by Danny Bell
My knife clanged to the ground in front of me, and as I retrieved it and stood up, I knew how desperately lost I really was now. All around me was cracked, desolate wasteland, and even the sky appeared to have been erased and replaced with a blank slate. No sun or moon, no clouds, no way to gauge which way to go. It was disorienting and precisely what I had set out to accomplish.
“Well, you certainly got your wish,” a voice said from nowhere.
“You’re a mind reader now?” I asked the Knowing. “Look, I can appreciate that you probably have thoughts about me ignoring your interdimensional GPS, but I kind of need to be alone for this.”
“What makes you think you could ever escape me?” There was something different about this voice, something new and unsettling.
“You’re not the Knowing, are you?” I asked, unsure of what answer I wanted.
“No.”
Okay, still not sure if that was the answer I wanted. “What are you?”
“Nameless. Formless. Weightless.”
The words fell flat around me, gone the instant they were said, and unlike the Knowing, the words didn’t seem to come from anything. The voice was just there and then it wasn’t. Spooky disembodied voices didn’t even make my top ten scary things this week, though, and I had things to do, so I pressed on.
My feet burned with the pain of walking across the cracked, burnt earth, but this, too, was one of the rules. I had assumed, at least. I’d be pretty peeved if I found out later on that I could’ve laced up some Doc Martens on my way out. I was bleeding now from the cuts on my soles, but for as much as it hurt, I was trying to hide it. Not that there was anyone to hide it from, but maybe I just didn’t want to admit to myself that I wanted to take a breather.
“That certainly looks inviting,” the voice said, and ahead of me on the horizon, I could see a window with movement on the other side, suspended impossibly from nothing in the air. As I moved closer, what I was seeing came into view. Through the window, seated in the corner booth of an old-fashioned fifties diner, smiling and happy, were my friends. Enjoying themselves and each other.
Enjoying a life without me in it.
“You didn’t come here to be maudlin,” the voice cracked. “What do you see?”
Something like a frame from a sitcom, a still life, but entirely three-dimensional. A perfect moment, frozen in time, complete with commercial ready milkshakes and French fries. All the people closest to me, holding an unnaturally natural pose.
“Everyone is having the time of their life,” I answered, unable to look away.
“Everyone?”
“No,” I admitted. “Everyone but Olivia.”
She was smiling, but there was something in the corner of her eye, the tiniest amount of hurt and loss. And that’s because one person was missing from this picture.
“Two,” the voice corrected.
“What are you?” I asked sharply, looking around for some sign or source.
“You know who I am,” the voice replied. “But not what.”
Still no way to know who or what I was talking to. There was nothing around but this impossible window.
“Tell me who they are,” the voice suggested.
“Well, there’s Olivia, she’s my best friend. She’s outgoing, and loyal, and just amazing. And Claire, she owns the bookstore I live in, I really admire her. I kind of want to be her when I grow up. And then Ann, I feel like she gets me. We like all the same stuff. There’s Jason, kind of a chatterbox, but really sweet and smart. Chalsarda is an elf, I never expected to know anyone like her. She’s pretty much a superhero; she’s badass. And then there’s Teague, one of the friendliest people I’ve ever known, everyone likes her.”
There was a long pause, no sound or movement, and I began to feel uncomfortable as I stared at them through that window.
“That’s not who they are. Not even you believe that.”
I swallowed, unsure of what to say to that.
“Look again, look closer, and tell me who they are and who they can be,” the voice continued. “Really see them.”
I looked back and nearly fell over in shock, my hand shot to my mouth as I struggled to find words. The diner seemed to shoot through the years in seconds, even as my friends remained still. Night and day flashed by at an epilepsy inducing speed, and the decor, the plates, the glasses, and the tabletops, all of it rapidly changed styles, a time-lapsed image spanning decades. Ann, Olivia, and Chalsarda barely aged, if at all. Hairstyles changed, the clothes as well, but not their faces. But Claire, Teague, and Jason—they changed. Horribly. All of them gained cracks and lines in their face, their hair thinned and changed color, and all of them became frail and seemed so small.
Then the cycle would reset and repeat, and they were all relatively young again. I watched in disbelief as this happened a couple of times until I focused my attention on Ann, and the world stopped, and I saw her clearly. “Ann is a creator,” I started slowly, gaining confidence as I spoke. “She not only discovers what is hidden in the world, but she finds what was previously not there. Then she guides those who are lost into these new spaces, transforming people in a way that the world seems to have forgotten was possible. She is thoughtful and understanding and… insightful. Ann sees magic in the ordinary and, because of her, others will grow. She will submit to the unknown when others might not even acknowledge it, and she will return with wisdom.”
I was shocked by the words that seemed to flow from me, words that felt like mine but not mine; unable to stop them once they came, and I was unable to speak further as the Ann in the window stood and moved away from the table, locking eyes with me.
“Good,” the voice said. “Now, name her.”
And I did.
What was that? What the absolute hell was that?
“You can’t stop now.”
I dry heaved. But even as the sick feeling came over me, a queasiness brought on by the unknown, I knew soul deep that I couldn’t stop and I didn’t need the voice to tell me as much.
I gathered myself, forcing myself to look back in the window when my eyes caught Teague the way I had spotted Ann. “Teague is a survivor, but she’s a disillusioned idealist, unable to accept this new, unfair chapter of her life. She’s done everything right, but by knowing me, she feels unsafe, and she knows she doesn’t deserve it. She knows that none of us deserve it, and she’s at a crossroads. She stands on the edge of heroism and villainy, and she’s going to dive into one of them headfirst. She desperately wants someone to tell her how to feel, but they won’t. Teague will confront her feelings and fears head-on, and how she handles those critical moments will determine everything for her. Within her lie contradictions. She is resilient and fragile, confused but clear-minded. She is always moving forward, never backward.”
Like Ann, Teague stood up and away from the scene and stared up at me. “Name her,” the voice commanded.
And I did.
“It’s getting easier.”
“No,” I said, steadying myself. “But I think I’m starting to understand.”
“You’re a quick study. Now go again. You’re only just beginning.”
I tried not to think about it. Each time felt like I was tearing a piece of my soul apart, like boiled corned beef, but stopping would’ve been worse.
“Chalsarda is vivid, bursting with life,” I said as she stepped forward to join the line. “She appreciates it, and she’s been gifted with so much of it. She’s so deeply aware of the world in its totality. She feels the connective tissue between people, their joy and their pain, and how their highs make their lows possible, how their lows make them appreciate their highs. She’s romantic about life itself, so eager to connect with others. I don’t know how much of that comes from her past and how much of it would’ve always been there, but that’s who she is now and forevermore. She is willing to experience every emotion, not needing to prove herself to others. Her life is spent gathering energy so that she can give it back to the world.”
“Then name her.”
And I did.
“You’re not going to quit, are you?”
I was about to answer when I realized I’d been holding back tears. “No.” I sniffed, looking back inside before the voice could say anything more or before I could think twice, one of the two. As I did, Jason took his place in the growing lineup. “Jason is a giver, he’s kind and always willing to help while not expecting anything in return. Sometimes he gives too much, even unnecessarily. Even though he doesn’t expect or ask for anything in return, that’s not the same as not needing anything. It’s more than just giving, it’s sacrifice. He doesn’t know it yet, but within him is the capacity to give up more than he knows he even has.”
There was nothing for a moment, but the words came. “Name him.”
And I did.
“Two more,” the voice said. “Will you lose your—?”
I looked through the window immediately and got right to it. Claire came into focus, old and withered, but her frailty was replaced with vitality as she took a more familiar form. “Claire is a master,” I began, words heavy in my throat, not that it slowed their unnatural pace. “Not of others, but of herself. And it is that mastery of herself, her emotions, her life, that allows her to provide for others. It’s all she ever truly wanted, to know who was in her life and who was not, and then to provide for them. She is so strong, but she doesn’t make a show of it. She doesn’t want others to see her in that way because she’s never wanted to stand over anyone. She’s something different, she affirms the worth of others, she strives to make others feel heard. Her fear is that she’s none of the things that she embodies every day. She is centered and patient, full of integrity and calm.”
“Now do it,” the voice said. “Name her.”
And I did.
I fell to my hands and knees, gasping for air. “There’s one left,” the voice said.
“I know,” I nearly choked.
“And you know why you left her for last,” the voice continued. It didn’t even ask; it just said it.
“Shut up,” I whispered, forcing myself to my feet. “I’m doing it.”
I peered through the window, and beyond the lineup of my friends, alone as she was now the hurt in Olivia’s eyes was more evident than ever. I focused on her, she looked back, and I began. “Olivia is a destroyer,” I started with a dry gulp. “But she will destroy so that what is new, what is needed, can grow. She does what so many cannot do, she can assert her will and her identity onto the world, and she can do this because she knows who she is. She is confident, full of conviction, and willing to take responsibility for her life and her actions. She will defend herself and others. She will not back down. With focus and clarity, she will transform the world.”
“Name her,” it demanded. With barely a moment before I could reply, it insisted. “Name her!”
And I did.
The window was gone now, and they were here with me, surrounding me. “Now, can you tell me which of these you’re going to be? Can you name yourself?”
I gasped for air at the enormity of it, fighting to stay upright as I looked into the eyes of every one of my friends, feeling the gaze of each of them, and admitted, “No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t all there is.”
“Very good,” the voice started to say.
“I’m not finished,” I snapped. “Because this isn’t all there is, and my path is not set in stone. And neither is theirs! They are not so easily labeled and put on a shelf; they can be anything!”
The vision of my friends vanished, leaving me once again alone with a blank sky and infinite wasteland. “So, what was that?” I shouted loud enough to strain my voice. “Punishment? Part of a trial? Come on!”
“No, that was not part of your test,” the voice admitted. “That was for me. To know if you were even remotely ready for what lies ahead.”
I nodded nervously, some of the confidence taken out of me by that answer, and I looked around again for the source of the voice. “Okay. And how’d I do?”
“It could go either way,” it admitted. “But I’m not going to stop you.”
I didn’t know what to think of that answer or what to feel. I knew better than to believe anything I saw in the Knowing was just in my head. And I didn’t know what I expected to find on my journey, but it sure as hell hadn’t been that. But it wasn’t part of the typical experience that other before me had endured, it had been the whim of…well, I don’t know. The voice had said as much, it knew that I didn’t know what it was, but it said I knew who.
It was telling me that I shouldn’t have done it like this.
I must’ve begun to move at some point, eager to be away from what had happened. I don’t know how long I’d been walking, but my feet stopped hurting after a while. They stopped having really any feeling at all. Or maybe they hurt just as much, but the exhaustion I felt, the sharp aches in my shoulders, the pounding in my head that was probably due to dehydration, maybe all of that just hurt a bit more.
My feet stopped moving on their own suddenly, and my vision was fragmented as if I saw the world through a kaleidoscope. Phantom images of myself changing with every slight flicker of my eye, visions of possible, distant futures.
“What is this?” I asked, struggling to keep my balance.
“Stop looking for help and get on with it.”
I shut my eyes, and that only gave me vertigo. It was clear I wasn’t moving on without figuring this out, so I did the only thing I could do; I began trying to focus on each fragment one at a time.
I saw myself walking down a path. A harsh sun beating down on the earth, but I was protected from the rays by a long canopy tunnel of wild, lush trees, each branching in an archway to shield me. I looked ever so slightly to another vision, and this time, I sat in front of a pile of wood when suddenly a gust of wind blew away the loose dirt and dust as freshwater streamed nearby, and the firewood roared into a comforting bonfire. Another glance saw me walking in deep thought as I was surrounded by spirits advising me, speaking to me in a language only I could understand. It changed again, and now I stood atop a hill holding a map and looking out at the land, matching landmarks to the parchment. The vision kept evolving, and now in place of a map, I carried an empty basket that filled with bread and fruit appearing from seemingly nothing. And another as a sword held aloft in the air under its own power cut through overgrowth and cleared a path for me to walk, moving forward as I did. A cleaner path in this next vision, as cobblestone grew out of the ground to provide a paved road over mud and bones and feces. One final vision, now of a decaying city street where, with a shimmer like a trick of the light, condemned buildings were made into shining halls, and rotten trees were lush and tall, and a starving donkey became a proud unicorn.
The visions fragmented again, begging me to choose one of them, all fighting for my attention, and as I chose on instinct, the others left my view forever, and the wasteland and empty sky was replaced by a brightly lit field under a full moon. I was tempted to speak to the voice again but thought better of it.
I watched then as new visions of myself materialized around the valley in different ways. Not as fragments, but as wholly distinct decisions. I was looking at myself curled comfortably on a flat rock, sleeping soundly as water rushed all around, obliterating everything around me, wind howling and creating waves and whipping stray branches and leaves like a cyclone.
“Earth,” the voice said plainly. “I see confidence here, a desire to stay true and unchanging.” To my amazement, I could feel what that other me was feeling. It felt like camping in the backyard as a child with Olivia or Lucia, huddled up in our sleeping bag, inside of a tent, reassured by the soft grass beneath our tarp on a warm summer night. I’ve slept in nice hotel beds that weren’t as comforting as that moment in time.
Another vision as a materialized me was walking down a winding hill, a vision of a breathtaking vista at sunset as
far as I could see, and the wind gently at my back and peace evident on my face in the way of a beatific smile. My footfalls looked gentle, almost playful, as my hair bounced against the side of my face. It lifted me then, gently carrying me as I glided leisurely down the hill.
“Wind,” the voice said. “I see wisdom here, a carefree spirit that is no longer anxious and knows the value of knowing that whatever will be, will be.” The wind felt amazing in my hair, but not as amazing as the sense that I knew everything was going to be okay, that the path I was walking down would take me where I needed to be, even if I didn’t know exactly where that path led. In some ways it felt like being a teenager again on those rare days when I didn’t feel that I need to rush. I would arrive wherever I was meant to be at exactly the time I was supposed to be there.
A bonfire now, a version of me studying flames as they lap and send embers into the night sky. This other me looks serious as I watch her, eventually throwing another log into the fire, and the flames grow toward the heavens.
“Fire,” the voice added. “I see intention here, a bringer of change not only in the world but in herself as someone who knows that what is, is not what has to be.” This was something else entirely, intoxicating almost. Not certainty, but something like it. The heat from the fire was bordering on painful, but it gave me a sense of resolve, like the parts that hurt needed to so that the rest of my body, my entire self, could understand that pain. I wished it was warmer.
A separate vision of me now, this version of myself standing hip-deep in a raging river next to a stone jutting out of it as the water crashes hard and loud all around, salmon trying their best to swim upstream; my still expression blank and unreadable.
“Water,” the voice continued. “I see adaptability here. One who is defensive, but comfortable in the chaos. The knowledge that there is a time and a place for moving with the stream as there is a time and a place to go against it.” Part of me feels invincible in the water, as it crashes around me, as salmon squirmed and slammed into me, as tree branches changed course after harmlessly bouncing off of me, I had a sense like nothing could harm me as I remained steadfast, that when I moved it would be my decision.
