by J Niessen
*****
The intimate engagement Adelle and I share reconstitutes my admiration toward her. What’s perplexing is why she would instruct me to wait here afterwards, in this room, before she entered the clock, after already explaining that we have to keep moving on. “Computer, is there a way out of this?” I ask, lifting my eyeglasses to a suitable and more comfortable position.
“Yes, Lt. Charles Staples” the soft voice responds. “You must find an alternate way out that differs from the two main doors which have already been used.”
Glancing over at the extra door, opposite from the one I believe I entered through, I wonder why I can’t use that exit. When my partner Adelle stepped into the doorway of the clock, its structure folded inward and disappeared. What if I never see her again? Regaining my composure I realize I can’t let panic lead to hysteria and dominate my stability. I have to trust that my fiancé can self provide, and gather comfort knowing she found an easy way out of here.
Studying the simple room I turn to find a small dot at the lower corner of a plain white wall with no apparent doors. Walking toward the small spot the conveyer belt below my feet turns, and keeps me from advancing. However the black impression increases in size. Excited, I run and realize that it’s a tunnel. It quickly broadens to the point at which it’s all around me.
I’m surrounded by darkness. The environment I’m in is cold. Something has grabbed a hold of me by the skin of my chest and is pulling me. I fight against it but its strength increases. I struggle to keep my footing by sheer will, but the immense fight is exhausting. I fret having to give in quite soon. Exerting the last bit of mental energy left in me I overcome the dominant force. An inner determination has grown stronger inside me. I can’t give up, no matter what the challenge is. I have to find Adelle and ensure that she is safe, so that we can be together again.
The darkness is gone. I find myself standing atop a theatrical stage. Many have gathered in the audience for the performance I am attired for. I wear a black tuxedo, white collar shirt, and black slacks. Grip an ebony cane and carry a secretly collapsible top hat. Most of the patrons are here for the magical talent I offer. A few are here for a different reason.
I can continue to exist in this illusionary world, always preparing for breathtaking acts and putting on death-defying feats, thus expanding my success and live off the enthusiasm my audience projects and adorns. Or I can confront the opportunity to move on, by remaining where I stand with welcomed enthusiasm from the audience, and accept the powerful laser bullet that will be shot at me from a troubled audience member.