The Return of the Light

An onyx black muck consumed the entire room, covering every corner and every wall. Suddenly, the lights flashed on, beating back the darkness. Hundreds of faces were now visible; each contorted into glee as applause thundered throughout the concert hall. On a stage several feet off the ground, facing the crowd, stood a thin woman clad in a tight red dress.

Bashful from the attention, she turned her head down to examine the polished wood floor. Rectangular planks lined parallel to each other. Inside each perimeter sat dark brown circles – imperfections of the sacrificed tree. Within each blemish lay a second, and then a fourth, and then even a fifth circle. As far as she could tell, the circles continued indefinitely within each other, but she knew that couldn’t be true.

Enthralled, the woman stared at the rectangles, ovals, and circles, and outlined each with her hazel eyes.

A sharp whisper grabbed her attention, “Clarisse!”

The voice was caring and nervous, but Clarisse remained hypnotized by the shapes in the floor.

A rough tug at the back of her dress dragged her out of her thoughts. The force pulled her towards the red curtain behind her, but the power behind it was so strong she propelled down towards the stage. Her body tensed and braced for the collision with the familiar planks, but only air rushed to meet her.

Silence pulled at her ear drums. The screaming, shouting and applause stopped abruptly. Perplexed, Clarisse opened her eyes, and was surprised to find darkness greet her. A black cape shrouded the environment. Clarisse floated above nothing. Her feet touched no surface. If she leaned one way or another, motion would drag her forcefully in that direction.  

As she examined this new phenomenon, she noticed something else: her body was glowing. A radioactive glow emanated from every uncovered limb and digit. With a chop, her hand sliced through the dark void like a glowing cucumber. The thought of a glowing cucumber elicited a giggle which slipped into the emptiness; it died instantly.

A sharp pain struck her stomach. The cucumber shot to her stomach, but the pain disappeared almost immediately. The shock threw her on her back. She lay floating in the dark, wondering if the stab would occur again. It did.

The pain returned with a vengeance. It burst in her stomach and shot through every strand of every nerve in her frail body. Clarisse twitched and shrieked at the pain. The shocks poked and prodded at her skin along her back, calves, fingers, and forehead; nothing was free from the thrashing enemy.

Silence.

The void was silent.

The glowing body hovered over nothing. The pain strangled her nerves and contorted her mass. Clarisse screamed from the pain, without the piercing screech. She stopped and tried again. The mouth performed the action, lacking any result; the darkness sat undisturbed.

Fear tackled Clarisse’s pain. Every twitch, flinch, prod, and poke was amplified. The whites of her eyes showed as they bulged from the mounting worry. They scanned furiously but saw nothing other than her pickle-like fingers and cucumber arms. Anxiety constricted her throat, which normally would produce a hoarse wheezing sound; the stillness of the void strangled all sound, and smothered it from existence. A large oak tree popped up in her head. It swayed dramatically until finally crashing into the earth. A jab to her side snapped her out of her thoughts and back into painful reality.

Another scream; another empty result.

The pain was excruciating. Deep breaths aided in pushing off the pain. Her mind wandered into the deepest reaches of her skull. Wild dreams and bizarre realities dipped her in a tomb absent of physical sensations, for a time.

The pain always came back.   

A shock stripped her of her defense and the pain came roaring back.

She tried again.

A tune reverberated in her brain. Bright lines and curves of every color she had ever seen. Together they meshed forming outrageous patterns. Every strand swung swerved perpetually over a shifting three-dimensional background. The background pushed out momentarily, shoving away the orgy of rays. The wild display captivated Clarisse and distracted her from the fact that her pain had not only subsided, but that it was gone.

She continued to dream of the weaving patterns. The birthing of new shapes kept her trapped in the mirage. Suddenly, all the strands intertwined and formed one large pulsing circle. It pulsed steadily and slowly changed from a multitude of colors into a deep crimson red. Behind the red ring, a black goo oozed from the three-dimensional backdrop. It poured to the ground and slowly rose up, reaching for the circle.

The slime grabbed its target.

A piercing screech erupted from the ring. Unsatisfied, the dark substance climbed higher and higher, smothering the pulsing halo. The darkness returned as the grime blotted out all light. The once colorful field was drenched in gloom, and once the muck grabbed the last inch of light, Clarisse was once more engulfed in night.

Clarisse shot up with a gasp. All around, a brilliant white spewed its rays upon her. Her body was comforted in a puffy cloud of pillows and blankets, soft and smooth as silk. The small room of paper white walls was filled with beeping machines slathered in pearl-white coats. Apart from the bed she lay in, there were no furnishings. At the far end stood a white door bearing a small window wear most people’s heads would be. Through it she could see more white walls.

A click echoed throughout the room and a man in a white coat entered. Creases in his forehead displayed his worry. Silently, he walked toward the machines and faced his back to her. From his pocket he drew a small notepad and began analyzing the machines. He turned his head slightly towards her and peered at her though the corner of his eye. It started to glimmer and he snapped his head back and continued to jot down notes.

Pain stabbed Clarisse. Sharp stabs erupted from in her stomach. Her throat tightened, preventing the traverse of air into her lungs. The pain, the choking, it was too much. The white clouds flew from the bed as her legs kicked out desperately.

The struggling caught the attention of the man and he rushed over to the door. A shout called out for a nurse, but Clarisse did not hear it. The stabs grew more furious, attacking every part of her body.

The man looked back, sorrow covered his face. There was more though. Pain gripped him relentlessly. His face quivered as he struggled to remain strong. A tear slid down his cheek and dropped from his chin to the polished white floor. It exploded silently.

A woman in a white dress appeared behind him. A tap on the shoulder brought her to his attention. A small hypodermic syringe containing a red sludge was offered to him. All pain and melancholy was brushed away a fit of furor. He slapped it away and the woman bobbled the needle before finally catching it.

Rapid beeping reverberated throughout the room.

Calmly the man walked over, got on his knees, and looked her in the eyes; he tried his best to feign courage. Clarisse could see behind the mask, and was oddly comforted by it. Without any thought, she reached for his face. The man did not flinch. Her hand caressed his cheek. For a moment they both smiled. A warm sensation pulsed through her body. She wondered why this was so familiar.

Her hand lowered, and they enjoyed the moment for one more minute, then he reached for her arm. The woman appeared behind him and offered the syringe once more. With a depressed look he took it with his free hand. Carefully, he slipped the needle into her skin. Clarisse winced.

“Clarisse!”

The man looked at her anxiously and held her hand tightly. The word slapped her across the face. The voice, she recognized it! The sincerity and worry dragged her back to the large auditorium. A whirlwind of images suddenly whipped in front of her eyes: a smile, laughter, a park, tears, rain, an empty bench, hugs, waving, and then just a blur of faces staring down at her; only one was familiar, his. Horror drowned her and shook tears from her eyes.

“No, no, NO!”

It all came back so suddenly. She didn’t want to leave, not yet. Her hands held his face tightly. The mask of courage shattered and tears streamed from down his face. Time was quickly draining. All the time since the collapse had been wasted, and now it was too late.

For the first time in many months, the two embraced each other as husband and wife.

Slowly, his face twisted and blurred until all his features were unrecognizable.

In the deathly white room, Clarisse returned to darkness.