips parched and flaking.
The Collector moved closer to Margie and knelt down before her. She reached out and touched Margie's lips which, along with the rest of her face, filled with the colour of life.
"Am I the Collector?" asked Margie.
"No, no you're not."
"Then why do you look like me?"
"Because for a long, long time we shared a body. A few seconds before you were conceived, I was attacked by something bad. If his attempt to capture me had been successful it would have been catastrophic for every single being that has ever existed. Their stories would have been used not for creation but for destruction. I could not let it happen. I did the first thing I could at that moment in time. I jumped into the a newly created soul. Right at the point that you were conceived you and I became one. And it worked. There was nothing that Auguste could do to reach me. I stayed hidden inside you from the moment you were conceived until the day you died. The reason you were such a powerful medium was because of me. All those souls who were desperate to relinquish their stories were drawn to you because I was hiding within you."
Margie turned her head away from the Collector, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "All those voices. The pain. The madness."
"I could do nothing to help you. It was too dangerous."
Margie could not believe her ears. Spider Beast had been right all along. She was the Collector, but not in the way he had believed. The Collector had hijacked her body and soul.
"It was Hell. A bloody nightmare. My entire life," snapped Margie angrily.
"I had to do it," said the Collector kindly. "There's nothing I can do to change your story now. No one can change their story."
Margie sat in tense silence, her eyes trained heavily on the Collector's hands.
"How did we separate?"
"When we arrived in Limbuss."
"You deserted me."
"I didn't. When we separated there was a big shock wave that attracted the attention of Auguste. I was taken away but before we could guide you to safety, you ran. You hit that great machine, the Gravitonius, and you were lost to us."
"You could have found me."
"We did. But your story wasn't finished. And there was a lot of work to be done clearing up the mess that was left behind when I disappeared. I was with you for much of your journey though."
"My life would have been very different without you!"
"Of course."
"But that's so unfair."
"Why is it unfair? Your story is still your story. It's one of the most important. All your suffering was not in vain. The fact that we are here now would not have been possible without you. We have a lot to thank you for."
"I'd rather have had a happy life."
"Very few are," said the Collector. "I could take you and show you billions of lives that are miserable. Children dying of starvation, innocent people being blown apart by warfare; peoples' bodies killing them from the inside out though disease. Just a few moments ago I collected the story from a young child, murdered and buried in a shallow grave somewhere her mother and father will never find her. And there's nothing I can do to change that. My job is to collect your story, whatever that may be. Every story, be it happy or sad has its place in the universe. Each is as vital as the next."
The Collector's luminosity began to fade. "I have to hurry you," she urged. "You can relinquish your story and come with me or you can stay here."
Margie hesitated.
"I must warn you though," said the Collector gently, "very few people leave Limbuss once they've decided to stay. Do you understand? It's a place of Darkness."
A small movement behind The Collector caught Margie's eye. Was it Auguste? The surge of terror that thundered through her body in that moment was quickly replaced by a warmth in her chest that lifted her chin and pushed her mouth into the widest, most beautiful smile. After all these years of nothingness she still remembered his beautiful face, right down to the tiniest details; the hairline scar on his right cheek (which he told her he'd gotten from a sword fight even though he'd merely tripped over his own feet and smacked his cheek on a rock) and the sadness in his eyes; battle scars of the heart. It was the kind of wound, she thought, that could only be sustained by a good, honest and loving man. His presence anaesthetised her instantly from everything but the good and in that instant she knew that she never wanted to lose him again. They had an adventure to make. A story to write together. Death wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
The Collector held her hands out to Margie. "You have to make a choice."
Margie made no answer. She sat still. Silent. The Collector was right; Limbuss was filled with Darkness, but it was also filled with Light. There could never be one without the other.
The Collector knew. She smiled knowingly then melted into the air. No anger. Just love.
Margie grinned at her friend for the longest time then together, arm in arm, they walked out of the Darkness and into the Light.
