The Cold Light

“Louie.”
No response.
“Hello? I can see you, you know.”
“Sorry Chief. Right here. Has it been a week already?”
“We have fifty-nine minutes left.”
“And counting. Shall I describe to you my mood? About the same as the last time I’ve had the misfortune of greeting you.”
“Depressed.”
“Normal.”
“And the -”
“The boys upstairs? The things that come out of their mouths are quite distasteful. You should hear them for yourself.”
“Go on.”
“You’re the Devil.”

Chief’s eyes shift from Louie’s eyes to the deep burgundy leather of the armchair, to the thin fog rising from the clear glass ashtray half full, then back to Louie. The smoke and mirrors of his own existence.

“How was your day, Louie?”
“Seen better. Seen worse.”
“How’s the rest of the gang?”
“Haven’t seen any of em in a week. In fact, I haven’t left this room in about six or seven days.”
“You’re a threat to yourself and those around you. It’s for your own good.”
“Very funny.”
“And accurate.”
“Have you ever considered stand-up impersonations?”

The harsh cold wind of the Rocky Mountain winter howls as the tension in the room rises. It creeps through the cracks in the log cabin, under the opening in the doorway and into the living room where Louie and Chief sit with a biting chill. Louie’s hands grip the arms of the burgundy chair even tighter, knuckles whitening with strain and intensity. Not because of the sharpness of the cold air, however. His resentment towards Chief becomes unbearable. The voices call out to Louie. Chillingly in such a hollow tone, the whispers in his head rise from a subtle volume to a ringing white noise matching the blizzard outside the cabin in his mind as seconds pass. His eyes focus now directly to the mirror across the room. Chief’s expression turns grave as their eyes meet. Are you my curse? Or are you my friend?

“Lou.”
“Right here, Chief.”
“I know the way out.”
“Is that so?”
“I have the keys right here in my pocket. I can lead you to the exit doorway. However -”
“However, it’s up to me to make the decision. A decision that requires strength, a decision that requires courage. The right decision. The decision that leads me out. Far away from here and this fantasy. Through the door of opportunity. A once in a lifetime opportunity. An opportunity to live.”
“Please, Lou. Let me help you.”
“I’m done listening to this Chief. Do you really want to know what I think? Do you dare to understand how I feel? Let me tell you. I think that I’m done trying to fight the good fight. I like my fantasy. It’s horrifying, but I like it. It’s simple here. I don’t even have to try to live here. I’ve tried to escape. I’ve struggled to get out. I’ve looked for the door of opportunity for far too long my friend. It’s a tragedy, really. It’s elusive as hell. I’ve found myself inches from it countless times and yet, time and again, They always win. They lure the mysterious door away from me. Or, me from it. I’m done trying, Chief. Really, I am. I like it here in Hell.”

The tension in the room is relieved. The final ounce of strength left in Lou’s being waivers, and finally, gives in. Reality fades into what is not as Louie loosens his grip of the armchair. The insanity of his mind spreads like a cancer into his soul. Chief’s reflection begins to shake and grow pale for he knows very well that there is nothing left. The wind rattles the cabin and the cold knocks at the door. It is calling for him.

“Time’s up, Chief.”

He demolished the wall mirror with his bare hands. At that exact moment, the reflection of Chief shattered before him. He walked out into the cold dark, embracing the freezing chill of the wind, faceless. Soaking the pure white with blood.