The Longest Journey

Emma Chains watched the sands of time trickle down before her eyes, helpless from its cruel clutches. She had written only a page of words, disassembled and incoherent. Her mind was beautifully chaotic, a cyclone of ideas and expressions that seemed to make sense. But as soon as she picked up a pen or a paintbrush, everything seemed to collapse and disappear. It was a torturous endeavour of not being able to express herself, but she accepted it was just one of the many burdens of all bright thinkers. 

With the chirps of crickets crept in the darkness of night, blanketing over the amber sunset. Emma crossed out the five assignments she had set for herself that day and wrote them again under the date of the following day, having not properly completed any one of them. Although she hadn't finished everything, at least she was making progress, and as long as she continued to do that, she was certain to reach her goals someday. Although a little disappointed, she comforted herself with the fact that while there were people out there who talk of achieving great things but never take any actions, she was taking steps, although small, towards her goal. She was better than the rest of the population who were all bark and no bite. 

Emma felt restless as she lay on her bed drowning in thoughts. As the light of passing vehicles illuminated her room, she wondered how she could reduce light pollution. The wind howled tirelessly throughout the night, leaves and branches rattled against her window and shadows that appeared on her walls with each passing car danced for her. Eventually, she did fall asleep but did not have the pleasure of sleeping for long. 

The roaring sounds of city life jerked Emma into consciousness. Hazy from sleep, she thought she was dreaming at first; there was no way it could be morning already, and there was no way she was standing in the middle of the road as the waves of traffic approached her with threatening speeds. In the heat of the moment, she squeezed her eyes shut and placed her hand in front of her head, bracing for impact and waited with dread. Seconds passed, then a minute, then two. She opened her eyes slowly with caution, afraid of witnessing her fate. As feared, a car sped towards her...and then it was gone. It went straight through her. She watched with confusion as the city buzzed all around her, without her. Across the road, she saw a familiar bookstore, the one she had always seen when sitting by her window with her notebook. Only then did she realised she was standing where her house should have been. But it had been replaced with a road. Maybe she was dead. Maybe while she was sleeping, her house was torn down and replaced with a road. If that’s the case, she was strangely calm for having just died. Maybe she was dreaming, but she felt the pain on her skin when she pinched herself. Maybe she was having an out of body experience. Whatever the case, she found herself being strangely at peace. 

With nowhere else to go, she headed for the bookstore. The calendar that hung in the store made her realise where, or rather, when she was at - 50 years into the future. Browsing through the library, she found an entire section dedicated to a particular author; Emma. She couldn’t believe her eyes, there were too many books for her to even count! Her fingers brushed through each book, imagining all the unlived journeys she had while writing them. There were books about love, hate, life, death, joy, despair and all the great things she had always wanted to write about. But no matter how hard she looked, she could not find a book titled “The Longest Journey,” the one she was working on just last night. Maybe she had renamed it or decided not to publish it. Although a little disappointed, she continued to travel, heading on no particular course.

On her way, she saw on the TV of a convenient store the news of a revolutionary woman who had found a way to reduce light pollution and created an organisation which protected fauna and flora in the process. Emma missed the name of the iconic woman but grinned to herself knowing it had her name all over it. She once made a promise to a dying turtle, trapped in nets and plastic, that she would one day free them from the horrors of mankind so that humans can live in peace with nature. Emma was happy to see that she had fulfilled per promise. But looking around, there were not as many trees and animals as she had wanted to see and more industrial buildings than she had hoped for. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she would change all of that. 

Moving along, she heard a chatter that caught her attention. "I heard the Masked Lady was going to do a face reveal tonight."

"I know, and about time!" Another responded. "Can't believe she's gotten away with attacking all the business giants for so long!"

'That's me!' Emma thought to herself, just a few weeks ago she had created a platform with the exact name which she wanted to use to expose the unethical practices of the business giants. Disgusted by the sweatshops, underpaid employees, strain on the environment and people that were a result of big companies such as Nike and coca-cola, Emma found it the best way to start a change. But from her memory, she had not yet uploaded a single video as planned. She had written a script for it, a script that exposed how coca-cola was exploiting the water-sources of India and preventing the locals from accessing clean water for their personal and business needs but hadn't released it. Of course, she knew she could not expose herself if she didn't want to be targetted by the businesses that's why she had named herself the 'Masked Lady.' She smiled to herself, knowing she finally uploaded the video and many more from what she heard.

She continued to walk on, trying to find her future self. She could not ask those around her for they could not see her. However, she overheard some say that she will be on news that night and Emma was looking forward to seeing her if only from afar.

At the end of the street, Emma found a nursing home that used to be a park. From one of the windows of the room, she saw a woman staring at her. No, staring through her. She felt compelled to approach her. Inside the nursing home was gloomy and dark. There were corridors of doors distinguished with numbers. The only feature that Emma could appreciate was the paintings that brightened the empty area between each door. One particular painting held her in place for a moment. It was a painting of the bookstore during sunrise, from an angle that was too familiar to her. It was the same image she saw from her window the previous morning. 'Had I become a successful artist too?' She wondered. Emma was astonished by the legacy that awaited her. She wanted to immediately return to the present and continue to work her way to this very future.

When she finally walked into the room of the woman she saw earlier, she was slightly disgusted. It smelled of urine and old people. The woman looked as though she was staring right into Emma. Across was a book that lay open, it read "The Longest Journey." It was incomplete. The last few pages were illegible as the words faded into a scribble. The woman picked up the book and started to write. Her hands trembled from old age and what was printed on the page was nothing more than scratches. Emma was confused. What was this old woman doing with the book that belonged to her? Who was she?

A nurse walked into the darkroom, saying, "Emma, it's time for dinner." She left a box on the bed and left the woman alone with the uninvited guest.

'Emma?!'

The young girl stared at the older woman, hoping that it wasn't who she thought it was. The woman picked up a remote and turned on the TV. On the news channel, she witnessed the Masked Lady being interviewed. When the time came for her to take off her mask, Emma found herself gazing at a stranger. The more she thought of it, the more frightened she became. "No!" she said to herself, "no!" What about her legacy, the paintings, the books, her platform? Were they all someone else? She stared back at the woman on her bed, around her wrist lay a band that read 'Emma Chains.'

As the beats of her heart quickened, Emma checked the paintings on the hallway, the signature revealed the name"Willam Flares." The name was very familiar, he was a friend who would occasionally come to her house. Had he stolen her dream? What about the books? The bookstore stood firm but through her teary eyes, it seemed as though it was swinging from side to side. Through her hazy vision, she made out the full name of the author, "Emma Hearts."

"No, no, no," she repeated to herself. What awaited her was not a good legacy, no, she did not have a legacy at all! Tears continued to build up and block her vision until she could not see at all.

Emma awoke with fright and found herself back at home, in the darkness, on her bed. The clock showed "01:00" and the calendar confirmed the date of the present day.

She opened the book she writing in only hours before and proceeded to write. The assignments on her journal that she thought to be a map to her goal now became clearer to her. It was only an illusion. Emma realised she was only a child standing at the bottom of a mountain she could not see the top of. There was not a map, nor a compass, only herself. Her future, she realised with relief was not yet built and therefore could not have a map. Emma continued to write throughout the night, clawing her way to the top of the mountain, or die trying.