Now would be a good time to pray. What should I say? “Pray the Lord my soul to take?” Have I done anything against the universe? Is there an all-powerful being lurking around?
“Somebody… Anybody… hear me,” I sobbed, desperation echoing through the arena. The walls seemed to writhe like living things, growing warmer and more oppressive.
“I heard you the whole time,” a calm voice responded, making me jump.
I quickly stood up from my pile of sand, my knock knees struggling to find balance on the smooth surface. A strange hand extended to me, its vein-infested palms my only hope for escape. I hesitated, but had no choice.
“Welcome to the Gates of the Unknown,” the voice said, as I took the hand.
“Walk,” he then commanded, following beside me with legs that ended in hooves and a tricep that burst out of his brown, moist hoodie.
“Where… Where are we heading?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“To your end,” he sharply answered, his words making my pupils dilate in fear.
My conscience whispered, “You had to hit her… your wife.”
No! I dare not think such a thing, not when she wore our favorite anniversary dress last night. I love Annie…
But my conscience persisted, “You had to hit her, don’t you?” I refused to acknowledge the thought, but it lingered, haunting me.
“I only slapped her,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. “Annie… Annie didn’t wear the dress,” I spoke out loud, trying to convince myself.
The creature beside me kept walking, its steps mirroring mine. “You killed her, didn’t you?” a guttural voice accused, making me leap.
“No,” I countered, but it wasn’t my conscience this time. The lady from the book desk appeared again, her presence both unsettling and familiar.
“Are you my judgment?” I asked, feeling a twisted sense of comfort in her presence. A part of me acknowledged that we were developing a strange bond.
“You murdered Annie with a bread knife,” she stated, her voice firm. “Yes or no?”
“Wait!” I turned to the creature beside me, but it glanced back with tall, menacing teeth. “Lie for once, Bruce, I dare you.”
“Did you murder her or not?” the tree lady asked again, her patience wearing thin.
“Yes, I did,” I sighed, the weight of my guilt crushing me. “But it wasn’t intentional.”
“Why?” she asked, her body beginning to shift and contort.
Suddenly, she transformed into a carbon copy of my wife, Annie, her appearance aloof and muddy-opaque. I felt a pang of sorrow and regret.
“I swear I’m sorry,” I pleaded, my words laced with deceit.
But then, a voice that sounded like mine spoke from beside me, “She was right to poison your drink.”
“You poisoned my drink!” I raged at her, my anger boiling over.
“Yes,” she replied calmly, her lips curving into a serene smile. “I begged them with blood that your fate be worse than mine, Bruce.”
Her words sent chills down my spine. She must be insane, consumed by the same dark forces that drove the tree lady.
“This is nothing but that creep’s work,” I muttered, trying to make sense of the surreal nightmare.
“I don’t believe any of this, I want to go back. This is just some hungover Rosé nightmare.”
The creature remained silent, watching me leave with an unnerving intensity. I walked, pretending to know my way out of the elongated bridge, but it seemed to stretch on forever.
“Come on,” I pondered, frustration mounting. How could the bridge grow longer? I’m not that special.
“Neither are you alive,” the tree lady whispered, appearing beside me with a locked-in kiss. I felt blood gushing from my mouth into hers, but I couldn’t break free. No scream or pain could quantify the horror I felt.
Wait… is that the alarm I hear?
