A Door Closed

[garentoft 9265]

Spoiler

 

 

DREAMS

A DOOR CLOSED

NIGHTMARES

 

 

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

Albert Camus

 

---

 

Snow had begun to fall through the skyward bars of his cell. One snowflake after the other landed gently in his palms, while the other guests from the wind swirled around him with great merriment, until the entire thatch floor of the cell had been covered in it. In this place, where no such thing as heat existed, the snow did not melt, and the passage of time had become completely lost to him. He only faintly recollected that he had come here in the summer, but bore no recollection of whether days, months, or even years, had passed. What was it to him, anyway?

 

Every time he had finished a book, it was as if a new one appeared upon the shelves. He was certain by now that these were tales and legends, that he made up himself, and that none of them had any real merit in history themselves. From Hansentyr the Great Beast of the South to Lykenbirk the Bird Who Carries All Seasons, these were but fabrications of his mind. While great stories that he would make sure to pass on once he returned, they still spurred upon him a feeling of defeat, that all of this which was his, was nothing at all.

 

He tried dejectedly, as he always did, to cast the blame off of himself. It were not his fault, for no one is a creation of themselves, but a creation of those around them. So indeed, he blamed his father and his mother, and all those who he believed to have slighted him, well-knowing that their influence upon him were, at most, the projection of a singular pea floating in an ocean. He knew that if anyone had had any effect upon him, it was her, and she had been nothing but light where there were previously only darkness. The rest was well and truly the product of himself. He was Eirik Baruch only because Eirik Baruch made him so.

 

With a sigh that emitted only surrender, he sat himself down in the hay cot that had become his greatest comfort through this time, where he laid to read. In this world, there was nothing else he had to do. There was no Lichtestadt, no Duke Eirik Baruch, neither was there Karosgrad, and therefore no Lord Palatine Eirik Baruch, those two, were here, entirely gone, and left only Eirik Baruch with Eirik Baruch. And while others may find liberation in a world devoid of work, the diligent find themselves lacking in their distractions, and there was nothing Eirik Baruch feared more than to be left with himself.

 

The door had not been there before, yet now it was. It was regal in it’s stature, marble streaked with gold towered high into the sky, and the distance from himself to the ceiling had grown tenfold. There were no door mechanisms, it was but an opening, beckoning him to come forth. A quiet grumble came from his lips, as he rose to a stand, and with great reluctance headed through the door.

 

Only then, as soon as he stepped foot within the marble frame, shrieked a stinging pain through his body, from his toes to his head, it roared. And behind him had appeared that monster, the one which he could only recognise as a reflection. He turned, and the boy plunged forth his danger once again, cutting into a deep, seeping wound into his stomach. 

 

“You’re so selfish!” The boy taunted, “What happened to your duty?”

 

With great futility, the man reached forward to grasp the boy, but the boy was nimble, and quickly swerved behind him, only adding another wound to the back of his thigh.

 

“Did you give up? You gave up on everyone already?” The boy queried, once again raising the dagger for strike.

 

He attempted uselessly to swat the dagger away, but instead was met only by a long gash that ran all the way down his arm. His blood were not the usual crimson colour, instead it bore a golden white-ish colour, as if the light were seeping from him, allowing darkness only to creep in.

 

“I think I understand now,” continued the boy then, beginning to circle the man as if he were naught but prey, of which the boy could kill at only minute now, which he was only keeping alive for his own entertainment, “Duty isn’t real. You never cared about anyone. You shut down everything I wanted, not because you didn’t want it, but because you didn’t think you deserved it.”

 

The boy paused, glaring at him with the tense anger that one could only have for themselves, expecting a response. But the man, who in the moment could think of nothing of the pain that he had brought himself, offered none.

 

“You were right.” The boy concluded, “You don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve to love her.”

 

“But… I do.” came the meek retort from him, as the pain finally became too much to bear, so as to make him collapse onto his knees. 

 

“I don’t care!” The boy rasped, “You took everything from me with your lies!”

 

“I gave you everything.” He offered in reply, finally allowing himself the ability to think as the boy’s onslaught died down. He patted down his pockets briefly, but there was nothing in them, and he could not yet bring himself into imagining any weapon into existence.

 

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” The boy screamed with great fury, and brought his knife into his chest, once, twice… Again, again, again. The blade pierced through it countless times, neither of them kept count, why would they? With time, however, the pain of the blade became null, it came to be nothing but a numb thud against his chest, which nevertheless continued to lose it’s light.

 

“I should’ve… You should’ve died all those years ago. I should’ve… I should’ve killed you! I should’ve killed you back then!” The boy took the dagger and pointed it toward his skull, the last remaining sanctuary from pain, which ironically was the cause of it all. “I-I…” The boy stumbled over his words, for once hesitating to act, “I can still fix my mistake.”

 

In the boy’s hesitation, however, he allowed for the veil to be pierced by those who were saviours, the golden crow, the phoenix, the butterfly, the tiger, the deer, and the dragonfly. They emerged around him, circling him with great anticipation, or was it a silent encouragement of sorts? A reassurance that everything that he had in life, was something that he well and truly deserved, despite the boy’s protests?

 

Wounds began to heal, and the blood turned from light to crimson to nothing. He felt once again a sense of strength, one which had felt lost to him in this cell for the duration of his imprisonment, yet now pulsed through his veins. He willed into his hands a blade, Heartache, one which he had frequently dreamt of wielding. 

 

With a swift strike, the boy turned to ashes, and fell strewn on the floor. He hoped that perhaps this was the last time he would see the boy, the one that had tormented him within this cell ever since he got here.

 

As soon as the first step was taken through the door, the light of the sun, the real sun, came upon him again. He glanced back at the lonesome little cabin in the woods, which he had used his mind to turn into a cell, and began to walk in the only direction he knew for certain, that of home. Surely, he would greet his family with a big hug upon his return. He closed the door behind him.