I Don't Know

Dan woke up to the first rays of sunshine poking through the cheep blinds in his bedroom. He stared at the kinked, worn plastic blinds and let his mind wander over his plans for the day. Maybe he would start by going out and challenging the Gym Leader in the neighboring town. But the lines of his blinds reminded him of the steps leading to the ancient shrine he'd found the day before. He yawned, still gazing at the blinds, then wondered aloud, "didn't I have curtains when I went to bed?"

***

Dan's eyes flittered opened, a faint red light spilling out from behind his habitat's familiar blackout curtains. He got up and made his way to the window, nearly tripping as he overestimated the amount of force he'd need to fight the weaker gravity of the alien planet. He peeled back the curtains. He still wasn't used to the sun looking so puny as it rose of over the barren red landscape of this remote world. "Mars?" he gasped, suddenly gripped with unfounded panic.

He whirled around and stared at the empty bed. "Where's my wife?" he cried, curdled fear boiling up in his chest. He reared for the door, still in nothing but his boxers, and stumbled, once again having misjudged the way the lower gravity would affect his ability to move across the room.

Just as Dan reached the doorway to the bedroom, the door cracked and his beautiful wife Sandra walked in.

"Amanda!" he sighed with overwhelming relief.

Amanda smiled, her cherubic cheeks tugging playfully at the corners of her soft lips. "Good morning," she said, holding up a plate with bacon and eggs. Her sleek golden hair spilled like honey over her shoulders as Dan accepted the plate.

He stared down at his dark, weathered hands as he held the breakfast, his mind a cyclone of uncertainty. "How long have we been on Mars?" he asked, looking up again and flexing his powerful muscles.

Amanda was pulling her jet black hair into a ponytail, walking casually over to the bedroom window to gaze out at the red rocks. "It feels like an eternity," she said dreamily with a thick eastern European accent.

He approached the window as well and stared at his own reflection in the triple paned composite glass. His pale, supple skin was a testament to the important cerebral work he was so arduously engaged in. He stared, confused, at his skinny, bony arms.

She reached over and took one of his free hands, gently caressing his slender, soft fingers.

"What do I do here?" he asked, leaning over to look deeply into her eyes. "Am I some kind of construction worker, or an administrative type? Why does everything seem to be cha..."

"Shhh," Sandra hushed him, putting a finger to his lips. "You seem stressed." She smiled and slid her hand along his plump, bearded cheek. "I think you need to unwind." Slowly, she pulled his face down to hers and he could feel her hot breath as she brushed her firm lips against his freshly shaven, sharp jaw.

Dan jerked back, his eyes wide. "What is going on?" he demanded.

Sandr... Amanda furrowed her brow and regarded him stiffly. "What is going on with you?" she shot back in her tonal, Asian accent. "Are you too stressed to love me?" She grabbed his strong, hairy forearm and pulled his large palm in to her chest. "Come, make love to me," she said passionately.

The sensation of his hand on her breast tightened a knot in his stomach. Suddenly the thought of being intimate with this woman was too much. He jerked away and stood a few steps back from the window. "Dave," he whispered, suddenly remembering the name of his true love. He looked at Amanda with horror in his eyes. "What have you done with Dave?"

Mandy raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. "Dave? Who is Dave?" She reached out a trembling hand. "Dan, you're scaring me. What are you talking about?"

Dan shook his head and reached up to push his glasses up as they slid down his sweaty nose. "Nothing is right," he said, looking over his shoulder at the door. "I don't know who you are or what you're doing, but..." he tripped, falling crisply to the apartment's hardwood floor. The clouds outside began sprinkling as Sandra's first tears trembled in the corners of her eyes.

"Why don't you want me?" she asked. Her lower lip trembled and she took a step toward him.

Dan scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, leaving his prosthetic arm on the floor where it had fallen moments earlier. With his good arm he clawed desperately at his face, pulling strands of his long brown hair out of his eyes and mouth. Finally he managed to open the door and tumble out into the hall where his neighbor stood in a bathrobe scanning the still-rolled-up newspaper he'd just retrieved.

"Morning Kev," his neighbor said, nodding politely.

Kevi... Dave stared at his neighbor for a beat with wide eyes and a loudly thumping heart. Sandy's wailing tears snapped him out of it and he dashed down the hall, tripping and cursing as he worked to keep his loose boxers from falling down around his ankles.

"Come back!" his wife cried, but her voice faded into the distance as he found his way into a stairwell and began descending, his shoes clapping loudly on the cold metal steps. The ringing metal echoed up and down the deep shaft, filling his ears and drowning out his racing thoughts. The stairwell grew dim and musty as he passed a flickering lightbulb barely hanging on to its final moments of burning life. He whirled around corner after corner, throwing himself down two, three steps at a time, barely breaking a sweat. All those years as an Olympic athlete were paying off now as he plunged into the darkness, pursued by nothing but his own nightmares.

Finally one of his bare feet splashed into an icy cold puddle at the bottom of the stairs. He'd lost track of how many floors he'd descended, but the thick, musty air made him feel as though he were deep underground. He tightened his grip on the sword in his hand and cautiously started off down the long tunnel at the base of the stairwell, holding up his shield and looking out over it. A flickering torch danced in the distance, casting a weak light for him to follow. The haunting sounds of moans and whispers rushed quietly in and out of the stone tunnel, as though hell itself was breathing beyond the flames.

His leather boots swished around in the sewage with each step, some landing with more squish than others. As the light grew closer he could finally make out a doorway in the walls of the narrow corridor. He approached it with light steps, tensing his bulging muscles, ready for action. He stopped just next to the door, flattened his back against the wall, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and calming his mind. He focused, emptying his head of all the fractured thoughts that had been racing around like frantic, spooked cats. Mars, Dave, Sandy, bacon, sunrise, prosthetics, swords... all of it settled like sediment in the waters of his calmness. At last, when he was ready, he rounded the corner of the doorway and flung himself into a small, brightly lit library.

The dusty smell of old books filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He wiped his eyes with both of his palms and looked around at the walls that were covered in books. Paperbacks, leather tomes, scrolls of parchment, and stacks of clay tablets were just a few of the types of materials filling the tall walls of shelves. In the center of the room Dan saw a desk, and seated at the desk, staring at an ancient typewriter, there was a young man.

The young man looked up at Dan with huge, wide eyes. His lips parted and he gasped, then he gasped again as though hit twice with the same sudden revelation.

"You..." he muttered, glancing twice between the typewriter and Dan in quick succession, his eyes darting back and forth without blinking.

Dan cocked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, taking in this scrawny kid without a hint of enlightenment in his eyes. He took a few steps forward, staring down at the boy with wonder.

Without taking his eyes off Dan, the young man reached for the typewriter and tapped a few keys.

Dan found himself looking up at the boy, jumped with fright, and looked down at his hairy hobbit toes. "Hey!" he exclaimed, his balled fist wagging in the air. "What's the big idea? What are you doing?"

"I..." the boy began. "I don't know. I thought I'd sit down to write a story, but..." his voice trailed off and he gazed back at the paper sticking out of the typewriter.

"So it's been you the whole time?" Dan asked, his chest empty. He was lightheaded and starting to feel dizzy.

"I... guess?" The boy shrugged, staring down at Dan.

"Well..." Dan began, firmly intending to give the boy a piece of his mind. But he stopped and stared at the typewriter with the boy, slowly shuffling toward the desk and standing on his tip toes for a better view.

The boy rested his chin in his hands and scanned the last few lines he'd written, his eyebrows rising a little with each word he read. "Huh," he mused, finally turning to face the hobbit with his whole body.

Dan gazed up at him, his mind racing once again. He couldn't even begin to piece together the meaning of it all. So with a slack jaw and glossy eyes, he stared up at the boy blankly, with just one question on his mind. Eventually he let it fall from his parted lips. "What next?"

"I... I don't know," said the boy with an embarrassed smirk. "I've never been very good at making up my mind."