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Bittersweet Reverie: The Entire Story
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D-Lotus



Joined: 21 Oct 2004
Posts: 4123
Location: Hollywood, USA

Posted: Sat Feb 02, 2008 2:55 pm    Post subject: Bittersweet Reverie: The Entire Story  



Chapter 1

As the sun slowly mellowed, another dry, sunburned evening began to settle in the small California town. The heat had ceased to smother the air, and soon a crisp freshness would begin to enliven the atmosphere. Robbie could practically smell the baked earth on his hands and taste it on his parched lips. His back was sweating under the weight of his over-laden backpack, stacked with school books. Robbie barely noticed; he enjoyed the walk from school to his home, a low, cream-colored, ranch-style house with a small porch. It was only large enough to fit his family, especially now that Robbie had moved into his own room, bestowing his younger sister with their old room.

The saunter home was brisk and invigorating, and Robbie would always allow his mind to meander. He observed a bed of purple flowers planted to the side of the road; as he crossed by he moved into a powerful waft of fragrance which pervaded his smell. He smiled in wonder as he moved away from the saturated cloud of floral perfume. What if all of the air in the world smelled like that? he speculated

Robbie observed as the cars rolled by, silently grinding the sidewalk, humming and churning out smoke from their escape tubes. He imagined that every driver was surreptitiously glancing at him, peeking from behind their windows as soon as he stopped following them with his eyes. Finally one of the cars, sunrays reflecting on its gleaming hull, slowed up as its driver rolled down his shaded window and stared directly at Robbie, who in turn nodded back at his father.

The boy with the short chestnut hair halted and advanced towards his father's vehicle, which was already approaching the side-walk.

"Hey, kid. How was your day?" inquired Robbie's father, a mild-mannered, clean-shaven man.

"Fine." answered Robbie succinctly. He gazed outside yearningly as his father mutely drove off. He watched the trees, lampposts, and mailboxes zipping in and out of view and envisioned a giant knife protruding from the car which would cleanly slice and topple them. Robbie was about to cut down another signpost with his imaginary blade when his thoughts were disrupted by his father's speech. The enormous knife vanished as Robbie turned his head towards his father's seat., but the image of the fallen trees prevailed guiltily in his mind. If those trees are ever chopped through and collapse, I promise I'll fix them.

"Robbie. Are you listening to me?" insisted his father.

"Yeah." Robbie replied.

"Okay, then answer me when I speak to you." his father commanded petulantly.

"Okay. Fine." consented the boy.

"Robbie, I talked to your teacher today. She said you aren't taking class seriously."

"What?" exclaimed Robbie, "She's stupid! She doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"Robbie, why aren't you concentrating in class?" questioned his father, softening his voice.

"I don't know, I guess I get distracted." conceded the boy, and a surge of guilt in his chest caused his eyes to cast his eyes downward in shame. Robbie's father, however, made no further reply. "I keep daydreaming." Robbie said after a few moments of silence, accompanying his statement with a sigh.

"Well, son, your mother isn't going to be happy." declared his father, furrowing his brow. "But if you promise to concentrate in class, I won't tell her. Can you promise me you'll try harder?"

"Yeah, I promise!" Robbie earnestly assured.

The dusty car pulled into the driveway of their house. Robbie's mother's car was already parked in the garage, a sleek, black Toyota Avalon. Robbie pulled open the door of his father's old car wearily, and lugged his backpack outside apathetically. He waited for his father to lock the car and then slide his house key into the front door; Robbie strode into his room as quickly as he could, barely acknowledging his surprised mother.

"How was your day at school?" she called out as Robbie rushed through the living room.

"Fine." he muttered before he closed and locked the door of his own room. He tossed his backpack onto the floor and allowed his body to drop onto his bed. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what his life would be like if he were a better student. He visualized himself wearing a tuxedo, carrying slender, intellectual glasses on his nose, and his hair smartly combed to the side. He shook his head in distaste.

Opening his eyes again, he noticed an older boy sitting in a seat by the computer; a boy with a small mouth, delicate features, and a wise smile.

"Oh, hello, Mike, I didn't notice you were there." greeted Robbie, momentarily surprised.

"It's my fault," answered the older boy, standing up from his chair, "I should have warned you I was in here." He moved towards the bed languidly and sat down without eliciting a creak from the mattress. "You look sad today, Robbie."

"I'm not sad." denied Robbie, trying to hide his feelings.

"Robbie, you can't lie to me. I know you're unhappy today." said Mike, smiling knowingly.

"Alright, fine. I'm kind of mad." pouted Robbie.

"Why are you mad?" coaxed Mike, laying his hand over Robbie's shoulder.

"I'm mad at Mom and Dad. They're always bothering me about something."

Mike pondered noiselessly, and Robbie stared into his blue eyes, searching for the older boy's understanding. Those eyes were like clear blue lakes, calm and profound. But before Mike could arrive at a resolve, the doorknob rattled unexpectedly. When the intruder realized the door was locked, she knocked on the door.

"Robbie, are you inside there? Open the door." she appealed. Robbie trudged over to the door and opened it wide.

"What were you doing in there?" she asked suspiciously while brushing her dark-chocolate colored hair out of her line of vision in order to better distinguish his face.

"I was talking to Mike." answered Robbie. Abruptly, his mother's pink face drained of color.

"Why...why would you... say that?" stuttered his mother, gaping at him in astonishment.

"Because it's true!" responded Robbie, frustrated by his mother's behavior, "I've told you before!" She covered her face with her hands as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

"What's going on?" demanded Robbie's father as he arrived on the scene. Robbie's mother pointed at her son and sobbed.

"He...he told me that he was talking to... to Michael just now." she said, before burying her head in his chest and weeping disconsolately. Robbie's father's expression hardened, and his usual collected countenance disappeared.

"Why did you say that Robbie? You know that your brother died over a year ago." his father reproached him, "Why do you have make your mother suffer by saying those things?"

"But he's not dead! He's sitting on my bed, can't you see him?!" shouted Robbie.

"No, I can't, Robbie! You're imagining it all!" his father shouted back, and then Robbie's mother renewed her weeping more vigorously. Robbie's father sighed in exasperation and caressed his wife's head. "Stay in your room," he ordered Robbie, "I'll deal with you in a few minutes." Robbie's sister Adrianne peeked towards the commotion from within Robbie's old room; her father shot her a warning glance as well, and she retreated behind the door. Robbie shut his door as his mother and father walked outside onto the porch. His mother was still crying and his father was doing his best to comfort her.

"Do you see what I mean?" Robbie asked the boy sitting quietly on the bed, pointing in the direction where his parents had recently stood.

"Yes, I understand Robbie." replied Michael.

"If only there was a way of leaving this world..." Robbie mused, "If only I could go someplace where people would like me because I could imagine things that they couldn't..." He clenched his fist in vexation.

"Oh, but there is such a place." whispered Michael, his blue eyes shining eerily.

"There is?" Robbie gasped, his heart hammering excitedly.

"Yes." muttered Michael. "But you mustn't go there; I wouldn't have told you about it, except that I thought it might gladden you to know." he added apologetically.

"Never mind if I'm not supposed to go there," laughed an elated Robbie, "just tell me how to get there."

Michael observed his younger brother carefully. "Is that what you really want, Robbie? Would that make you happier than anything else?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Robbie, hugging his brother impetuously. Michael glowed with joy as he released his brother; his bliss twinkled in his eyes, obscuring all other emotions.

"If this is what you wish for the most," he said, "then I will instruct you how to leave this room, this world, and this universe."

"How?" asked Robbie eagerly.

"All you must do," stated Michael, "is lie down under your bed and fall asleep there."

"That's all?" demanded Robbie.

"That, and you must wish to leave this world with all your heart."

"Okay, I can do that." grinned Robbie. He swiftly crawled under the bed and closed his eyes, coughing twice due to the dusty carpet under his bed. Then he opened his eyes again, and frowned.

"Aren't you coming with me, Mike?" he requested.

"No," said Michael, lowering his head onto the floor until it was level with Robbie's, "My place is here, in this room."

"Okay, then; you'll be the one missing out." beamed Robbie, closing his eyes again and almost immediately falling asleep.

When he woke up, true to his brother's word, he was no longer lying under his bed in his room; he was lying on sparsely vegetated dirt, on the top of hump of a hill which was surrounded in all direction by a variety of small, bleak towns. The large, tall chimneys, incessantly discharging a foul coal black smoke denoted the towns as industrial centers. This place isn't like I thought it would be, thought Robbie, picking himself up and brushing off the dirt from his clothes.

The clouds were listless and heavy, and the somber sun shone through them half-heartedly. The towns, seven in all, appeared to be surrounded by marshes, and Robbie wondered whether he was located within an island. He chose a direction and bravely began walking towards one of the towns. He had noticed this particular town because he had caught sight a church steeple hiding behind some dark houses.

After a few steps, Robbie realized that he was ambling within the boundaries of a faded road which would not be noticeable except for the tread marks of a wagon of some sort. After a few more steps, as he made his way to the other side of the hill, he noticed a decrepit wooden signpost bearing seven arrow-shaped planks. Robbie could only distinguish some of the faded writing. Town #2, read one of the multiple arrows, pointing in the direction opposite Robbie was headed. Town #5, read another arrow. It didn't take much imagining to figure out what the other arrows said.

Robbie followed with his head the direction of the arrow which read Town #3, and observed that it pointed towards the steeple town. At the same time, he noticed a faraway figure making its way up the hill; Robbie could neither make out the person's face or attire, but he was fairly sure it was a masculine figure.

Chapter 2

The figure shuffled towards him up the hill, carrying a large, bulky brown sack on his shoulders. As he came nearer to the top of the barren hill, Robbie realized the man must be very strong, because the length and size of the sack nearly eclipsed the man's figure, and at the same time it caused him to stoop like a hunchback. His bent form and his stringy, sparse hair impressed upon any observer an air of morose dreariness. To add to this effect, he dressed in mud-splattered white cotton pants and sported, bare-chested, a tattered and scruffy brown leather jacket. His hefty arms and large, coarse hands strained to maintain the tautly tied sack onto his broad back. The stranger was sweating profusely even in the absence of an abrasive sun, and he was so focused on the sack protruding with indistinct objects that he did not realize he was approaching Robbie until the boy called out a timid "Hello!"

The startled man, as if suddenly waking from a sleep-walk, directed a glance of amazement at Robbie before stumbling, losing his balance, and lurching to the earth together with the brown sack, which burst open and spilled it's contents throughout the hill. A bewildered Robbie watched as a bizarre wheel-like object flew from the sack and rolled down-hill, fleeing out of sight.

But the man did not even bother to pursue any of the possessions which he had worked so hard to carry on his shoulders; he simply stared at Robbie mutely, and Robbie too stared back because to avert his eyes would indicate unfriendliness and perhaps guilt. If the man sprawled sideways on the floor, rubbing his nearly bald head in wonder was only a few moments ago burdened by his possessions, Robbie too was burdened by his consciousness; as he looked into the green eyes of the outlandish stranger, Robbie could not avoid recollecting his father's intellectual gaze.

"I'm Robbie," he said, endeavoring by means of conversation to disremember his father and break the silence with the stranger, "what's your name?"

The man furrowed his brow, creating multiple creases throughout his pale forehead and regarded his worn jacket wordlessly, as if only the grimy leather contained the answer to Robbie's question. Finally, as Robbie repeated the question, the man picked himself up and wiped the dust from his jacket, then he hauled the sack on to his back and began to recover the misplaced objects.

"My name is Citizen 103... Citizen #103." he muttered hoarsely, as Robbie abandoned discretion and followed the stranger in his search.

"That's a strange name. I'll call you Jack. Waddaya think, Jack?" grinned Robbie. The man halted and slowly swiveled around, bearing his depleted sack on his shoulders, until he faced Robbie. His green eyes sparkled with excitement like two jovial emeralds.

"Jack?" he enunciated, probing the syllables, "Jah-cuh. Jack. My name is Jack." He smiled for the first time, revealing a solid set of choppers, albeit a missing tooth. "How did you make that up?" asked the Goliath with the twinkling eyes.

"Are you kidding?" answered Robbie incredulously, "there's like a million Jacks everywhere. I don't know, Jack was the first thing I thought when I saw you." They ambled around searching for more of the runaway objects. "What are these things, anyway?" demanded Robbie, scooping up a small gear intertwined with steel wire and a mechanism of triangular cogs.

"I don't know, Raw-bee. I'm ordered to carry them to places, that's all anybody ever told me." His morose manner returned, and he grappled the sack more tightly.

"Which town do you live in?" said Robbie, thinking it wise not to pursue his previous question, lest Jack should become unresponsive.

"Town #3." was the laconic reply.

"You mean the Steeple Town?" queried Robbie. The bulky man chuckled, stretching his lips and exposing the gap in his teeth again.

"That's funny. Steeple Town." then he remained silent for another moment, "I like you, Raw-bee, you're funny."

"You're funny too, Jack. Funny lookin'." cracked Robbie, eliciting a roar of laughter from his companion, who almost released his load. "So, where you headed, Jack? Are you coming back to Steeple Town?"

"Yeah. I always come back, because they tell me to. Not my granddaddy, though. He did whatever he ever felt like. He helped to build the steeple, damn straight. That's what he always used to say all-a-time, damn straight. Those two words."

"I never met either of my grandpaws, they died before I was born." explained Robbie, "My mom told me once that her dad wrestled against a circus bear and didn't get taken down. And he swam across a frozen lake to escape a band of robbers." For a second, he pictured his mom narrating stories and then saw her crying; then the visual was gone.

"My granddaddy gave me this jacket," detailed Jack, still lumbering along with his heavy sack and bare chest, "It was a gift he gave me before he died. He said, 'dis jacket is yours, damn straight. And I've been wearing it ever since, damn straight."

"It's nice." lied Robbie, averting his face so that his companion would not discern his involuntary grimace. "Hey look, we're getting closer." pointed Robbie, noticing that the road had become clearly outlined and that the towering steeple was growing more proximate.

"Yeah." ascertained Jack glumly, "That's Citizen 75. He's the guard to Steeple Town."

Soon enough, an emaciated figure wearing slacks and an ill-cut linen shirt came into view. He yelled for the boy and the hulk to halt, and then accompanied his order with an authoritarian hand gesture.

"Who goes?" he challenged, squinting his eyes suspiciously in Robbie's direction.

"Citizen 75, it's me." Jack answered, "And this is Raw-bee."

"Robbie." the boy affably corrected.

"I don't care what that is. What's your number, Citizen?" glowered the guard, a man with a pinched nose and arched eyebrows.

"My name is Robbie. And you look like a Thomas. Not a Tom, only a Thomas." replied Robbie impertinently.

"Thomas?" mused the guard, sounding as if in a trance, "It sounds so peculiar, and yet it seems appropriate. I am Thomas."

"Thomas, can we..?" mumbled Jack, still clutching his sack.

"Absolutely not! You cannot pass until both of you are properly identified." responded Thomas gruffly, returning to his former tone. He was standing alone in the middle of road; there were no doors or gates barring the way behind him.

"I told you, my name is Robbie!" the boy said, anger mounting within him, "Why don't you let us pass?"

"It is strictly forbidden for anyone without identification to enter Town #3. I must retain you until my superior arrives, or wait for you to leave." pinched-nosed Thomas informed about the protocol.

"And when will your superior arrive?" echoed Robbie.

"That is impossible to know for certain. And you are hardly anyone to be asking such questions." replied the haughty guard.

Robbie frowned, exasperated, and Jack shrugged, resigned. "Wait, look!" an inspired Robbie exclaimed, pointing at the sky, "It's a flying donkey!" The guard raised his eyebrows, taken aback. "Yeah, really, a winged donkey, over there!" insisted Robbie, training his eyes towards a spot in the sky behind Thomas. Both Jack and the guard turned to look at the sky, and Robbie began stepping away before returning to tug on Jack's sleeve. Pinched-nosed Thomas remained rooted to the spot, shading his eyes with his hand and gawking at the sky as Jack and Robbie ran towards Steeple Town.

After a few minutes, the pinch-nosed guard cleared his throat and asked uncertainly, "Uh, where'd you say you saw it..?" Then he turned and cursed as he realized he was alone in the middle of the road.

By this time, Robbie and Jack were approaching one of the first small farms which marked the entrance to Steeple Town. Ahead of him, Robbie could discern an uneven cobbled road which twisted into the town's main street; it was certainly not the best place for vehicles, not even for horse-drawn carriages. The houses were rather beautiful, even if unkempt and slightly decrepit; their architecture was medieval, and they preserved within their wooden shutters, worn stones and old frame a noble spirit which the overshadowing factory to the west of town could not completely subdue. It was a strange arrangement, as if someone had simply forsaken three hundred years of development and jumped to industrialization. Robbie wondered how the townsfolk would react to his presence; so far, the reactions appeared to be polar- he had befriended Jack and run away from Thomas.

"Raw-bee, do you wanna go into town alone, or do you wanna come with me to my farm? I have a farm, they gave it to me so I could grow plants. I have to pick up something there." said Jack, interrupting Robbie's observations. To all appearances, the town was deserted; the only movement originated from the trail of factory smoke, oozing through the sky like a trickle of ink. Jack's farm, detached from the south of town by half a mile, was composed of a shabby shack and a tiny plot of land speckled with vegetation. To the east, where the sun sets and rises, the steeple beckoned; in the west abided the great factory, and to the north, away from town, the marshes glimmered like the north star.

Chapter 3

"Ok, Jack, let's go." Robbie consented.

They branched off from the main road, abandoning the weird cobblestones in front of them and descended a low, sloping hill into a less frequented path. To the sides of the path, scrubby vegetation grew from dry clumps of earth; Robbie occasionally spied a squirrel scrambling from a hole in the ground and skittering away. The landscape reminded him of the mountains behind his own house in California, where he would often bike with his family. Robbie searched for a clump of oaks, reasoning that the squirrels must feed on acorns or nuts, but he was bewildered by the absence of any trees in the area. He wondered how the squirrels nourished themselves, and to his horror and astonishment, Robbie observed that one of the squirrels, jumping from its underground hole and zipping over the cracked earth, quickly ensnared a disoriented shrew with its sharp, uncanny claws and began to devour it in view of the frightened boy.

"Pretty scary critters, huh?" said Jack, concerned by Robbie's fright rather than by the squirrel's behavior, which he seemed to acknowledge without fluster.

"Yeah." acquiesced Robbie, dry-throated, as he latched his hand onto Jack's sack in order to be more proximate to the graceless man, who would presumably protect him from the rodent. "How come there's no trees around here?"

"I don't know Raw-bee. I think my granddaddy told me there used to be lots, but then they disappeared."

"They did?" asked Robbie, his jaw hanging open in disbelief, "Why?" Jack didn't answer, but the expression on his face indicated that he had no hypothesis as to why an entire valley of trees would vanish. However, the stalwart Jack soon lightened up as they came within range of his farm, who's previous unsightliness from afar was now magnified. The walls of the shack were comprised of an assortment of wooden planks, its windows were but an open hole covered with a plastic sheath, and the roof, including a sooty chimney, was made of sheets of tin; the farm was equivalent in size to three mid-sized swimming pools, and it encircled rows of fledging plants sprouting from the callous earth within its wired fence. Even so, the walls were sturdy and upright, the rooftop tin sheets tightly fitted, and the rows of plants tailored into straight lines which made best use of the small plot-land; furthermore, the proud glow on Jack's pastel-colored face would cause any compassionate soul to repudiate every offense directed upon the giant's petite hovel.

"What are those?" Robbie pointed at the saplings.

"Trees." responded Jack, pushing aside the unlocked door and carefully placing his sack upon an iron table. The single room also contained a bed of the same material and some pewter dishes set upon an old-fashioned stove, as well as a cardboard box huddled against a corner.

"You're growing trees?" Robbie echoed Robbie, as he stepped into the hovel, whose floor was strewn with rushes and herbs.

"Damn straight." answered Jack, and he reached within a box to pull out a pen and pink paper. "My granddaddy told me to grow trees before he died, so I asked if I could have a farm and grow plants. And they gave me this farm. But they said that if I was going to stop working in the factory, I'd have to carry a sack full of things from town to town." He extracted a folded page of pink paper from his pocket, similar to the one he had withdrawn from the box.

"What's that?" Robbie asked, knitting his brow. There was something discomforting about Jack's responsibilities. Robbie now returned to his first thought on having spotted Jack lumbering uphill, Why would he carry a sack around like that?

"These papers, I've gotta fill'em out every time I come to town with my bag. They have to sign the papers and then they let me work on my farm. That's why I had to come back to the farm, so I could get another paper of-" Jack explained.

"But who's 'they'?" Robbie interrupted, baffled.

"The factory supervisors, silly." Jack stopped and pondered. "You're not from around here. Then where you from?"

"California." said Robbie, eliciting a dumb stare from Jack, "Never mind. What do we do now?"

"We go to the factory." said Jack, and Robbie groaned; his legs were tired. "Well, I've got a way we could get there faster, but I'm not supposed to-"

"Yes! I mean, c'mon, let's use it." pleaded Robbie, resting upon the firm bed to emphasize his weariness.

"Well, ok." relented Jack. He picked up his sack and led Robbie around the outside of the hovel, halting as he approached a stack of planks leaning against the shack. he pushed them aside with his big hands, revealing to Robbie the object that they concealed. It was an antiquated moped, little more than a bicycle with a motor attached. A washed out design of red and yellow flames caressed the moped's frame.

"It was my granddaddy's." said Jack, grinning, "Damn straight."

The moped sailed through the flatland, kicking up a trail of dust clouds, like a water-skier spraying water as he is tugged by a motor boat; at times it seemed to Robbie as though they hit a bump or a ridge and flew straight into the air, soaring into the sky and then floating down until the wheels collided violently against the ground, momentarily jolting them. Fortunately, Jack had a firm grip with his right hand on the moped, and Robbie, hair flying back and wind in his eyes, was clinging tightly to Jack's leather jacket. As impossible as one might deem it, Jack was driving with only one arm while enveloping his sack with the other. He was clearly experienced with his vehicle.

The ride stopped short of the town's entrance, as the protruding cobble stones proved too much of an obstacle for the moped. Robbie leaped from the vehicle onto the cobble stones and massaged his stiffened muscles as the exhilaration diminished. Jack parked the moped in the middle of the street without bothering to chain it anywhere. Robbie, already exploring the new environment, didn't notice Jack's lack of concern that the vehicle might be stolen, and they began walking towards the factory.

The town was as quiet as on their previous approximation; the factory, its emission towers like the turrets of a castle, was flanked on all sides by the medieval houses, and promised to be the town's nucleus of activity. The factory was a feudal manor around which the urban area flourished. How's that possible? The old houses had to be here first!, thought Robbie. Then he noticed that the steeple was directly opposite of the factory; a parallel tower. Perhaps the town had grown out of the steeple's bosom, but because of the factory's parallel position, the usurper paraded as the town's origin.

Whilst they advanced, the houses became more antique. Most houses began displaying latticed fenestral windows and Robbie even caught sight of some cruck-framed houses- a tree trunk split in two, selected because of its bent shape, ran from the corners of the house to the peak of roof, forming together an upside down U which supported the facade of the edifice. Robbie and Jack also passed through an abandoned marketplace, although the remains of food scattered throughout the street suggested that it wasn't always deserted.

As they drew nearer to the factory Jack seemed to grow more morose, nearly returning to the sullen state he was swathed in when Robbie first met him. Unexplainably, Robbie felt the impulse to ask Jack a question.

"Jack, how did your grandpaw die? I mean-" but Robbie never finished his question, because at that moment, the doors of the factory became visible behind a decrepit house. At the same time, an old woman appeared from an alleyway between houses and strode in front of them.

"Identify yourselves." she petitioned coldly. She had a curious gait; she shuffled her feet in small, gliding steps. She wore a blue skirt to her knees, and nylon stockings to her shoes. An open blue jacket, which covered a milky blouse, matched with her skirt and provided her an appearance of respectability. Her dyed blonde hair was cut short around her nape, and her steel blue eyes were like twin icebergs. Old age had rounded what was once a delicate nose, her neck, too, must have thickened, and her shoulders were almost unnoticeably hunched; still, she carried herself with composure, and her demeanor of rectitude did not conceal a last-gasp air of youthful vigor. Only a twitch in the corner of her mouth, which would occasionally transform into a smirk or a smile would betray her complete self-possession.

Robbie was perturbed because she reminded him of his old math teacher, but Jack was completely paralyzed.

"Citizen #2..." he whispered, barely audible. Nonetheless, Robbie was becoming accustomed to guards like pinch-nosed Thomas, and his answer was resolute, even defiant.

"I'm Robbie and that's Jack. Who are you?" The woman remained unmoved, and her eyes barely shifted from Robbie to Jack's bowed head. Despite that, she raised her eyebrows into what could be interpreted as an expression of recognition.
"Citizen #103," she turned towards Jack, "Please report to supervisor D. You, boy," she said, directing her intimidating stare towards Robbie, "you'll follow me if you know what's good for you." She began shuffling towards a factory wall and tugged on what transpired to be a secret door before disappearing behind it. Jack nodded his head and beckoned for Robbie to follow her. He looked scared. Robbie hesitated, but his friend insisted, almost pushing him towards the door, which was yet ajar.

"You have to go with her, Raw-bee. You have to."

"Fine. But where are you going?" Robbie asked, uneasy.

"Uh, don't worry about it, Raw-bee, I'll see you around later." Jack averted his eyes and walked off.

Somewhat fearful, Robbie opened the door and stepped into a small corridor from which a long, rectangular staircase commenced. He could hear the steps of the ascending woman far above. Drawing in a deep breath and forsaking all fears, he began racing up the stairs, two or three at a time, continually swinging on the handrail and propelling himself into the next flight. He stopped for a gasp of air on the fifth floor, finally exhausted by his game. But he caught sight of the woman waiting for him on the next flight, next to another door, and he quickly recovered, climbing anew until he reached her. Robbie glared at her, sweat beginning to form upon his forehead.

She knocked on the door as Robbie wiped his sweat with his forearm, and a voice answered from inside. The door creaked open. The woman nudged Robbie through the threshold and closed the door behind him.

Inside, a man wearing a white trilby hat over a ponytail, a matching white tie and a black shirt was staring at Robbie eagerly from across his desk. The room was covered in tapestries and all sorts of strange, ancient-looking objects, including a Mesopotamian-like statue acting as a lamp. The man's desk was surrounded by a semi-circle of television monitors, filled with surveillance images. The man was handsome and smiling.

"Robbie!" he cried genially, "I'm pleased to meet you, pal. I'm Bill- or as the call me around here, Citizen #1." He extended his hand. Robbie staggered forward, his legs wobbling from his recent physical effort, and held Bill's hand, who responded with a cordial handshake.

"How'd you know my name?" asked Robbie, sitting down in an armchair of Persian design offered to him by Bill.

"Robbie, you're a very special boy. How couldn't I have noticed you?" smiled Bill. He pointed at his surveillance monitors meaningfully.

"Me?" Robbie's curiosity was piqued, "How could I ever be special?" Bill chuckled. He stood from his revolving leather chair and lay his hand on Robbie's shoulder paternally.

"Robbie, you have the power of imagination. You can create anything you ever wished for within your mind." Robbie gawped at him, incredulous.

"Sure I can." the boy snorted.

Bill pointed at his desk. "Close you eyes, Robbie. Relax. Let your imagination take hold. Good, now imagine there's a bird on my desk. Ready? Now open your eyes."

There was nothing on his desk. But to Robbie's astonishment, a small blue jay flew in through one of the room's shaded windows and landed on the desk.

"Are you serious?" he cried, "No way!" He jumped from his seat and his eyes crinkled with happiness as the bird flew onto his hand. "How did that happened?"

Bill leaned down and draped his arm around Robbie's shoulders. "Well, it's not easy to explain, Robbie. But if you'd really like to find out, I know of a couple of places where we could find answers. There's the museum, the steeple, the factory workrooms, or one of the other towns. Take your pick."

Chapter 4

"I've been wondering about the steeple, actually." admitted Robbie.

"Good choice, Robbie. You're a smart kid." beamed Bill, and he cocked his trilby hat downwards, feigning mysteriousness, "Shall we?" with a lofty gesture, he directed his hand towards a window.

Robbie scratched his head and gasped, rushing over to the window as Bill coolly opened the window and stepped over the low sill, immediately disappearing from view... There he was, hovering in mid-air, comically flapping his arms like a chicken.

"That's impossible!" cried Robbie. The blue jay flew from his hand into the air outside, and chirped merrily as it soared around in circles.

"Is it?" Bill laughed, "Then how do you explain this?" He closed his eyes in concentration and waved his arms more emphatically. Long, raven-like feathers began sprouting from his arms and sleeves, engulfing his entire arm and shoulders, and within moments Bill's torso was covered in the black plumage. He re-opened his eyes and caught an updraft which carried him away from the window, dropping his trilby hat in the process. The hat floated downwards and Bill's long black hair flowed behind him freely as he glided back to where Robbie stood, jaws agape.

"I've got some tricks up my sleeve, as you can see, Robbie. Now it's your turn." challenged the raven-clad man.

"No way! I can't do that!" Robbie stepped away from the window, terrified by his own anticipation. The blue jay fluttered into the room and rested on the desk again, chirping encouragingly.

"Robbie," Bill's voice grew conciliatory as he flapped his enormous wings to stay in place "You must release all preconceived notions. Let your imagination run loose, and nothing will be impossible. Your powers will only exist as long as you believe in them. Now take flight."

Robbie hesitated; You can do this, he thought, then he held his breath and sprinted towards the window, clearing its sill like a hurdle before plunging into the light blue sky.

"Ahhhhhhh!" yelled Robbie at the top of his lungs, as he continued to plummet towards the ground. Fly, fly! he commanded himself, but his free-fall didn't halt. He flapped his arms in panic, and still his body, dropping headfirst with his legs flailing upside down, refused to float. I'm going to die, thought Robbie. He could clearly discern the individual stones of the cobbled road as he approached them in his fatal descent. In a few seconds, his head would smash into the stones and he would perish. If only I were a bird, considered Robbie, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the catastrophe.

The instant that this thought crossed Robbie's mind, he felt as though his body suddenly lost all of its weight. Instead of falling, he was now rising, his light body carried by the wind. Robbie opened his eyes and realized he was only a few feet above the cobbled street, but he was flying upwards and fleeing from certain death! An updraft carried him higher and he surfaced above the rooftops with his mighty red wings.

"AhhhYeaaahhh!" Robbie screamed in delight, and he admired his beautiful cardinal wings. His feathers had somehow burgeoned from his shirt sleeves and covered his shoulders, arms, and upper back. Robbie flapped his wings with vigor, immediately elevating his entire body, which was stretched out horizontally like a plane. Robbie glided over to where Bill waited for him, closely followed in loops by his new friend, the blue jay.

Bill took off and Robbie pursued. They soared in and out of the clouds like a swan swims in and out of water. They were Dedaelus and Icarus, escaping from the yokes of reality. The rooftops sped by in blurs, and the street was a river meandering between houses. But the journey didn't last long, and they soon alighted at the doors of the church after circling the steeple once. The wings began melting away, and the feathers dropped from Robbie's arm like ripe fruit; soon the feathers were carried away down the street by the wind.

"Wasn't that fun?" asked Bill as he knocked upon the doors of the church. Robbie nodded, gazing in wonder at his arms. The church was in an unkempt state, its corners and the bases of the outside walls were covered in moss and ivy. The door itself, peppered with moth holes, wasn't in the healthiest conditions either, and the windows were shielded by nailed boards. There were probably some leaks in the roof as well. Only its steeple remained untouched by weather and time, like an ever-shining beacon. On the whole, the church produced an effect of quiet respectfulness and diligent devotion.

Bill knocked again but received no answer. Shrugging, he fished out from his pocket a large key ring, embellished by a hundred different keys hanging from its sides.

"There's no door that I can't unlock, my friend." winked Bill, as he shuffled through the multitude of keys. Finally, finding the right key, he inserted it inside the church's rusty lock and the heavy door slowly creaked open. At first, the darkness inside was of such great intensity, that Robbie couldn't make anything out, even with the aid of the light filtering through the door.

"You see, Robbie," Bill explained, oblivious to Robbie's incapacity to distinguish anything, "This church is sacred to the townsfolk. They respect it because they are superstitious, and that's why few people ever come here. The church was built a long time ago, by some people who wished to control other people through religion. Thankfully, I put a stop to that." Bill paused as he walked into the center of the church, "Do you want to hear more, Robbie, or am I boring you?"

At that moment, Robbie's eyes became accustomed to the dark, and he was able to discern the physiognomy of the church. There was a tall nave supported by hefty beams and an elevated platform at the opposite end from where Robbie was standing, which at some point in time had functioned as an altar. But what most caught Robbie's attention, beyond all doubt, was the heaps of treasure lying scattered about in careless mounds. There were jeweled crowns, scepters, silk pillows, silver bracelets, marble statues, swords, ornamental-like muskets, shields, crests, faded embroidery, tapestries of battle scenes, helmets of all types, gold coins spilling from mahogany chests, rusty armor, bayonets and arrows, elaborate ladies' dresses, pearls, necklaces, gloves, and diamond tiaras.

"No, I'm not bored." Robbie answered, straining his eyes to explore the plethora of riches, yet afraid to touch anything.

"Good." Bill looked pleased by Robbie's interest, "You see Robbie, this is where I keep some of my treasures. They used to belong to the townsfolk, but I had to make them give it to me, because it was distracting them from their duties. Someday, when I feel that their job is done, I will return it to them. Until then, nobody will dare to ransack the town's only church, so their possessions are safe."

"What job?" asked Robbie as he examined a sharp sword with a ruby encrusted in its hilt.

"Their job in the factory, Robbie." Bill advanced nearer to Robbie. "They build things for me."

"Like what? And why do they do that?" Robbie turned his attention to a mechanical bird, fashioned from different shades of jade, similar in size and appearance to its counterpart, the blue jay perched upon the church's high beams. He turned its handle and slowly, ever so beautifully, the mechanical bird moved its wings. It was as handsome as the real blue jay, and maybe even more exquisite, with its finely tuned gears and emerald eyes, because it would never die. What song would the jade bird sing? The jade bird's song, learned in the factory workshop, no matter how beautiful, would never change; the blue jay, naturally acquiring its chirps by birth on a rooftop nest, would sing its own dying song.

Robbie shuddered and lay down the jade bird and its sapphire heart. Unbeknownst to Robbie, the idea of perpetual life scared him.

"Well, they do many different things." Bill clarified, "Most of them work on making food, to feed everyone. Others manufacture weapons, like guns. There's even a special group of women who take care of all of the babies and children. They all work for me because otherwise they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. But I'm afraid that production isn't fast enough, since we don't have enough energy to operate the machines..."

"So why did you bring me here?" Robbie interjected, unable to control his bold impulsiveness.

"First of all Robbie, you chose to come here." Bill reminded him, subtly admonishing him for his rudeness, "Also, I wanted to show you an important site in this town's history. You see, Robbie, this town and me need your aid, and I wanted to explain to you why before I explain how you can help.

This church you now see in a decrepit state was once tall and proud. The people worshipped a god who never existed, even when they could still think for themselves. Within the limits of their understanding, they were happy. But soon everything began to change- something terrible happened, nobody is sure how it happened, but it came and it took away everyone's imagination. Have you noticed the barren terrain, and the cloudy skies? Even the landscape became dull and depressing.

It happened just like that. Only a few people resisted this... epidemic, if you can call it that. Your friend... Jack, yes? His grandfather was one of the last men to resist the disease, but his attempts to restore life back to normal failed. Incidentally, as a young man, he was one of the men who collaborated to build this church."

"Really?" Robbie was now captivated by the story and by Jack's heroic granpaw. A semblance of remembrance darted across Bill's face; he momentarily mused about his past, but then he returned to the story.

"This world is unusual. As a result of the epidemic, the power of imagination was magnified herein, and now anything conceived within the realm of suggestion transforms into reality. It is an extraordinary power, Robbie, but only a few people have an imagination any more, and even then, it is limited. But you! A child with so much potential!

You could do anything with the world! You could hold it in the palm of your hand, if you wished, you could..."

"You could restore things to the way they were." said another voice, a deep, resonating voice originating from a black man dressed in a fisherman's outfit, waiting at the door. He was holding a fishing rod in one hand, and a dripping bucket in the other, and his boots were crusted with mud.

"Father." said Bill pleasantly, without appearing concerned. His eyes wouldn't lie, though; he was displeased by the reverend's untimely appearance. "Where were you?"

"I made a trip to the marshes today. I was fishing. Then I came back and I saw the door was open, so I peeped inside." He lay down his bucket and fishing pole and rested himself with his forearm on the wall outside.

"What did you catch?" Robbie inquired.

"C'mon see for yourself." the man said gravely. He wasn't particularly charming like Bill, but he exuded wisdom from his observant features and straightforward manners. Robbie approached the bucket and peeked into an empty bucket filled with cloudy water.

"There's nothing." he said, his eyebrows raised into a query.

"Are you sure?" asked the priest, pointing at the bucket with his dark hand. Well, the water was pretty cloudy, I guess there could have been some fish..., Robbie considered. He looked again. An antennae surfaced from the water and slowly investigated its surroundings like a periscope. It spotted Robbie's face and retreated into the murky depths. As Robbie moved back, a crustacean's claw shot out from beneath the water and nearly clipped his nose.

"Woah! What was that?" said Robbie.

"Can't say. There wasn't anything in that bucket originally; you thought it up. I merely used the power of suggestion." answered the priest, and his gaze bore into Robbie's. "Kid, you could help..." The priest stopped speaking as Bill placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Father, I believe you have business to attend to?" Bill pronounced. It wasn't a question, it was a command.

"Yes. That's true." the priest eyed Bill with resentment, but he picked up his fishing rod and bucket and began moving around the church. He spoke to Robbie one last time. "Remember, kid, fishing is a sport of patience. If you ever want to get away from the world, you should go fishing. The marshes are a delightful place for fishing." Then he disappeared around the corner, probably into his living quarters within the church.

"Ignore him." said Bill, "He doesn't know what he's talking about half the time. I allow him to stay here as long as he keeps the townsfolk away, and as long as he doesn't make trouble. But back to what I was explaining." He knelt and grabbed Robbie's arm. "Your imagination, Robbie, it can control the reality of this world."

"Well, yeah, I saw that...but...I just don't get it. It's so weird. Why does that happen?" Robbie voiced. He didn't want to appear querulous, but the discovery was mind-blowing for anyone who unexpectedly experienced it, and the question nagged him.

"Think of it this way." Bill searched for a different angle, "Think about when you have a dream. As long as the dream lasts, you are completely immersed inside it, and the dream composes reality for you. If you dream that you are chased by a monster, you will feel nervous and afraid until you wake up. Likewise, if you dream that you are having fun at your favorite theme park, you will wake up with a lingering sensation of well being.

And, this happened to me once," chuckled Bill without releasing his grip on Robbie, "I dreamed that I was outdoors and urinating, and when I woke up, I had wet my bed!" Robbie grinned and Bill continued, "Anyway, do you understand what I'm saying? This world, and every world, is only a dream; even so, that dream composes our reality. Well, in this particular place, you have a higher degree of control over reality! Did that help?"

Robbie assented. "So... you said something about this town needing help, right?"

It was Bill's turn to nod in accordance. "I'll explain as we return to the factory."

"You mean, fly back?" Robbie asked as Bill finally released his arm.

"Unless you can think of a better way, yes." answered Bill.

Robbie closed his eyes. What would be the most beautiful way of traveling? It would be something to the equivalent of flying, and something that would allow for a leisurely conversation at the same time. As he opened his eyes, the clouds parted and a single ray of sunlight shone forth; simultaneously, rain began drizzling down from a miniscule cloud and then followed the sunray, almost like the comic spoof where a single shower of rain pursues an unfortunate victim. The rain and sunlight began weaving together into a rainbow, only a step in front of Robbie. Bill watched the development in interest, and then Robbie touched the newly created rainbow with his finger. Just as he expected, it was solid; it felt slightly sticky, like a jolly rancher before being licked. Jumping up, he used his arms and legs to clamp on to the edge of the fixed, solid rainbow as well as he could. He hauled himself up and the rainbow, as if detecting his presence, commenced to widen its weaving so that he may walk more comfortably.

"I think I've built a bridge." smirked Robbie, as Bill regarded him proudly.

Once Bill had climbed on, they began walking on the slope, higher and higher, of the multi-colored bridge. Soon, the height became dizzying, but fortunately, the rainbow became wide enough to ensure a low probability of accident. Below them, they could see the entire town again, and the blue jay tagged along, flying ahead of them and then returning to rest on Robbie's palm.

"Well, Robbie," began Bill as soon as they reached the most level part of the rainbow, "This town needs energy. This town, and all the other towns, of course. We need to keep the factories running, so that we can produce more... things. There are still some people who oppose the factories, and they hide out in places and try to attack us. These rebels want to destroy all sources of energy so that we will go hungry and cold and die. That's why we need to make guns that will prevent them from doing that."

"Why would they do that?" Robbie was alarmed.

"They are bad people, Robbie, they don't respect authority and they try to make everyone's life miserable." Bill solemnly condemned. "So we have to protect ourselves from them. Remember Thomas? Well, there used to be many more guards like him, but now there's only him. We ran out of food and clothing, and now we can't afford to have more than one guard for each town. We need energy, Robbie. Not only food, clothing, and security, but also for electricity, house maintenance, and many other things. And guess what, Robbie? You can help us acquire that energy."

By now, they had nearly completed their descent. The rainbow had finished weaving itself and was now beginning to disappear behind them. Finally, the rainbow ended and they dropped down to ground level, at the doors of the factory. The woman known as Citizen #2 was waiting for them. Bill and Robbie advanced towards her, then Bill spoke.

"Robbie, hold your hands out like this." He held out his own hands like a zombie as an example. Robbie, thinking it was some sort of game, complied. Immediately, the woman pulled out a pair of handcuffs from her pocket and strapped them on to Robbie.

"What are you doing?" cried Robbie, in an outrage. Bill cackled.

"Those handcuffs are designed to distract your mind, Robbie. While you have them on, you cannot use your powers."

Robbie tried to concentrate on something that would break the handcuffs, but his mind wouldn't focus. In fact, he seemed to be under a spell of some kind. "Why are you doing this to me?" he tried to shout, but his voice was weak and distant.

"Because we need your imagination, Robbie." He somehow managed to sound sympathetic in the midst of his betrayal, "Imagination is the greatest source of energy in this world, and you have plenty of it! We can use your imagination to power the factory for many more years to come! Don't you understand Robbie? You must give your life for the best... that's why I explained everything to you, Robbie, so that you could understand your purpose."

The next minutes were a blur in Robbie's memory. He remembered being pushed by Citizen #2 through a number of doors, into the deepest part of the factory. He remembered passing through a cluster of factory workers, and he remembered their frozen, timorous features. By the time he came to his senses he was inside a large room where a girl of his age sat in a chair, immobile. Attached to her head was a giant piece of machinery, vibrating with electric power, which extended away into another room by means of large valve loosely fitted into the wall. It reminded Robbie of a boiler room, except that the girl's eyes were blank and unblinking, and that scared Robbie most of all. There was another empty chair with a machine poised above it, which Robbie knew was intended for him. Citizen #2 sat him on the chair. As she turned the machine on, a spark flew from it and it died out.

"Stupid machinery." she grumbled. She regarded Robbie, who was sitting in his chair pretending to be out cold. "I'll be right back. Don't try anything, there's no escape." she said and pointed at a camera installed on the wall, but somehow Robbie recognized a hint of compassion within her steely voice. Maybe she wants to help me, but feels forced to obey Bill? In any case, she closed the door, locked it, and disappeared.

Robbie regarded his options. There was the little girl on the chair, and the camera on the wall, and he was chained with the handcuffs so that he couldn't use his imagination. He walked over to the machine's valve and pushed it as hard as he could, managing to create some space to squeeze through into the next room. Unfortunately, the next room was some sort of well, only big enough to fit a horse, with walls which rose many meters up and ended in open sky. The room was probably used to draw energy from the valve quickly, in case of an emergency. Indeed, there was a thick, white hose running alongside the wall all the way to the edge of the well. If only he could get rid of the handcuffs and fly away... The valve ran along into another room, but it was too tightly fit into the wall for Robbie to squeeze through.

He returned to the other room. He wouldn't be able to hide in the well room because the camera had seen him go inside. Searching about the room with the camera, he found a whistle and an old case filled with tools near the imagination-sucking machine. Unfortunately, there weren't any tools that would help him get rid of the handcuffs; the most useful tool he could find was a hefty screwdriver with a large, blunt handle. Looking about him once more, he discovered that the girl connected to the machine also had her arms and legs tied with rope. Should he liberate her? In any case, the rope might come in handy.

Chapter 5

[size=14]Time seemed to freeze as Robbie's mind raced for an answer; then time began to thaw and run its natural course in harmony with the boy's innate creativeness. Clenching his teeth, he held the screwdriver high up in the air, in between his two shackled fists, and brought it down on the camera with a tremendous crash. The camera, face-level with Robbie, shattered, and its broken fragments narrowly missed his eyes.

Robbie paused and surveyed the devastated remains of the camera, momentarily amazed by his own audacity. Grown in confidence, he hurried over to the bound girl and undid her constraints as well as he could. Then he removed the thought-devouring helmet from her blond, ruffled head. The machine, somehow detecting the detachment, whirred softly as it died down. Unfortunately, the girl wasn't as responsive; she greeted her deliverer with a blank stare.

Frustrated by her lack of response, Robbie shook her shoulder with roughness.

"C'mon, wake up! We've got to hurry!" his agitation was manifest in his voice. The girl at last raised her hand, ever so slowly, and touched her face. Robbie, seized by an outburst of distress, moved away from her in search again of a means of escape. He slipped into the well- room again, and impulsively stripped the hose from the wall, which was only loosely attached by a couple of plastic rings. Hunting about him, he discovered the valve's outlet and was struck by a bright idea.

"Hey girl! Come here and help me." he shouted, but the pretty little blond was yet to recover from her ongoing shock. She was now holding her hands in front of her face and looking at them intently, perhaps in admiration of their thin, dexterous fingers.

Robbie, meanwhile, hastened to locate the origin of the thick white hose. He found it; the hose, which was surprisingly flexible, had a round gadget with circular screwdriver rings at its end. With the instinctive ingenuity of a child, he was quick to associate the hose's gadget with the valve's outlet. He connected the two, and immediately power began pulsing through the hose, noticeable to Robbie by the emanating vibrations.

Wild with excitement, he began to cross back into the first room, tugging for the hose to follow. The stopcock of the hose was closed, and the amassed energy within it was building up and causing the hose to swell unnaturally, like a snake after devouring its prey.

Just as Robbie emerged from between the wall and the valve, the door was violently kicked open and a figure was revealed standing in the doorway.

"Watch-out, girl!" Robbie roared, and he released the stopcock. The next moment was a blinding flash. A blast of pure energy gushed forth from the hose like water and air from a whale's blowhole. It was a throbbing current of blue electricity; a shimmering pillar of raw energy; a swirling mass of churning voltage, and it struck like lightning.

Robbie lost control of the hose as it began to thrash violently, and it knocked him into the wall. During a few moments, the hose reared itself and writhed in the air, showering raw electricity almost everywhere, and once again time seemed to freeze as Robbie watched in a dazed state. Then someone shut down the factory's power, the hose somehow abated, and the entire building was immersed in total darkness.

It was too late, however, for Robbie to avoid seeing what had happened to the figure in the doorway. The initial blast had reached its intended target and carried out its terrible effect. The figure had simply evaporated, turned into ashes. Robbie couldn't erase the image of the body sizzling and then bursting into dust.

From ashes we came, and to ashes we will return.

Robbie wiped away his tears at the remembrance of his few visits to the neighborhood church. Then, he gathered his courage and called out.

"Girl... girl! Are you there? Are you ok?"

"Oui. Je suis ici." answered a feeble voice.

"What?" Robbie was so surprised he couldn't avoid his exclamation.

"Ici." she repeated. It began to dawn on Robbie that she was speaking a different language. Maybe they speak this weird language in one of the other towns, he wondered. He moved towards the sound of her voice, stumbling as he groped around. He grabbed her cold hand and moved towards where he thought the door was. He was still considerably hampered by the handcuffs.

They reached the doorway and tripped over an unconscious body. Apparently, there had been more than one foe in the skirmish. Robbie and his new companion stepped into a hallway, but the darkness remained.

They hurried down the long hallway until their eyes became adjusted and they found another door in the wall. Up to this point, Robbie and the girl had been so out of breath they weren't able to talk, but as Robbie put his hand on the doorknob, he turned to her to ask a question.

"What's your name?" He wanted to know whether to trust her, and it all hinged upon her answer to this simple inquiry.

"Comment?" the girl didn't understand.

"I'm Robbie" he pointed at himself, "Who are you?" Then he pointed at her.

"Je m'appelle Noemie." she replied, understanding his meaning. Robbie breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't a Citizen. He opened the door cautiously and peeked outside. Everything was dark, but Robbie distinguished an assembly line. The workers were all concentrated on one side of the room, listening for instructions from someone on an elevated podium. A small low window, the only one in the room, streamed forth with light. The position of the sun made it so that the beam of light fell upon the group of workers, and then projected their enlarged shadows upon the wall, creating an eerie effect.

"Divide yourselves into pairs and search for those brats!" screamed the person on the podium; it sounded like Bill. The shadows began moving. Holding their breaths, the two children backed out, closed the door, and kept running down the hallway, only to discover that it ended in a locked door; yet they could smell the fresh air outside through the space in the hinges. They searched in vain for another means of escape, and as they were about to turn back, they heard footsteps coming their way. It was a dead end; they sat down against the corner, flattening their bodies against the wall and breathing as quietly as possible, hoping that the darkness would conceal them.

A large man approached; his footsteps resounded throughout the hallway. He stopped fifteen feet away from Robbie and Noemie. He was squinting in the deep darkness, searching, but he hadn't seen them. He began to back away slowly, and Robbie almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he caught himself in time.

Then the lights went on. The man was staring directly at Robbie, who was frozen in fear. The man furrowed his pale brow as his green eyes met with Robbie's. He was wearing the same old faded jacket.

"Citizen 103, have you seen them?" called a female voice from afar.

"Jack..." pleaded Robbie, in a whisper. Jack hesitated. He caressed his old jacket reverently as he thought.

"No, they're not here." he answered finally. He pulled out some keys from his jacket and swiftly opened the last door. An alleyway beckoned.

"Raw-bee, you get out of here. I'll try and stop them as long as I can."

"Thank-you." said Robbie, as he darted out with Noemie.

"I'll make them pay for what they did to my granddaddy. Damn straight." smiled Jack grimly, and he closed the door behind him. Robbie and Noemie hugged the corners as they escaped, weaving in and out of all of the side-streets. Robbie was sure that if he could find a way to get rid of the handcuffs, they wouldn't need to flee at all. He could simply conjure, well, anything. I could imagine a dragon that would burn them all, he grinded his teeth. How would he free himself of the handcuffs?

They could break into one of the houses and try to find something of use to snap off the steel cuffs. Otherwise, they could flee into one of the other towns. But what about the church? Was there a possibility they could find help there? Maybe they could do something with all of those treasures. The priest had said something about fishing- what was that supposed to mean? And what about Jack's moped- surely it was still parked where they had left it? Or maybe they should return to where Robbie first appeared, as there might be a way to return to their world in that place. But somehow, Robbie detested the thought of fleeing. He felt betrayed by Bill, and there was a violent hatred inside him which he had only experienced once before, when he had fought another boy for teasing him in front of a crowd. Besides, he had already killed someone in that boiling room with the hose, so what did it matter if he killed another, he was already guilty, right? But combat could endanger Noemie, and Robbie felt as though he liked her already; she was a pretty thing. Although... she could be turned into a weapon- after all, she didn't have any handcuffs on, and she might still be able to use her imagination, even if it isn't very powerful. What would it be- fight or flight? And how?
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D-Lotus



Joined: 21 Oct 2004
Posts: 4123
Location: Hollywood, USA

Posted: Fri Mar 07, 2008 11:41 pm    Post subject:  

Chapter 6

The sun in its slow descent beyond the horizon retired seemingly weary, disillusioned by the many impurities it had witnessed that day upon earth. In its stead, the moon arose into the sky; it appeared a vigorous sentinel tower, combing the land with its searchlight beams, hunting and exposing those who sought to hide in the dark mantle of night.

Robbie felt like a fugitive under the moon, towing Noemie behind him, running here and there, avoiding any patch of light- usually a pastel of fainting sunlight intermixed with strengthening moonlight. Have I done anything wrong? Why do I feel so guilty? He had always been afraid of the dark, and yet tonight, he understood its comforts. Every cat is a black cat at night; no man is different from the rest under the cover of darkness.

"Noemie, do you know how to drive a moped?” whispered Robbie to his golden-haired companion, whose fair color was dimming in accord with the sun’s descent.

“Quoi?” she demanded.

“Nevermind, I’ll have to learn myself. There’s no other way out.” Robbie grimaced. They approached the deserted street where Jack had parked the moped. It was still there, glimmering eerily in the moonlight. They approached silently.

Robbie motioned for Noemie to sit behind, and he himself took control of the moped handles; he kicked in the brake and the moped’s weight threw him off balance, tipping over vehicle and passengers. Grumbling, Robbie mounted the machine again, this time positioning himself carefully so as to be able to balance himself. Fortunately, the moped was light and not impossible for Robbie to control, but the handcuffs would make it hard to make sharp turns.

Hesitantly, Robbie began cranking the vehicle’s engine with his foot. The motor rumbled half-chokingly, exciting the still night, and Noemie held on tighter to Robbie’s waist. Then Robbie turned the starter visciously and the moped sprung into motion like a cheetah.

Robbie clung to the handles, unconsciously revving up the engine further; unfortunately, he had started the motor facing in the opposite direction of where he intended to go, and he was rushing a mile a minute through slanted streets and stone houses without any sense of direction, raising hell and loud sputterings. The best Robbie could do was to keep from falling off.

Time, once again, seemed slower than reality. At every last moment, Robbie would instinctively steer out of the way of an obstacle which, if they but scraped, would surely deliver them into the maws of death.

It so happened, that as Robbie was beginning to overcome the wild vehicle and slow down, a different kind of sound invaded the night. It was a loud crack, a jolt, the sound of a gunshot. A window beyond Robbie’s head blew up, breaking and crashing inwardly. The boy loosened his hands in fear, and the moped, like a tame wolf in the wild, shivered and swiveled right and left in confusion before plunging into its doom against a wall. Gathering some scrapes on their arms and legs, Robbie and Noemie were flung into a heap of garbage bags, a conspicuous symbol of industrialization in a medieval town.

They got up in a daze. The figure of pinched-nosed Thomas was visible on a faraway rooftop, his rifle outlined against a backdrop of moonlight. Beyond the two children was the open plaza, an easy shot for the rifleman sniper. Without a chance for rest, Robbie grabbed Noemie as gently as the circumstances permitted, and helped her through the recently shattered window. Before climbing in, Robbie observed that the building was large and of archaic design, but that it was set slightly apart from the other houses, and this distinct positioning, along with the smoothness of the stones, indicated that it was more contemporary than the other edifices. It was hard to tell in the blackness, but the sign hanging solemnly over the front door seemed to read a single, ponderous word, Museum.

Robbie and Noemie slithered inside, like alert, vigilant cats, holding their breaths. There were objects all around, none were visible in the obscurity. Noemie bumped into a shadow and it fell fom its resting spot. She picked it up, squinting in the darkness.

“Qu’est-ce que on va faire?” she spoke. It wasn’t a whimper or a complaint, she was too grateful to simply be alive, regardless of the danger. Robbie sighed, then, spotting an old banister staircase, he began climbing. He soon realized that despite the banister’s ancient appearance, its texture and sturdiness were more befitting to a recent construction. It had been made to look old deliberately.

They climbed to the last floor, guided only by the idea of extending the distance between the rifle and themselves. They were silent, and the panic growing steadily within, when footsteps resounded from downstairs and the lights turned on. Robbie listened hard; it was a single pair of footsteps. They dodged into any room, and now they could see every object and its corresponding plaque under the soft museum light.

Everything was meticulously placed as in any museum, except that there was a certain fastidious tendency of emphasizing a particular detail in every item. There was a darregotype of a man wielding an axe, and yet his body motions were contrived, his smile overly toothy, his beard too bushy to be comfortable. On the left wall hung an array of women’s clothings, peppered with holes that were all too round and perfectly circular. On the right wall was positioned an old ukulele, its front side excessively scratched, and its strings worn out, but when Robbie turned it around, it was immaculate. Fastened in place in the middle of the room was a knight’s armor with hives of rust and dull metal painted on in unnatural patterns, even though the plaque avowed it's authenticity.

Noemie was holding the object she had previously picked up, now visible in the light, a teddy bear. Robbie glanced at it depreciatively, and Noemie set it down with a certain reluctance, but after a moment she clung it to herself with greater infatuation. And who’d dare at that moment, or indeed any moment, cause that girl to be removed from the object of her affection, which she so tenderly and innocently embraced, inspiring one’s own desire for comfort, love, and protection?

If there were only something here to break my cuffs. Robbie darted into another room as he heard the footsteps begin to climb the stairs. On a table lay a hefty butcher’s knife. To get rid of the handcuffs, I can chop off my hands, then imagine them back on! He carried the the knife back to Noemie, who shuddered as he attempted to explain his plan. She negated with her head once and again, and shrunk from him further and further until he abandoned the idea.

Curiously, another room contained a few objects concerning a rebellion of some sort. A picture of a group of rough looking men was centered on the wall. Detached from the main group in the picture, a man with kind-hearted eyes was holding a little boy's hand; a little boy remarkably similar in appearance to Jack. The plaques denounced the rebels as rabble-rousers and anarchists

Rushing from room to room as Thomas’ footsteps explored each floor, Robbie finally stumbled upon a room introduced by its tripod-sign as Nature v.s Modernization. This room, too, was arranged elaborately, but contrary to all others, not gaudily ornate. It was comprised exceedingly by text rather than pictures or objects. What few items there were: a spinning jenny, a harpoon and coil of rope most likely belonging to an erstwhile whaling ship, a steel plough, a slingshot and a pouchful of pellets, a bicycle, a sliding pulley.

Nature must be exploited by man, read one of the texts. This room, so well hidden, was enlivened by its author’s sincerity, because the texts seemed adressed to the himself, not to the audience; a reflection rather than an overbearing demonstration. He even contradicted himself in another tablet, Nature, the source of holiness, inspiration, imagination. Robbie strode to the window and looked about him, measuring the distance to the opposite building, which he calculated to be only twenty feet away. Could he launch the harpoon that far, then escape by sliding down the rope on the pulley?

As he hurried out of the room, he glanced at another exposition and it caught his eye, compelling him to return and read it. Wilderness is Waste, or God's architecture? The bible insists we waste not our talents or resources, as in the Parable of the Talents, and yet it menaces that "...if you defile the land, it will vomit you out as it vomited out the nations that were before you" (Leviticus 18:26, 28). Isn't mankind's greatest talent that of conquering the untamed frontier and creating from the wild thorns magnificent structures such as longhouses, castles, and skyscrapers? What jealousy is God's that He may dazzle mankind by His awesome creation but prohibit the exploitation of it? We are but plastic models laid upon the earth to embellish those greens valleys and rivers; a shepherd boy that guides his sheep through those dales He watches as we do an orchestrated school of fish, more so if the shepherd steers men and not cattle. "The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants" (Leviticus 26:3-4). Don't forget, we are strangers upon the land where we were born; ne'er must we conceive that we can distort the landscape, else we shall be punished by the fury of the all-powerful. Then I forsake this God! If He shall strike me down with thunder, then I shall first build a lightning rod to counter it!

The boy frowned; he couldn't quite understand the meaning of the passage, but the tone alerted him to a presence of rebelliousness and ill-fate. Yet, the real reason Robbie had returned was because there was a large, beautiful picture of a redwood forest below the passage. It reminded him of his family vacation; he and his brother, running amongst the dark limbs, hiding in a hollow trunk, breathing in the solemn, fresh atmosphere. What would his brother advise him to do now, as pinched-nosed Thomas' footsteps and the rattle of his firearm became more and more audible?
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