Hidden World

Tobias
　
I came out to the porch early morning on a day that I assumed was Sunday (to me everyday was Sunday, for it was my favorite day) and took in the scene around me. Yessir, I could see it. It was impossible not to see it, and no matter how hard I shut my eyes or how much I turned my head, it was there, projecting itself on me. The world is changing. I can hear it in the wind’s gentle song. I can taste it in the water that I bring up from the well. Hell, I can even see it. The terrain, which always stood strong and healthy, was now a shadow of what it once was.
When I first created this land, my mind thought of Nebraska. My first reality, the one that I was born in, had me growing up in a city. Even though my memory has faded to a point where I cannot even remember the name of it, certain aspects keep hold within my memory. The air had a foul taste to it, like a dish whose flavor could be simply called disease. It went well with the vibrant shade of grey that always lit up the sky. I hated it. I still do, in fact, with a deep passion. I always wanted a place that was comfortable, homey, and clean; a place where you could kick off your shoes and rest with a fire in the hearth to warm you up and never feel like a bother. I made this place, and I made it well.
With my gift, I was able to erect a large, oak colored farmhouse that stood two stories tall. It was comfortable enough, but lacked things like a television and indoor plumbing. But I made due. I happily created a well and an outhouse (both far apart from one another), just like it should’ve been done. Behind this house was a certified garden of health, with plenty of tomatoes, corn, cabbage, potatoes, and an occasional melon. If that wasn’t enough, I also had an orchard that grew sweet apples, peaches, and pomegranates, as well a handful of berry bushes for pies.
To me, the best part was the view. I somehow always found my way to the rocking chair on my porch around sundown. Then I’d just sit there and watch the lively green prairie dance in the wind, as the sky was painted black. And it was glorious.
That was then. Now the land I see before me, the one that I grew and cared for, was gone. The shell was there, but the soul was gone. The farmhouse has faded into a pale, splintered shack. The door is gone, and only the hinges remain. The windows are also gone, but like the door has some remnants. Jagged glass teeth hang on to the frame and dangle as a pendulum on a string. The homey feeling that I have grown attached to is now gone. The house resembles a broke face, one that glares at me for abandoning it.
The orchard is dead, so is the garden. They have not grown anything in quite some time now. O yes, I get an apple once in a blue moon, but it is more worms than substance. The trees have it worst of all. They are rooting from the inside. Just yesterday the one farthest from the home collapsed in on itself. It was fifth one to due so.
I thank the Mother for the well. It has yet to fail me and without my return would have been rather short. Thank the Mother for the bread to. It’s held up in the pantry and though it might be stale, it is still food.
Worst of all, the prairie is now a sickly yellow and dried out so it breaks apart in the wind. There are many brown spots that stand bare and it runs my blood cold. When the nightfalls I refuse to sit on the porch and instead retire, tired of it all.
“The Mother is good,” I say on this Sunday morning, “the Mother is great. Thank you for well, thank you for the water, thank you for the bread. Thank you to for those chickens you sent me. They were a real treat. Thank you for that. The Mother is good.”
Yes, she is good. I thank her for everything, for she has given me everything. I was one of the four, one of the chosen, and I thank her for that too.
It is not long before I get up from the porch. Do not sit idle for too long Toby; I say to myself, idle time is time for the dead.
I go toward my well to draw some water. It is a chore that I find enjoyable. The task reminds me so much of better time, but forces me to work and look ahead. Luckily the crank has not rusted enough to be inoperable and it is easy work. In less than a minute, the pale is up filled to the brim with water. I grab the handle and dislocate it from the rope. It is then that I make a mistake. I look into the bucket and see my reflection. Looking back is a pale skinned youth with matching red marks below his purple eyes and shaggy white hair framing this bizarre look. But this does not bother me, I am used to it. But the fact that I am the only one bothers me.
I am one out of four, twenty-five out of one hundred, first to be welcomed. I have three companions who should be here with me. It was not natural for us to apart, and it has not been done since my arrival. Unnatural, wrong, that’s what it is.
My teeth clenches around my tongue. Foolishness, do not act in foolishness. It was my first rule, and I just broke it. A laugh slips out, and it leads to me chuckling as I drag the bucket along.
Foolish Toby. You are very foolish.
We had fallen. We had failed the Mother. It was she who created this world, her legacy, and she allowed us to call this Legacy our home instead of the Hells that we lived in. In exchange we were given a purpose, a duty. And we failed.
I was the first to awaken, but at the time I did not know it.
My memory:
No light.
No sound.
No warmth.
I felt so cold. It was not the harsh, freezing sensation that came with an unrelenting storm in its pursuit. Instead I felt as if was in a pool where I lay suspended in constant stillness, letting the calmness wash over me in perpetual bliss. The feeling is wonderful, O so wonderful. There are no worries, no desires, just me and my serenity.
‘Toby.’

A voice speaks to me. The Water pulses and forms a ripple that flies across the surface. The small wave, while seeming insignificant, consumes me. Seconds later, it is gone just as fast as it came. Despite this, I attempt to return to my tranquil form.
‘Toby.’

Another pulse. This one is much stronger and I can feel the power in the graceful movement. This time, when I am hit, I go under. Somehow I remain calm, even though I have learned to swim since my existence. Natural instinct dictates that I panic. So why do I defy instinct? Why do I not react?
‘Toby.’

The voice is clearer now. Soft as silk, light as a breath, I find it both soothing and alarming to me. This voice has no malice, no edge to its point, yet I am inclined to listen. I try to remember my own voice and I find it to be deeper than the one that has spoken around me. A woman. It is a woman’s voice, I am certain of that.
‘Toby.’

The word now uttered echoes through my being, shaking my bones as the wind shakes the limbs of trees. My mouth opens, but no sound is produced. This feeling hurts me. It throbs and throbs and throbs and-
This all happens because of one word. What is this word to me? Why does the feeling of it on my tongue cause me to stand ready and alert? What is the substance, the meaning? What is it?
A truth?
A Want? Whose want?
A thought? My thought?
Why does this word affect me so? Even still my bones shake with a silent fury and ache with a mass amount of chills.
‘Toby darling, time to wake up now.’

My eyes open and dart around the area. There is no difference in my vision. I am in a world of shades with full night, but no stars. My mouth is agape, but still there is a mutiny of my voice and it refuse to speak.
‘Toby dear, it’s time to wake up now.’

Realization hits me. I know this voice. The memory, it is faint and weak, but I know, I remember. Security, safety, all these are feelings that rise up with this memory. Safety-Security, Security-Safety-
‘Toby dearie, time to wake up now.’

That word… Toby. So strange… I-I know it too! I remember it as a name, my name. I had forgotten it, but now it has returned. I am Toby, and Toby is me!
‘Awake Toby.’

The darkness around me shakes and rumbles. My vision shakes, and it, whatever this place is, begins to fade away. This solemn ad bleak world chips away. From the cracks emerge something that I had not seen in a good while and find myself longing for. Great amounts of light begin to break through the barren surroundings little by little, piece by piece, until it dominates all that I see. The light floods in, burning me.
And I embrace it, fiercely.
I had awoken in my world. The moment I saw what had become of it, I felt a great sense of depression. Selfishness took over, and self-pity filled me. Days passed before I truly understood what had happened. I had awoken from a deep slumber by the Mother. We had failed in our purpose and had caused a cataclysm that engulfed Legacy. The result was mass destruction to the worlds that we had created around and in Legacy. My safe haven, which we called Terra, was all that remained.
Just like I was the first to enter legacy, I was the first to awaken and rejoin. I know this because I cannot sense the others. We all have been linked to one another since our beginnings here. It allowed us to speak to one another even when we were great distance apart. I called to them for hours, but to no avail. Every time I failed I found myself grateful that at least I knew that they were alive.
The only reason that the others and I still exist is because of the Mother, yet another debt we owe. The slumber was, in a way, a shield. It protected us from the damning affects of our created Armageddon, but, like so many things, it cam with a price. We were once called the Architects, the designers and creators that forged the outlines and boundaries, but no more. Those titles are now lost to us. My only obligation is to work and wait.
I let out a grunt as I lift the bucket into the home and on to the kitchen table. I was luck yesterday and found myself blessed with two potatoes and an ear of corn.
“Thank the Mother,” I mumble as I clean this delicacy. Even as I do this simple act, I find myself thinking of them my friends. They loved these garden fresh meals, especially the Runt. A smile cracks my usually neutral face. That brat always ate mashed potatoes with his hands and used and entire stick of butter for one cob and then he would leave half of the meal untouched.
The urge to call out again prods me from the back of my mind. I try to push it away, but it pushes back harder. I end up putting the corn, that I was washing, down, take a seat, ad fold my hands together before calling out. Brows furrow, mind flexes.
‘Mac. Hey Ma-ac! I have something for you. A big glass of milk!’
My grip tightens around my palms and I hope for something, anything to show me that the Runt is out there. But three seconds pass, and I know he will not answer. Mac, the overly hyper munchkin, detests milk, or “cow-piss” as he calls it. Whenever he is near it or someone tries to persuade him to just take a taste, he goes off on them before disappearing away from his enemy, the cow-piss. We all find it ironic due to his… unique trait.
I try the others as well (why not? I have all day to wash these things.) with Jake being the second one. Flex.
‘Jake, can you hear me? Are you all right?’
Another minute of waiting, and again no reply. Jake is not the type to leave a question likes the ones I asked unanswered, lest anyone else worry. Jake hates to make others worry. Two down, both failed attempts.
For a moment I consider asking the last, and it is always a dilemma on deciding whether or not to call for him. He is Belascoe, and he is a confusing case. To me, he can be both a good friend and a bastard. When I think about him and seeing him again I get an angry feeling. Like flames on the side of my face that are breathing down me and fueling my anger. But on the other hand he is Belascoe, my friend. So no matter what conflicting interest there may be, I do as I have done before.
Flex.
‘Belascoe? If you can hear me, answer. Belascoe?’
For the third time toady I am left in silence and for the third time I feel a sense of loss. The calls are either on deaf ears, or simply lost in translation. But they are alive. That is a certainty. If they were gone to Paradise then I would surely feel them leave this celestial plane.
I sigh and continue to do that which was bestowed upon me. A good meal never waits.
Dusk seems to fall early. In the daylight’s short time I found it hard to complete much. After washing my small feast my body began to ache. It had been happening an awful lot lately, mostly in m joints and back, but I had been able to last it out and continue on, Today was different though, and the pain was almost to an unbearable point. The Mother would understand this selfishness, I decided, and then I dragged myself to my rocking chair to rest my eyes for a minute. Like most of the times, it turned into slumber.
I was aware that I was dreaming. Whenever I dream it is like I am at the picture show. I do not feel like I am doing these actions, but instead I am watching myself do this. This me, is in a place that I have never seen before. None of us four have ever created a land or terrain so… unnecessarily over the top.
There is literally no logical sense to this place and I find it mind-boggling. The Me must share this confusion, for he raises a brow and looks around in confusion. Before him stands a building of immense proportions. In all honesty it looks more like a series of buildings connected to one another. I see myself walk toward the building.
Black.
The scene changes and now the Me has a look of awe plastered upon his face. I must event this new scene was quite a sight to see. There is a majestic garden with an abundant amount of plant life. Aisles are formed by topiary in the shape of various animals, such as rabbits, swans, horses, and even and elephant. They were circled around a large circular pond with a series of fountains that shot streams of water from their narrow mouths. Everything was clean cut and it seemed to be an energetic atmosphere.
But then she came.
She was a girl, who I could describe a being both attractive and unattractive, smiling at the pond. The clothes she wore made her look like she had hips much broader than humanly possible. Her face was even paler than mine, but while mine was natural hers was caked on with powder and make-up. Speaking of make-up, her lips were an unnatural red and her eyelids had a disgusting bluish tinge to them. That was not even the worst part. She had on this four-foot high wig that swayed back and forth like a drunken sailor. This was the unattractive side. But underneath all the make-up and the bizarreness of it all, I could still make out a few strings of pleasantly natural features.
Just as I finished caricaturing her, the Me began to walk to her. She eventually notices Me and also begins a walk to meet him. When Me gets in front of her, he bows his head and offers a hand to her. She smiles and takes it.
Black.
When I wake up, I can see that I have slept the day away. I shake my head at this foolishness before stretching out. The aches are gone, and I am most happy about that. I take myself to the kitchen where I make a quick meal out of the few crops I have. I twice bake the potatoes, then and a lot of butter for flavor, and grill the corn the best I can without burning the house down. There is some chicken left in the cold storage and I heat up the leg and make some gravy to go with it.
Now there is a meal for me, but I do not eat. I look around the kitchen as my hand grips the fabric of my pants out of frustration.
“The Mother is good, but right now you are confusing.”
My eyes shut tightly as I continue, “I know you want something of me, I am not a fool. The food you have given me, the dream you dropped on me, it is a push. You are pushing me toward something.”
My eyes open and my hands unclench. I raise them on top of the table, palms up toward the ceiling.
“I am not trying to sound ungrateful. Just tell me what it is you want and it shall be done.”
There is no response. Frustration returns. My teeth clench against each other, but my shoulders sag in defeat. I reach over to the gravy covered fried chicken and intend to enjoy the meal.

‘Do this.’
My hand halts just as my ring finger touches the bone. She has spoken once again.

‘Do this. Eat food, drink water, and become strong again.’
My head bows out of respect, but my eyes remain open. The Mother deserves all attention.

‘When you are strong, find the sheep, the girl from your dream. Be her shepherd and guide her through the coming trials.’
“My lady-,” But she already knows my question.

‘You will do this because she is one of five, five Architects, brought into this world. You are her guide. You will guide her back to Terra and you will teach and you will wait.’
‘Go west and you will find her.’
I raise my head and then commence my meal. I will do what she says. For the Mother is great.