The Darkness of the Womb

by Knight, Richard

  The king could be large or small. Fat as a whale or thin as a rail. But no matter his form, he always wore a long purple robe that matched the color of his exposed, beating heart. And boots, he also always wore boots.

  He was a king who only had one goal in life: to guard the emerald door behind his throne. It was his only purpose, which was apropos, since that’s what he was – Purpose.

  He was the reason that every human being desired to be something in life, even if they didn’t know what they wanted to be or had forgotten. He was the embodiment of ambition. He was order. He was structure. He was the reason someone might see their house blown away but still not lose faith in God because they believed it happened for a reason—as everything has a reason.

  Everything.

  While Purpose was all these aforementioned things and more to mankind, he was also impatient. He shifted again in his throne. What the hell was taking her so long?

  The room he sat in had four doors. The door to his left was made of steel. It was meant to keep intruders out. So far, it had done an immaculate job. Since the creation of mankind, no human had ever seen this room, or him, for that matter.

  The emerald door behind him was blocked by his silver throne. Behind the door was the entrance to mankind’s universal mind. It was where, if one were to go through it, one could speak directly to mankind and tell them to do anything they wanted. For instance, one could say, “Hey, you, shove something sharp in your eye!” and all of mankind, like zombies, would grab the nearest pointy item and shove it right through their cornea, unaware of why they were doing it, but unable to resist the urge to do exactly as they were told. It was for this reason that the door was never to be opened. While Purpose sometimes found it strange that the sole purpose of a door was to stay closed, he never questioned his duty. It was what it was, and he served no greater purpose than to make sure it remained steadfastly closed. Thoughts could be dangerous.

  The third door led to a glass balcony. He never went out onto the balcony, never felt a need to look down at the crowd of souls congregated outside of his castle, refusing to enter. They, too, had a purpose, he supposed, but he didn’t care what it was. If they wanted to come into his castle, they could, and if they didn’t, they didn’t have to. He couldn’t care less.

  To his right was the fourth and most mysterious door of all. He revered it above all others. Its polished wooden surface and golden doorknob reflected light and almost appeared to glow. Purpose also had no clue what was behind it.

  When the world of man first lit up, Purpose was already sitting in his throne with the knowledge of what he was born to do. He was born to guard the doors and to give mankind purpose to live. From that very moment he inherently knew what was behind the emerald, metal, and glass doors. But all the focusing in the world would not reveal what lay behind door number four. And since he believed that none of the doors should be opened, he began to grant even more importance to it. Why else could he not see through that particular door, but could through all the others, if it wasn’t important? For half an eternity he had pondered what might be on the other side. At times, he thought he heard light snoring or coughing coming from behind it, and finally the answer came to him. It must be his Creator. His master. His God. It only made sense. Someone must have created these worlds that existed inside and outside of man. Things just don’t happen randomly. Everything has a purpose. It all happens for a reason.

  In his heart he knew that one day the Creator would finally awaken, and on that day, Purpose will gladly give up his throne to Him. But for now, Purpose would continue to be the king of this world and guard the doors from evil. Evil came in a variety of shapes and sizes, but he never failed to recognize it. All he had to do was close his eyes and he would see it, no matter its location or current form. Currently, that evil traveled under the name of Jeff Haunt and his wife Marigold, parents to Aiden Haunt, the potential world destroyer. The two, helpless and brainless humans were being led with a dangling carrot of hope by none other than Imagination, the traitor to all mankind.

  Just thinking about them made him shift in his seat again. Having all this excess flab was a pain.

  Purpose checked his watch and started tapping his fingers again. Where the hell was Logic, anyway? He called for her over an hour ago.

  His heart began to rattle like a telephone. About time! Purpose opened his robe letting the bright, purple beam radiate out from his chest onto the cold, gray floor. It hit the ground with a splash and formed a large portal by his feet.

  He watched the purple light dance inside the portal, sparkling with beauty.

  As he continued to shoot the twisting beam from his chest, he could hear light snoring behind the wooden door again.

  Yes, my Lord, all of this will soon be solved.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Logic,” Purpose called into the portal. “We don’t have time to waste. Come on.”

  A crystal wall shone on the other side of the portal, its many facets bouncing the purple light around from one corner to the other. A small dot appeared in the center. At first, it hovered near the center of the wall, but as the king called out for Logic, the dot stretched horizontally, expanding within the wall until there was a bright, silent explosion. From that explosion, a light-skinned black woman with blue eyeliner and a small, rigid face emerged. In her flat chest, there was a visible, glowing sphere. It was orange, the color of Logic.

  Logic represented her namesake. It was because of her that two plus two equaled four and that mankind accepted that answer.

  “This can be fixed,” Logic said, looking like Ms. Davis, the vice principal who had so meticulously kept track of Haunt’s every mistake. “Everything can be fixed.”

  “Then let’s fix it,” Purpose said.

  “Open the wooden—”

  “Come up with something else,” Purpose said, dragging his hand down his flabby face and exhaling.

  “But it will stop them,” she pleaded. “Imagination’s only doing this because he thinks there’s a God back there. But if you’ll just prove—.”

  “I’m not arguing with you about this again, Logic. We don’t have time for that. Come up with something else. You’re wasting time.”

  “I’m wasting time? Despite the fact that this could all be resolved if you’d—”

  “Look, Logic, no. For the millionth time, no! Every time there’s a possible messiah, you always say the same thing. Open the wooden door. Well, it’s getting old, and this is serious.”

  “I am taking this seriously. Just look at me!”

  Purpose noticed the lines beneath her eyes, which he had never seen before in the many millennia he’d known her. Her heart, which was her life force and usually looked so calm, shot sparks as it floated in an irregular, triangular pattern in her chest. He had never seen her so panicked.

  “But Logic, you know I can’t,” he said. He lowered his sharp tone. “It goes against everything I believe in. Everything I am. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing, “which is why I’m a nervous wreck. But you have to listen to me, Purpose. You have to understand. Let’s say there actually WAS a God behind that door. Let’s say, something created mankind in its own image and it was all thought out and planned. Let’s…” she paused, pinching the bridge of her nose as if it hurt her to think this way. “Let’s say all this was true and this force is located behind that wooden door, which, in itself, is located in the human mind. “Let’s say that everything you believed about that wooden door was true. If Imagination does make it to your room and has the ability to open the wooden door, don’t you think it would be better if you opened it before he got to it so he couldn’t use it as leverage against you?”

  “Imagination won’t open the door,” Purpose said. “Don’t you get it? He won’t even get into this room. So let’s not worry about that. Marigold’s the one we need to talk about. Imagination clearly talked to her before she got here. What do you
think we should we do about her?”

  “She’s irrelevant.”

  “But she’s the one who’s having the baby!”

  “Yes, but you’re missing the big picture here, Purpose. There have been thousands of so-called messiahs in history. Literally thousands. And this Aiden Haunt’s mother is no different from any of the other mothers who have conceived one in the past. She’s only human. She isn’t special. Neither is the child for that matter. But Imagination is important and it’s his involvement in all this that bothers me. He’s never pushed for a messiah before. Ever. But he’s pushing for this one, and I think it’s because he wants to control him. For some reason, he wants to mold the future in a way that he sees fit, and you know damn well that ‘God’ is at the forefront of all this. He has to be. He has always been. You know how big of a part Imagination played in the creation of religion for mankind. It’s because he thinks there’s a God behind the door. He genuinely thinks he’s real.”

  Purpose exhaled. This was true. Imagination had used mankind to form the concept of religion based on Purpose’s own beliefs about what was behind the wooden door. But that didn’t mean that God wasn’t real and wouldn’t come back after He woke up. Purpose leaned into his armrest. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Why else would Imagination talk to the parents directly before they got here if he didn’t have plans for them?” Logic continued. “He’s even gotten Instinct involved, and that’s what scares me, Purpose. What if Instinct transforms?”

  Purpose relaxed. If this was her primary concern, then he could calm her nerves. Instinct wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He was still one of them.

  “Look, Logic. Instinct might have been confused with Marigold in the Barrier, but he’s not going to fall for Imagination’s plans. He’s still bringing people to the castle. His main purpose is still, and will always be, to help mankind, not hurt them. And siding with Imagination would hurt them. He knows that. He’s not dumb. So we don’t have to worry about him. What we do need to worry about is the baby’s mother. And his father. He’s here, too, for some reason. I can’t figure out why. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Like I said, the parents are not important,” Logic said. “If this family doesn’t work out for him, then he will move on to the next one, and then the next. But what bothers me is that he is willing to PUSH Instinct to get him to work with him now. You heard Instinct back in the Barrier. He begged Marigold to not make him transform. Begged her.” She shook her head. “I know you won’t allow yourself to believe that we’re gods, but we’re as close as anyone could get given what we represent, and Instinct was the one who was begging her, not the other way around. It was a god supplicating to a human. That’s what we’re dealing with now. Who knows how far Imagination’s willing to push Instinct with Jeff Haunt? That’s why I think Imagination told Marigold to head toward the Forest, because he knew that Instinct would have to react to save her. We’re just lucky he didn’t. But if that’s the case, then we need to end this now. You know neither of us could beat Instinct once he transforms. Instinct is the strongest of all of us in his natural state, and if Imagination turns him into a weapon against us…” She rubbed her forehead. “We need to make sure that doesn’t happen. If he does transform, then mankind is doomed. Imagination will lead mankind right off a cliff.”

  Purpose steeled himself against the idea of Instinct as a weapon. He couldn’t allow himself to believe her. He wouldn’t be able to make any wise future decisions if he did.

  “Well, if you’re worried about him getting through this emerald door, you can stop,” he said, throwing his thumb back to it. “Nobody’s getting through it. Not even Instinct.”

  “But you’re only as powerful as mankind needs you to be, Purpose. You’re strong in mankind’s mind, there’s no doubt about that, but Instinct is stronger. He rules over all of us. Even more so than Love. He just doesn’t know it. The desire to survive is greater than the desire to produce life. If Instinct were to transform into his natural, purest state, then none of us could stop him. Not even all of us combined. You need to prove to him that a God doesn’t exist behind the wooden door. Imagination needs to stop this insane mission before he destroys this world and the world beyond it. Opening the wooden door will prove that getting man to see God is fruitless, since God isn’t behind the door. God doesn’t—”

  She stopped herself and stared at Purpose with a disheartened look. Her skinny, gleaming lips couldn’t stop trembling.

  Purpose sighed. They hadn’t gotten anywhere. Just as she could never believe in what she couldn’t see, he could never do anything but the opposite. They were like two people on opposite sides of the world, arguing about the weather. He had to end this now. The more they talked, the closer the parents of Aiden Haunt got to Imagination’s skyscraper, and that’s what scared him the most. Imagination was unpredictable. There was no telling what he would do.

  “Is there any other option besides opening the wooden door, Logic? Any at all?”

  She closed her eyes and the orange spark in her chest flashed horribly. Purpose had to turn his head. It made him sick. The spark in his chest thumped like a drum and the purple light sprawled across the room. Their colors intertwined. It was purple and orange, the colors of fate.

  “There’s one other thing I could do to solve this problem, but it won’t be pretty. Are you sure there’s no possible way for you to open the wooden door?”

  “There isn’t,” he said. “Everything has a purpose. Even that door, which is not meant to be opened, just like the other doors. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Then I will do what needs to be done. I won’t lie to you, Purpose. I might never forgive you for not doing what you know is right. Whatever happens from here on out is your fault, not mine. Goodbye.”

  She turned into a wisp of smoke like a blown out candle.

  The portal undid itself and the beam shot back into Purpose.

  He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his cold, silver throne.

  He strained against the silence of the room hoping to hear God snore again. Just one little snort or exhale and he would feel like he had done the right thing.

  But he heard nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Haunt crawled through the torrid desert on his belly. His skin felt like tempered glass as the sun screamed on his back. He swallowed razors with every breath he took.

  Water. I need some goddamn water.

  His head throbbed in the searing heat and the piss yellow sand seemed to go on ad infinitum. If only there was just a little bit of wind...but the air stayed stagnant. His body ached from lack of water,he’d stopped sweating miles ago. His dry eyes stung every time he blinked.If only there was a fucking draft!

  And some water. I’d sell my soul for some water.

  If not for the promise of the trees in the wavy distance, he would have given up long ago. But the more he crawled, the closer he got to them, even if it was only by inches. He hadn’t looked up since his legs gave out. Since then he kept his eyes to the ground. It was easier that way and looking at the trees the entire time would have been disheartening. But now he had to look. He needed to see how much farther he had to go before he could see his Marigold again.

  He gathered his strength and pushed himself up, but only got half-way. The sand’s heat bit into his palms. His belt buckle, heated by the scorching ground, burned his skin. His head tilted up like a rusted drawbridge and—

  —The trees were actually farther away now! What the hell happened? They had been maybe a mile or two away when he started. Now they were definitely farther. It was like he had traveled backward. All he saw were their tall green spires disappearing into the bulbous, white clouds. The trunks looked like toothpicks, they were so far off. His heart sank and his elbows gave out. His cheek landed in the coarse yellow fire. It burned, but he soon felt strangely cool lying there. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs anymore. All he felt was the coolness of his
heart and the feeling that he had lost again. He had never felt as old as he did at that moment. All forty-seven years came crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

  He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he began to see a cool, damp darkness encroaching upon him. He welcomed the darkness. It would be his friend.

  He felt it close over him like shade. It was all-encompassing and eternal. If he lingered a little longer, he would be stuck in it forever. There were others in the darkness, too, but they staggered about. He could feel them grappling for him to join them.

  A gentle hand took him by his arm. He heard a voice.

  “One day, yes, the darkness will be your friend, Jeffrey, but not today.”

  It was a woman’s voice, and at the sound of it, he saw the darkness receding. The occupants in the darkness reached out for him one last time. He felt their frozen grasp on his clothes, but it was fleeting. They couldn’t hold him any longer. He blinked and they were gone.

  He stared at the sand again. His nose touched it. He rolled over and saw a figure standing over him, blocking the sun. His eyes fought to adjust to the brightness, but he recognized the tacky Christmas sweater from his childhood.

  “M…mom…?” Haunt croaked. The figure didn’t respond. She had a green aura about her and her presence didn’t feel ersatz like the woman he had seen on the couch in the white room. This woman seemed real, like she was here for him. She bent down so that her long face was closer to his and smiled. Her incisors showed and her long, black hair covered her ears. The freckles around her nose were just how he remembered them, from the big, splotchy one by her right nostril, to the ones that danced around her brown eyes like stars. He had a question in his head, but staring into her eyes, he forgot it.

  She smiled and kissed his forehead. At the touch of her lips, his mouth moistened with cold water. At first, it startled him as it was coming out of his cheeks like cracks in a dam. But his mother rubbed his hair and whispered, “Relax.” And he did. The water was sweet. There was a quick breeze from the east that cooled his forehead. In an instant, he was refreshed, as if all the miles he had crawled were nothing at all.