A World to Call My Own (Part 3) - The Cracks Are Showing, Michael

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Year? Day?

I walked with a spring in my step out of my modest house. It wasn't much, but it had a real charm to it. I bought it for cheap and fixed it up myself. I took pride in my little abode. I had finished my morning calisthenics and was off to work. I made it to the office right on time. Ruth, a larger woman with a gentle smile, placed a stack of folders on my desk.

She leaned down to my level, "Today's work, sweetheart." she put her hand on mine, "You work harder than anyone, Michael. If you ever need some rest, I can pick up the slack." She seemed concerned, I appreciated her care for me, but I never wanted to show off that miserable, cowardly part of me that dominated my previous life to anyone.

"Don't worry," I assured her, "I haven't worked a day since I got here; I've loved every second of it." I beamed. The folders on my desk showed displaced children in the area. It was my job to find homes for the little ones. It was my calling; seeing their smiles as a happy family picked them up healed my broken heart. One folder slipped out of the pile and onto the floor. I went to pick it up by was shocked by the face on the file. I saw myself at 13 years old. It said both my parents were dead, one killed in prison, the other by cancer. The folder slipped out of my trembling hand.

"R-Ruth?" I barely got my words out, "What the hell is this!"

"Oh, a real sad case that one, an abusive father who died in prison and a mother who died from cancer. He's an orphan living in the system now" She paused before revealing more, "He won't speak, they say, some kind of trauma." I put the folder in front of her face.

"It's me, Ruth! Why?... It's me...." I needed to compose myself; I might have lost the focus that kept everything together.

"What do you mean, dear? You're right here with me." She took another peak at the folder, "It says Ezekiel Jacobson, Michael... Are you okay? If you need some rest, please don't force yourself." Sure enough, my face was gone from the folder. The sky flickered outside. Shit! I thought, FOCUS! Damn, It! I closed my eyes and imagined a network of threads holding this reality together. I gently wove the sky back together. I walked out of the building, my head on a swivel.

"Hiya Michael!" Jonathan called out to me. An older man, he was on break from doing his little odd jobs. He was a good man. He helped with my house and would always listen when I needed to talk. "Are you okay, bud? Looking a bit pale...."

"I'm fine, Johnny... Just having a bit of a day... That's all." I was unable to keep my eyes on him. I was hunting for inconsistencies or contaminations.

"Okay, pal... Listen, anything you need; I'm here for you...." He placed a hand on my shoulder, "You know, Michael, I'm glad to know you; you're like the son I never had." We met eyes, but far behind, just barely visible, I saw my Father walk out of a building. He caught me with a scornful stare before disappearing... Gone as quickly as he came. His gaze overwhelmed me. He No, no, no, no! What is he doing here? He's not welcome here! Not in my world! How did he slip in? My world was out of focus, and my consciousness shook. Great darkness covered the sky. Get it together! I can't lose this! It's all I have... Once again, I dove into the structure of the world. Something was breaking and letting the pain in. The world I built, never to be hurt again, was being corrupted somehow.

I found it, the barrier blocking out my life in the real world. The memories I pushed far down were rearing their ugly heads, causing tears in the narrative I wrote for myself. I patched it quickly, but the cracks were starting to show. I increased my diligence and focused on my life in my world. I welcomed any distractions, but the narrative began to get messy. Heavy rocks were occupying my stream of consciousness, and more little reminders triggered the reflections of my trauma. It took a while, but I slipped into my routine once more.

Year ??? Day: Later

Things had been slow at work; we were going through a period when few parents were looking for adoption. We held down the fort; not a single one would be left behind. The news was the same as always. The anchor on the TV blared in the office.

"Once again, we have sunny skies and comfortable weather!" He said with a grin. "Yesterday, little Jezebel lost her stuffed bear, but Peter retrieved it. Peter continues his good work in the community! Thanks from all of us to the fire department." The anchor suddenly dropped the grin and stared off into the void. He looked back up, now sporting a grin too wide for his face.

"What a sweet little town... Michael. How quaint this world you built for yourself." The anchor's grin widened. "How much longer can you last... Michael." The anchor's eyes flashed yellow. "Hey Michael, why not look at the hourglass..." I pushed my body into my chair, white-knuckling the armrest. The anchor stood up and locked his eyes, not on the camera, but mine. "Who knows? Maybe time is nearly up... C'mon, just a peak..." The anchor sat back on his chair. He laughed as he swiveled to and fro.

The hourglass... I haven't looked once. I thought. I can't... If I look and hardly any time has passed, I'll lose my mind. I had stayed resolved never to check it; a watched pot never boils, after all. No! I'm not falling for it! Courage and resilience, all I ever needed and never had were those two things. The anchor tapped the desk,

"You really are so easy, you know...." The anchor stared past me. I turned around to find Delilah, the beautiful secretary and office princess. She and David had an on-again-off-again relationship, they loved each other, but neither could muster up the courage to make the first move...

Delilah, with a familiar grin and glowing yellow eyes, slowly made her way to me with a dance routine. She stepped gently, effortlessly. She hopped on a desk and twirled like nobody was watching, elegantly... I was snapped out of this trance the moment she spoke. She held my head in her hands.

"Oh, Michael... Are you not sick of your imaginary friends? Ahh... this cardboard world, held together by twine." Delilah moved within inches of my face, "All these sickly sweet drones constructed entirely from scraps of the TV tropes that convinced you of what an ideal life would look like." Delilah backed up and sat atop the desk across from me. "It's sad, really... To be surrounded by the life you never had... A mockery." Delilah poked me with her foot, "It's faker than fake... Michael" The grin stayed plastered on even as she spoke. "You make this world and can't even fill it with your friends and family... Tragic. You have nothing... Michael." I slumped against my desk, sitting on the ground. For a moment, I was back in my bed just after Mother died. I was wracked with sobs and disgustingly malnourished, a walking corpse. Then, I snapped back into my world. Luke, my boss, was there to meet me. Luke put an arm around me.

"Well, Michael... Quit?... Or go mad?" Luke razor sharp teeth clacked as he spoke. "Either way... I'm having my fun...." Luke brought me up with him. His eyes turned back to their deep, piercing blue.

"Michael... you good buddy?...You look like you've seen a ghost." I dropped to the floor, and my stomach wrenched.

"I have to go..." I stood up and ran out. Away from my friends and coworkers, away from my job, and away from my melting mind.

My world was no larger than two square miles. I crammed everything I needed in this little space. Early in construction, I imagined a creek when I made the woods as a border. I once saw a photo in an old album of Father and his brother playing in one. I'd come to this creak only once before; the day I saw Father after escaping my office, I found myself atop a stone overlooking the little creek. The creek ran softly through the woods. It was only a few feet wide. The gentle sound of babbling water and the little noises of the wildlife began to stitch the narrative back together. I lay atop the stone, reflecting on my life here. It was simple but fulfilling; I didn't want to lose this life. The people here were my family. I returned to my house after dark. Matthew, the one officer in this little town, stopped me as I walked home. He pulled up close, one arm out the window,

"Howdy Michael, need a ride?" He looked somewhere between concerned and confused; it was the dead of night, after all, and I didn't look so great either. I looked at him with my red eyes and bags of stress.

"Matthew... I'm fine; it's been a tough day." I ran my fingers through my long hair and pinched the bridge of my nose. I tried to focus up and get back on track. The story of my little world was being disrupted increasingly by anomalies. "I could use the fresh air. You can go on ahead."

Matthew looked at me and sighed, "Well, suit yourself. Stay safe out there!" He drove off, and I continued my walk home. Along the way, I couldn't stifle this unnerving feeling that something was hiding in every shadow. My world had a life of its own. Unexpected events cropped up from time to time. They had started to get bigger and harder to control.

I opened the door to my empty home and walked in. I sat down on my couch and put my head back. Are things going to keep getting worse? Everything was going so well for years... Even in this dream world, I can't really make it without Mother. I was playing my role just right, but without Mother, it felt like I had no anchor to any reality, not even my own little game of house. I walked to the kitchen. It was completely empty. I couldn't waste mental energy recreating the complexities of taste, and my diet before moving to this place was just frozen foods and snacks. I looked to my dining table and was greeted with a shock that caused my entire world to nearly fall apart. It was Mother! She sat perfectly still in a chair in the corner of the room. "Mother!" I shouted, running up to her. "You're here... Oh my god! You're here!" I went to throw my arms around her, but I hit empty air. I can't touch her... Why?! I spoke to her gently, "Mother, it's me; it's Michael." She had no reaction and continued to stare at nothing. I waved my hand in front of her face. I thought I had her... just for a second. At least I could have had her in this world.

From the beginning, I tried to imagine Mother in my world, but my mind was blocking my attempts. My guilt over not being there for her stopped me from bringing her back. Aside from that, when I did nearly succeed, there was always something wrong. It ended up being terrifying in its uncanny nature. So close to her, but something was always missing. It was less painful to keep her out of my world completely. Seeing her in front of me was another cause to feel pain over her death. If I couldn't have her, I wouldn't accept the three-dimensional obituary that sat before me.

I got in front of her, "Get out!" I yelled. "You're not her! Get the fuck out now! GET OUT OF HERE!" I screamed with tears in my eyes. I lost my composure. Time in my world stopped, and cracks appeared in the air. The intangible thing that looked like Mother fixed me with an empty stare. She kept a stoic face, but now tears ran down her face. She had my attention in a vice grip. We were back in my room, where she had to coax me to leave the safety of my blankets after Father punished me. I was a child once again. She lifted the blankets and hugged me. We were back in my world. She mouthed something I couldn't make out while crying and then disappeared. I closed my eyes. I heard an ear-splitting sound of glass being broken. And when I opened them again, I was back in that goddamn white room.

I averted my eyes from the hourglass. It would be some time before I was stable enough to recreate my world. I hadn't been back here in god knows how long. The room felt too small. I felt like the wall pushed against me in every direction, crushing me. It was so quiet. I wasn't breathing; my heart wasn't beating. I had to force those sensations with effort. I didn't need air or blood circulation at all. It just made me feel closer to being human.

Father's belt lay on the floor, faded from hitting my back and behind. I thew it into another corner of my cage and sat in silence. Out of the silence came a single sound that demanded my attention. I heard each individual grain of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass. I can't believe it! Don't check! It'll only make it worse! I pleaded with myself. Shamefully, I couldn't resist the urge to check, even knowing the consequences. I turned my head. My jaw dropped. The last time I checked it, it was a little under 1/10 of the way there; now, it was 1/20 of the way full. I broke into a complete panic. What happened?! BACKWARDS?! I can't do this! I can't do this! No! No! My thoughts were shrieking. The dam holding back my pain broke. I smashed my head on the floor, not feeling anything, of course. I noticed a small slip of paper under the hourglass. I grabbed it, hoping for some kind of help. It could only have been from the djinn, it read,

I hope you didn't think the hourglass was accurate; I put it there for decoration. I hope its beautiful and sleek design eases some of your distress. Don't worry. You're nearly there. Or, perhaps, it has been but a few days. Time is quite unreliable, with nothing around to measure it against.

I raged for hours—or maybe days. Hell, maybe even seconds. I prepared to repair my broken world. It was all I had. I knew the moment that I read the letter I wouldn't make it out of this unscathed. I was beaten and hopeless. But, for once, I wanted to do better than collapse against adversity. I gathered my determination. Wait for me, Mother. I will bring you back.


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