The Desert Sand, and Time

An endless, relentless shade of orange stretched for miles in every direction, as if the desert had absorbed the sun's intensity. In the distance, the once-proud peaks stood tall against the horizon, their rocky forms slowly giving in to the patient erosion of time. Over centuries, small bits of mountain have broken off and mingled with the sand, contributing to the rugged, textured terrain. Here, shrubs seemed like mere afterthoughts, sprinkled sparingly across the dry landscape, and the few cacti that existed made half-hearted appearances, almost like they'd just remembered their appointment with the desert today.

It was the kind of place where time threw away its handbook and simply decided to take over and do things its own way, without any regard for consequences. There, anything could happen, but that was rare, as the desert didn't care very much and continued to be the same as it was before. And yet, on this particularly mundane day in this particularly mundane desert, something decidedly unusual happened. A white door, of all things, stood right in the middle of nowhere. It was, for the most part, an ordinary door, coated with white paint, and fitted with a stainless steel handle. And of course it was attached to a metal door frame, because how else would it open and close? That was the absurd part. It was attached to a door frame and nothing else, not even a wall or a building. There were no other doors, either. All the door knew was that it sat on some very bright orange sand that clashed with its looks, and that something interesting would happen to it anytime soon.

Several shrubs began to rustle as the wind picked up, but that didn't stop what was about to happen. The door swung open, and, like out of a portal, stumbled a man named Damien Slater. His arrival appeared more bewildering than purposeful as he staggered forward onto the rough sands of the desert. With one eye covered by an eyepatch, his remaining eye darted around the unfamiliar landscape with an air of disorientation. He seemed unsure as to his next action. He turned back towards the door, hoping that he could go back through it and try again. This isn't where he wanted to be. He watched with slight surprise that the view inside the doorway changed from the office where he came from to a view of how the desert looked through the doorway. But he shook those thoughts away in favour of trying to figure out why he was here.

"What is this place?" Damien asked, directed at the door, but received no answer. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he turned away, and in response, the door slammed shut. There was no use trying to open it, he knew. It had a mind of its own and would not open a portal back until it felt like it, or if Damien tried very hard to will it to make a portal. Right, where to now?

This was not a place where he wanted to stay. Not only was it remarkably dull to an extent he had not felt before, it was not where he wanted to be at all, and the blowing wind did not help either. With no other clear plan, Damien put one foot in front of the other and walked away from the door, in the general direction of the orange, crumbling mountains that he saw ahead.

After some time passed, Damien noticed something very out of place in the bright orange landscape, not too far away. As he got closer, he realised that it was not a mirage like he had originally thought, but something that made him feel thrilled, confused, and more out of place than he already was, all at the same time. He pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and said, 'That shouldn't be there.'

There, in the middle of the endless expanse of orange sand, sat a dark, wooden table with a black landline telephone, complete with a rotary dial and a curly cord, standing innocently in the centre and slightly covered with sand. It wasn't just any phone; it was his phone, precisely the same one that resided on his table back home, though not typically covered with sand, of course.

While it could be anything, it was not a mirage. His thoughts raced, attempting to reason how and why specifically his phone was here, possibly light-years from home, or even operating at an entirely different time to his. If time even flows properly here, he added, noticing earlier that the sun has set twice in the past few minutes and then suddenly popped up in the centre of the sky and stayed there.

Concerned, he glanced back at the pale white door in the distance, a reassuring sight that made him draw a small smile. Returning his focus to the phone, he hesitated before contemplating the voicemail button. A small white light blinked on its side, suggesting unheard messages. He reached out to press a button that plays the voicemails, but stopped himself, fingers centimetres away from the button. He slowly pulled his hand away, the weight of the universe's inexplicable plans sinking in.

Nervously, he adjusted his attire. Coiling his scarf casually around his neck, brushing sand from his holographic blue coat, and giving his waistcoat a final tweak, he wondered if his outfit was suitable for this windy desert. Once that was done, and he had a few seconds to breathe and collect himself, the wind died down, and the desert went silent, as if holding its breath in anticipation. For him. He pressed the display button, and could almost hear drums as he saw on the telephone's small, dusty display the contact name, Oskar Adams.

'Oskar…?' Damien whispered, his heart beating faster. This is it. The very reason he needed to travel through the door in the first place. Oskar was missing, and had been for a year, and Damien desperately searched for him, but despite his detective work, it was of no use. Going through a portal in a door was risky and unpredictable, but he had to do it if he had any hope of finding his friend. 

After a long, deep pause, Damien sniffed and put one hand lightly over his mouth, as the other pressed the button to play the voicemails.

There was a crackling sound. And then, "Hello, Damien. It's me, it's Oskar." A pause. "I am so, so sorry." Damien had nowhere to sit, so he carefully pushed the phone to one side and sat on the table. It pained him to hear Oskar sound so tired and hopeless, but at least he gets to hear his voice. Oskar went on, "I wish I had called you, or voicemailed you sooner, but I am more of a coward than before, making it so much harder to speak with you. I um, The weather is okay here. There's been a lot of rain. I'm either sitting in a hotel room or running around town, and I think I'm going mad. It feels like being a metronome with a broken rhythm, Damien! You know? It's... I... I can't find the words to explain it to you, but I know I need to change, but you worry so much that I thought I'd give you a break. News spread that you organised a lost person hunt for me, so I guess I'm here to tell you that you don't need to do that any more? I'm not lost, mind you, just taking a sudden holiday. Um, I hope you'll call me back. I miss you, Damien. I miss you so much."

Oskar's message cut off, and the line went quiet. Damien stared ahead at the desert landscape and said nothing. Fog rolled in, surrounding the desert in a grey-blue and changing the atmosphere completely. Damien couldn't think that he would not belong here any less. He then took a long, shuddering breath, and exhaled loudly.

There are two more voicemails waiting for him, and he had to listen to them. This is his last chance to find Oskar, or else it will be the last time he will get to hear his voice. He slowly pressed the button to start the second recording.

"Hello, Damien, are you listening to my voicemails? I hope so. I really need to talk to you, so I hope you are doing well. I um, I still miss you a lot, and I think I'm ready to tell you what is going on. I ran away, to put it shortly, because I have a lot of problems and I don't want you, or anybody else for that matter, to worry about them. At the moment, I'm dealing with them pretty well, I think. Maybe I'll come back soon. I have faith that I can change, and um... I love you."

The second message finished, and the third started. "I'm sorry, Damien. Please, listen to me. I um, I want to see you again, because it's not working. I tried to- I tried to do something to get back to normal, and now a lot of people are hurt, and I didn't want it to end up like this…" Oskar's voice was panicked and desperate. 

Damien shook his head slowly and whispered, "No, Oskar, what have you done?"

"I've been keeping a lot of information from you, because I know how you'll take it, but time has run out and I need you, and your help. I… I can't believe I'm saying this—please find me at this address, it should have sent as a message. I can't keep running away from my problems any longer. All it leads to are more problems. I want to be the person you first saw in me, not this... problematic mess. And um, if you can't find me, try to understand, alright? I don't want you to hate me, ah, I'm rambling, sorry about that. Goodbye!"

And after that was a short beep to signal that there were no more voicemails.

Damien sat in the desert, in the silent and windless evening, and thought. The first thought he had was that he needed to find Oskar. The desert clearly knows this, and then so must the door. The door has to send Damien to the right place to fix this. The door, or a part of it, had to know where Oskar was. This is the only thing that makes sense.

The second thought was that he was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He is afraid to find out what horrible thing could have Oskar done that he would have run away from the city where he lived and not come back for over a year.

The third thought was that he did not know how he was going to fix any of this, and that thought terrified him. But he knew that it will all work out once he gets to Oskar. It better work out.

Damien slipped off the table, quickly read the address written in the little telephone screen, and ran towards the door. and soon as he touched the steel handle the door whipped open, the doorframe showing a view of some foggy town, just like the desert behind him was imitating. 

"I don't know whether this was some strange dream, or a vision, or an actual desert, somewhere, with telephones that shouldn't be there, but whatever is on the other side of this door... it better work out," Damien said to the door. He then walked through it and disappeared, and so did the door, leaving the orange desert as it was: orange and perfectly mundane.