Home

The numbers on the elevator doors ticked down from the 6th floor. The entire chamber was filled with silence and the presence of a boy. The boy kept a stern grip on the handle of his carry-on luggage as he exited the sliding doors of the elevator into the main lobby and finally, out of the building for the very last time. His dead eyes reflected the empathetless emotions, not of remorse, sadness, or regret as he stared up at the blue moon whose brilliance dominated the night sky. As he stepped foot into the vehicle, he didn’t look back at the place that once provided him food, care, shelter, the things that cultivated his physical and mental build. His biological guardian was there for certain comfort and companionship but his Hellenistic mindset only allowed him to look ahead. What is done is done. If it can’t be helped, don’t try. Do what is meant to be done. 

 The large area that once held the responsibility of transporting people of his kind across great lengths now became a desolate cold dark desert. The presence of a cramped space filled with beings of his own triggered his claustrophobic and social problems anyways. To him, Isolation can sometimes be more pleasant.

After he said his final farewells to a few acquaintances behind fake smiles and gestures, the intercom began to call them in. They all told him that it would be fine, that he will do great or even better in a new life. He saw through the empty shells, trying to grasp the meaning behind those weightless words. The churning vibrations of the engine slowly transformed into a seering unavoidable noise of battles between the pressure of the winds and the machinery that kept him and a dozen others in the sky. 

The flight was not pleasurable despite the somewhat luxurious route he took. But that was to be expected. The painful, painless hours of an internal tug of war between agitated shut eye and stagnant entertainment, tormented the experience of a business class flight he looked forward to being on. By the time the plane seemingly crash landed at the airport, his entire body felt like sludge, refusing to get up from the recliner chair that refused to open up its secondary armrest. 

The other airport was empty as well. The ambiance of flickering warm lights contrasted with some spaces that refused to glow was more present than any other sign of life. His guardian gestured for him to stop staring into nothingness as they exited the building. 

What is the meaning of life? Some say it's love, others stick by the pursuit of knowledge and finally, there's death. No matter what happens in between, the end goal for everything is the end. Or is it? Perhaps the end is only the beginning of the beginning is the end and the end IS the beginning of the end of the beginning. Because all questions shall never truly be answered. And all truths shall never be revealed. There lives a universe, within it, a number of clusters, within it, a number of galaxies, within it, a number of systems, within it, a number of planets, within it… us. Or so we say. No. There was never us. There never was. Only him. Now.

He snapped out of his relativism trance, recollecting the signals of his synapses and steering them towards the present and not that of the future and questions relating to subjects beyond human understanding. 

Whereabouts: unknown. 

He examined his current surroundings. The air was cool but it was filled with toxication. The night sky on this side had no intention of hiding its most prized display of dancers, shining, bright, almost too bright, burning, melting. Quite the contrary honestly. The scent of unkempt carpets and wooden tiles along with the absence of the constant buzz of cicadas which were replaced with the bubbling of koi and the mild rustlings from the forest clearing hit a nostalgic nerve, yet he longed for the present. The present of the past. Perhaps both. 

In front of him stood a single door. 

Whereabouts:...Home…? 

The hands of time began to tick. Forward. Clockwise. The direction he struggled to flow with, the direction he tried too hard to push back. The direction where the basic mental action of acceptance was too painful to execute, like entering a voidless labyrinth where the hardships of navigating through the eerie walls and ethereal tiles only lead you straight back to where you began. It was much easier to accept this as...an illusion. Yes, it must be…  

A churning of a decrepit engine. Oh. Another ride. To where? 

The old BMW gently hummed as its broken rubber tires slowly strolled over the endless granite and asphalt pathway that connected the neighborhood which reluctantly welcomed him. He looked out the window, observing the same concrete walls and dark tiled roofs pass by over and over. Looping. Infinitely. The only difference for each house was the front yard and their owner’s choices of greenery which ranged from suffocating palm trees to overgrown leafless vines. 

A garden in the bones. A headdress down in the soil they own. And within it, stood a lone ladder. Despite the importance of the item in modern civilization, there didn’t seem to be any purpose or direction for this particular one as the placement of the object was far from its original intentions as there was no visible endpoint. He stared at the ladder for what seemed like more than just a moment. And for a second at the moment, the deadness that once inhabited his eyes disintegrated, only leaving room for a saddened expression and closed eyelids. 

In front him, stood a single door.

Whereabouts: His old room. 

The fluffed light carpet and the painted white walls were illuminated by the raining lines of golden-like light from the only window that showed no other outside. There were only two pieces of furniture in the room. A long wooden desk and a twin-sized bed. On the bed, there was a device. Its screen was set up right for him to barely view the contents within it from the doorway. The constantly changing pixels on the screen intrigued him, it was as if each strain of light emitted from the device were little hooks that began to drag him closer like moths to a flame. 

His nerves responded in quick succession to every possible stimulus from the dusty yet warm fragrance of the air that lightly and meticulously swept through the very fibers of his skin, to the exact motion and pattern of his gradual gate. The carpet only seemed to get more plush for every direct contact it made from the bottom of his heels to the tips of his toes until he was at the very edge of the bed frame. Showered in golden arcs, he stared down at the device. In the device, there was a reflection. A reflection of himself. A faint yet mesmerizing melancholy played within the reflection. A landscape with crystal skies, an endless valley, and mountaintops that pierced the heavens within the melody. And within it... the serenity that accompanied all that showed the bliss of escapism finally broke him. The time period of the present or the past didn’t seem as tranquil as before, nor did the peacefulness of isolation or the passion that came along with the companionship of others. Nothing could compare to the meaning.  

There were no teardrops or emotional overload caused by dramatic irony. There was no yelp of astonishment or cheer of accomplishment. All his gratitude for finding the meaning as he picked up the device, was a simple smile.   

Whereabouts: Home.

The fluffed light carpet and the painted white walls were illuminated by the raining lines of golden-like light from the only window that showed no other outside. There were only two pieces of furniture in the room. A long wooden desk and a twin-sized bed. On the bed, there was a device. There was nothing in the device.