Warped

  "You can't run forever, boy!" my neighbor told me, chuckling as he swung on the rickety porch swing outside his home. "August can only go so far!"

"Oh, I won't!" I call out as I jog to the next house, August's house, but only his ma's ma lives there now.He’s been missing, see.

“Love, he’s been dead for ten years,” says the little old lady in the doorway, looking concerned, after I have knocked and been greeted. "Ten-year anniversary today, even.” 

“But c’mon! He... he's your daughter's son-" I stop. It’s no use arguing with August’s little old granny, still reminiscing about the old days; she probably just hit her head on her cabinet. 

“I can show you some photos of him,” she said, lighting up. “Fine young boy, he was! So cheery. Sad what happened, though, boy, don't you agree?" I am confused but go along with whatever the old bird is squawking about, I wouldn't like to be a pain. Anyway, whatever's in store for me has gotta be good.

She ushers me into the dimly lit entryway, the walls covered in photos in frames. One of August, swimming in the ocean; one of August, swinging on a swing; one of August, wrapping his arms around a puppy; One of August, baking cookies with her, and many others. The strange thing was, they were all yellow and faded and curling at the edges. It was like I had gone through a time warp and it was suddenly ten years in the future. 

I’m mesmerized by the photos, searching for a date on any of the photos. I just make out a small 20 on one of the frames when my best friend’s gran pats me on the back and says, “Ah, I’m sorry for our loss. But losing something just pushes you forward, and it helps you remember to never look back!” Her eyes become misty.

This is getting weird. I push her hand off my back and say in a strained voice, “Good to see you, Miss Corli, but I really must get going, people to meet, places to be, things to do-“ And I slam the door behind me. And don’t look back. 

I set off to find August in a determined state of mind. I’m not going to let some little woman, wonky in the head, prevent me from finding August. As I walk, I pass the local graveyard, and some movement catches my eye in the musty, gated place. 

August. 

“August!” I say, relieved. "Your ol’ granny said you were dead, and- and, man, why are you in here? Man, her ol’ head is messed up!” August slowly turns to me with a cold, unblinking stare, pupils enveloping the color in his eyes.

“August? Hey, you good?" I ask, and his eyes narrow.

I walk closer, and he jolts back. Mist curls from his body in thin tendrils, reaching out towards me as if to grab on. I step back, hands up. “Man, jeez! What’s up with you?” I walk sideways, away from the wisps of fog on August’s body, and my elbow hits something hard. A large chunk of rock crumbles from the fragile stone.

“Ow!” I rub my elbow, but stop short when I see what I hit. My breath catches.

A gravestone. No quote. Cause of death is unknown. But what really stops me cold is the name of the top of the gray headstone- it can’t be-the etching is worn and rough- 

AUGUST CORLI, 2008- 2033. MAY HE REST IN PEACE.

It is 2023, I think. 

Hands shaking, I slowly pivot on my heels, and walk and stop just before the empty space where his stocky form was. Where the mist was. I prepare myself to see him walking toward me, reaching, grabbing, the mist curling around me-

Nothing. 

My eyes are slowly led to the ground, where a glimmer awaits. I stoop to pick the shimmering object up, but stop cold.

A silver cross. Just like the ones on the gravestones, yet solid, and tarnished. There is a faded print, it says… I cannot read it. I squint. 

Death is a spirit; it will soon become yours.  

A chill raced up my spine, freezing my bones into something different. Was this August’s? I can’t be sure. There is a signature on the bottom, but at the angle I am at, the letters are just insignificant marks.

I knew him. Years of friendships and hardships have set my mind to the fact that August is August, and always will be. 

But maybe I didn’t. 

I have a terrible feeling that if I pick the cross up, something bad will happen, something horrible. But out of instinct, curiosity, and something deep inside me, clawing to get out,

I ease the sparkling trinket into my hand, tilting it this way and that, trying to see the scrawl on the bottom, and immediately a fog surrounds me. I claw at the air, trying to get it to release me from this prison of shimmering death. I expect to hear my heartbeat, impatiently pounding against my rib cage, but there is nothing there. Just the howling wind and my agonized screams inside my head. I am wrenched into the air, my spirit fading away. I have no voice to call out, no one coming to save me. I start to see misty shadows in the air; of my father; my mother; August’s grandma, even. And then August. His hazy form, shimmering in and out of view, is the one who’s the clearest. He is cackling with pure glee, staring at my floating form, finally fading away with one last laugh. I stare at the space where he was when I realize that I am the one laughing maniacally. I cannot stop, and I am doubled over, laughing, evil sounds escaping from my bloodless lips, I am being strangled, but somehow I have the most air I'd ever need, I am dead, but in a way, still here, on Earth, I am not angry, although everyone and everything is horrible. I scream at the monstrosity of sin-

I am fading, fading, yet I am still in one piece, it is all a mirage, yet nothing has ever felt so real…