Tear It All Asunder

word count 2397

It is a very strange place I find myself in. I do not remember how I came to this…world, or where it is. I still know who I am though, and I hold on to that. If I can keep remembering who I am, maybe I can ultimately return home.

This is not the first time I have been in a place like this. I like to travel, and I often do. I can go places far beyond the reach of most. This place is certainly beyond the reach of most.

It is hard for me to describe where I am from to a person like you, but let me just say it is a place where power flows. Even the weakest or youngest among us can conjure up ships, from nothing more than his thoughts, to sail the seas if we please. The strongest of us, like me, can grow mountains, or tear them down, if we deem.

And who are my people? Do they sound strange to you? Actually, we are very similar to you in shape and form. And as far as what we can do, it is really not that hard to do. I imagine in a few hundred millenniums you will be able to do everything we can - that is, if you somehow manage to not destroy yourselves, as you seem bound to do.

My colleagues have warned me to be careful about where I go. They are content where they are, and for good reason. Most who find themselves in a world of pleasure and peace do not want to leave, especially when the surrounding worlds are so perilous. They do not understand my wanderlust.

And this world is indeed dangerous, and somehow it has grasped hold of me. It consists of barren plains, desolate mountains and foul water. The creatures and beings which inhabit it are unwholesome. This land is a blighted waste.

I do not know how long I’ve been here; this land plays tricks upon one's mind. Time is hard to gauge here. I believe I’ve been here a long time, although I’m beginning to ascertain that others have been here much longer than me.

I’ve just spent some time with an old woman in the hopes of finding out how to get out of here. She invited me to her house - a ramshackle tower that teetered so precariously, I knew not how it stood. As you can imagine, I entered with trepidation. But I recognized her as having power, and I thought maybe I would get some answers from her.

I did not. She was crazed. I think maybe she was someone like me once, someone who came here and became marooned. Her house was filled to the brim with ancient, arcane tools, miscellaneous devices of divination, dusty and weathered tomes of power. Some of her implements were things I had never seen before. If she could become trapped here…

Most of the objects, which were strewn about or piled one on top of the other, were ripped, broken... All were covered in the dusty film of disuse. On her walls, floor and ceilings she had written runes, drawn diagrams, and calculated formulas. They were her attempts to leave this place. Upon closer examination it seemed to me that the earlier ones were pretty much right, while the most recent were entirely wrong.

She may not have lost her power, but she could no longer tap into it. It was as good as gone.

And, as far as getting any worthwhile information from her went, I got little. She spent most of the time babbling in incoherent riddles.

She asked me if I would like to spend the night. She mistook my hesitation and lucidly replied (and with what I thought was maybe a wry smile on her face,) “I realize that you wouldn’t want to share a bed with a hag like me. I was only suggesting that you could spend the night here, downstairs, until morning. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.”

Suddenly, I had a vision of what would happen if I succumbed to her kindness. I saw myself residing here with her and forgetting my quest of trying to flee this world. Quickly, I excused myself and went for the door. She called out a warning that was nearly too late. As I began to open the door, a wind found purchase upon it and ripped it wide open, revealing a howling chasm outside where there had been a placid plain only moments ago. Yelling above the wind’s din, she pleaded with me to shut the door. I reached out, grabbed the handle and slammed the door closed.

“Are you crazy? You can’t just go and open a door like that. You have to open it a crack and take a peek first. Who knows what's changed since you closed it last?"

Her eyes, which peered at me curiously from underneath her mop of matted hair, seemed clearer than before.

“Who doesn’t know that? How come you're asking me all these questions? Who are you?”

“Somebody who must be going, I am afraid.”

“Well good, you should be afraid, and if you must be going then you can try leaving by the back door. Remember open the door a crack, peek first and then leave if it’s safe.”

She followed me to the back door. I opened it and saw it led into the interior of a dark building, some type of an enclosed coliseum. It was quiet, but had a sense of foreboding about it.

“You are in luck; this seems a better place than most. You are going to try to leave, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She seemed about to say something more, then changed her mind. And as I stepped out of her home she shut the door behind me, while mumbling spells of good luck on my behalf.

A better place than most it may have been (for this world); nevertheless, this complex was still dank and evil. It was constructed almost solely of rusty metal with multileveled staircases leading up and down on every floor. Each story in itself was a maze of walls and tangle of debris. Murky water dripped everywhere. The place smelled foul.

I do not know not how long I wandered this place seeking an exit. Eventually, however, I heard a sound of another. I almost missed the tink-tink-tink his steps made upon the metal, sounding very similar to dripping water. I followed the sounds until I saw him.

He was a misshapen creature and hunched over. Except for the stag’s horns upon his head he appeared much like a satyr. He was picking his way about this place slowly, as if he were diseased, or perhaps lame. He was frightening to behold; there was a presence about him that suggested illness or danger or both.

Despite this, I called out to him. He seemed to lift his head for a moment, but he continued on. I called again but to no avail, he either didn’t hear me, or wouldn’t heed me. I was beginning to feel desperate, so I called out to him once more, but this time it was not with my voice, it was with my mind.

What was left of his mind was such a jumble of woe and pain I could make little sense of it. Eventually I got the feeling that this creature, unlike the old witch, was a native born here. His mother or sire he remembered not but, most likely, he was the progeny of a union between interlopers from other worlds. He spent his time walking and pacing here in this foul place. At first the walking had soothed him; now it was just a compulsorily act that offered no solace.

I needed more from him – a way out, and so I reached deeper. Instantly I felt resistance, resentment, as if he had finally become aware of an intrusion into his mind. He approached me, and like the witch, he seemed to have become momentarily awoken from his stupor. He grew, became menacing, and seemed to tap into an old, unknown, and potent power. I instantly realized he could kill me if he chose.

I gambled. I did not break off my contact with him, but simply changed my focus from prying to an appeal. 'Please, all I want to know is how do I get out of here? How do I get out of here? How do I get out of here? That’s all I want to know.'

An arm’s length from me, he stopped. He reached into me, and this time it was my mind that was rummaged through. I do not know what he sought, but he seemed placated when he was done. It was only after he had hunched over again and started to tink-tink-tink back off into his hazy world that I realized he had imparted upon me directions to the “frant o’face” - whatever that was.

Sure enough, the path he had etched in my mind’s eye did indeed lead somewhere - to a heavy metal door. The door had a handle and a strange horizontal slit in it. The handle did not turn; the door was locked. I knocked, then pounded on the door and there was no answer. I peered through the slit in the door.

Beyond was a small room. In there were cabinets bulging with papers, scrolls, tablets and the like. In the middle of the room was a desk, also covered in mounds of paper and strange counting devices. Behind the desk sat a small, elderly man who wore a strange hat - it was nothing more than a translucent, green brim attached by a strap. He was scribbling away not with a quill, but with an odd, yellow writing implement that seemed to require no ink. He seemed oblivious to my presence.

I shouted a greeting through the slit to which he answered, “We’re closed.” That was all he said to me and he said no more, even though I pleaded (and then eventually) cursed and threatened him. He just went on with his writing and calculating. I tried, but could not penetrate his mind, although I could have sworn for an instant he mentally communicated to me 'you’ll have to do better than that.'

I COULD do better than that. I placed my one hand through the door’s slit and with my other hand I grabbed the handle. There was a loud grinding of metal as I ripped the door off of its hinges. I tossed it aside and stepped into the room.

Unfazed, the scribe continued to write a moment longer. Then he put down his writing instrument and looked up at me. “I’ve been waiting for you for some time...you sure took your sweet time getting here you know. So, Sonny, do you have a question you'd like to ask me?”

“How do I get out of here?”

“How do I get out of here? How do I get out of here? That's the problem with your generation; always thinking in terms of me, me, me. I mean, have you taken a good look around lately, boy? I think the issue here runs a little deeper than just you. Maybe you ought to be asking yourself what you are supposed to be doing, rather than where’d you’d like to go."

"Anyway, I can tell you this much; if you can figure out what you should be doing, maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to figure out how you can get back home. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I've got to get back to work. If you think this god-forsaken world is a stink pit now, just wait and see what it's like if I stop doing all this (and with that he flings some of his papers at me) for just ten minutes of time. Because then you'll see what a complete hell hole it really can become."

Before he is even done talking I can already see what he means. I know what I have to do. I think I have known all along what it was I had to do, but I was just too afraid to do it. I am afraid no longer.

But before I start this task I have a smaller one that needs attending to first. I have to send all of the wretched denizens of this world to my home, one by one. I smile ruefully knowing that some of my people will balk at this, but I know that most will receive them warmly. Why should they not? There is plenty of room.

So I start with the scribe and send him on his way. I see him there in my world and his face looks relieved. He is reclining in a strange bed-like-chair as one of my people presents him with a drink. I do not recognize the colorful elixir she delivers to him, perhaps the concoction is indigenous to his world? And what is it sticking out from it I wonder? Is it what it appears to be - a miniature, garish parasol?

Then I send the antlered one. I can see him in my land too. His mind clears and the load is lifted off of his back. He straightens up tall and begins to run. He is so fast; he is faster than us all.

I send the old woman home next. In a moment she is a bright, beautiful goddess and I realize she was not old at all, but was so covered in despair and madness she only seemed so. She laughs joyously at the running satyr and this is lovely to hear. This pains me and I'm reminded it be will eons before I too can be there. For a moment I feel I would give anything to be at her side jesting, in the hopes of hearing a little more of her musical laughter.

My fate, alas, this is not, for when I’m done sending every last being from this world to mine, I will begin the larger task at hand - I will tarry no longer. I shall tear this bleak world apart; plain by plain and mountain by mountain. I will tear it all asunder.

And only after that is finished shall I go home.