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A man in a white hoodie meanders through a castle.
He doesn’t know where he is, why he’s there, or what the leather book bound so tightly to his chest by his cloudy arms contains.
Nor does he know who he is.
A dull ache resounds his body with every rise and fall of his chest, harshest at the area his heart would reside. He shuffles the mystery book to hang in one arm at his side so he can maneuver the other to rest over his chest.
The steady rhythm beneath his palm tells him he’s alive. He’s breathing. It soothes an anxiety he didn’t realize he held: otherwise he’d think he was dead. He closes his eyes and lets the rhyme consume him.
He had died. He knew that much. He knows that’s why his body aches in the way it does. But he doesn’t know how or why he died. Maybe it’s for the best he doesn’t remember.
He wonders why he is alive again. Maybe someone of high status resurrected him, which would explain why he was in a castle- a porcelain fortress. Although it wouldn’t explain the empty and soundless interiors packed with no thing or soul.
Maybe a higher entity beyond his mortal understanding decided it wasn’t his time to go yet. As outlandish as it would seem under any other circumstance, he doesn’t doubt that as the case.
After all, something about this place does seem quite otherworldly.
He continues walking. Sunlight welcomes him through looming windows as he walks through hall after hall, offering a warm embrace. In a strange way, it feels as though it’s the castle’s way of whispering to him a “welcome home” after a long and exhausting day. He accepts the greeting with open arms.
He courses through corridor after corridor until a small courtyard graces his eyes.
If the rest of the castle was beautiful, this was absolutely stunning.
Sunlight washes the pearly walls and floors in a comforting glow, and another warm hug surrounds him as he makes his way towards a tree. The tree, like almost everything else, is a stark white. Cotton leaves branch up to the sky and grasp for the soft clouds floating overhead. Grass crunches beneath his feet as he crosses the transition from quartz to pillowy Earth. A soft smile tugs at his features as he seats himself onto an old wooden swing. He feels as though he’s been in this exact situation before: Relaxing in the walls of this courtyard, relishing in the unbridled calm that surrounds him. Swings were always Karl’s favorite.
The name only catches him by mild surprise, causing him only to cease the methodic rocking of his feet on the grass to push the swing back and forth. Karl, huh? So that was his name? Right. That sounds right. He was bound to remember eventually, and the revelation of his name loosens the mild tension held in his shoulders. He continues rocking on the balls of his feet in contentment.
And slowly, he remembers.
It doesn’t come to him all at once- just here and there he’ll remember a fact about himself. Like his name is Karl Jacobs, He is 22, and sometimes he time travels and ends up here: The In-Between.
The remembrance of his mysterious time travelling abilities results in many other unpleasant reminders. Memories of watching people die, or suffer. Or feelings of cold helplessness and fear. Or memories of the times he’s had to watch himself die in various violent means. He clenches his fists at his side, warmth from moments ago seeping from his body and leaving him cold- cold and empty. The dull ache returns with a vengeance.
He wonders why:
Why? Why him? What is his purpose in this world? What did he do to deserve this weight? Why can’t he control it? Why does this ‘gift’ bring him nothing but pain?
Why can’t he just be happy?
Almost as if on cue, the world around him responds. The sun shines brighter- warmer- hugging him even tighter. Small white flowers sprout from the grass around his feet. A voice coated in honey tugs at the back of his mind.
“You’re safe here.”
He is, and a wave of calm washes over him.
That’s right. This place is supposed to be a place where his mind feels at ease. And It’ll make sure it stays that way.
He lifts himself up from the wooden swing and settles on the Earth instead, next to where his book lay. He runs a hand over the blades of grass- softer than any he’s ever felt before. Like a pillow. His hand brushes over a small flower and he plucks it, twirling the stem between his fingertips. It grows back almost immediately.
He wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away for just a few more hours. He doesn’t feel like leaving just yet.
He lets his body fall back into the grass, arms spread out to run over clumps of soft grass and flowers made just for him. A contented smile makes its way onto his face. He closes his eyes and lets the world surround him once more. Comforting.
He lets himself drift off into sleep knowing fully well that this realm he’s found himself in will cradle him in sunbeams and calm until he’s ready to leave.
And it does just that until he awakens: refreshed and ready to return to the brassy chaos he calls home.