Lingering

You’ve been here before.

What strikes you the most is that you’ve never seen a sky that purple before. Yeah, it could be purplish at sunrise or sunset, but there doesn’t seem to be any sunrise or sunset in this place.

Or daytime, for that matter. You’ve never seen the sun, just perpetual purple gloom.

Depressing? Sure is. Makes it real easy to lose track of time too. Yeah there are clocks here and there, but when 9 AM and 9 PM look exactly the same, morning and night don’t carry much weight anymore. Everything just bleeds into everything else, like one big timeless soup.

You’re not quite sure if you’ve been here a few days, a few months, a few years even. Can’t even tell by looking at yourself; you haven’t changed any. Your hair hasn’t grown, you haven’t gained or lost any weight, and you don’t look any older.

It’s like this place is frozen in time. You would have thought it was just you, except for the fact that nothing else changes either. It’s always the same places, always the same cars, always the same people. Sometimes it almost seems like they’re on loop, following a script of some kind.

But that can’t be the case, can it?

“Are you ready yet?”

It’s the purple-haired girl again. She’s the only person that seems really out-of-place here, what with her lavender bob, mall-goth clothes, and glittery eyeshadow. She’s wearing a backpack that looks like a pair of angel wings, complete with real feathers.

Whoever she is, she wants you to leave.

“Not really,” you reply. As strange as this all is, there’s something comforting about it. Why should you leave your home, your neighborhood, your friends anyway? Whatever this goth weirdo wants to lead you off to can wait. You’ll go there when and if you feel like it.

The girl huffs, having heard this answer over and over again.

“You know this is a transitional place, right? Gotta move on some time and leave it all behind.” She waves her hand back towards the street, towards Mrs. Fernsby tottering slowly across the road — doesn’t she do that at exactly the same time every day? — and at the man in the pumpkin-orange car yelling that she’s crossing against the light.

Mrs. Fernsby never cares. She just holds her hand up and hobbles her way to the store, as imperious as ever.

You never really could stand Mrs. Fernsby.

The purple-haired girl looks up at you, gold eyes full of sympathy.

“They’re not real, Jess. None of them are. Nothing here is. What you see as people and places and things are just memories, impressions from your mind.”

Okay, things are weird around here, but the idea that it’s some kind of illusion or simulation is beyond the pale for you. You don’t answer the purple-haired girl, hoping that she’ll take the hint and leave you be this time.

“Don’t believe me? Just look at Angela.”

Angela. Your best friend. You’d always hoped it would become more than that, but you never worked up the nerve to pursue an actual relationship. It’s something you’ve always regretted.

Today she’s a six-year-old, skipping out to play. You’re thirty-three. She should be the same age as you. Tomorrow she might match up, only to revert to a teenager half an hour later. Angela is never the same, and she never seems to acknowledge those changes. She just responds as she would at those ages.

Like it’s not really happening. Like it’s just a playback of some kind.

Now that you think about it, it’s always that same pumpkin-colored car Mrs. Fernsby’s holding up too. Never any other.

“Brass tacks, Jess. It’s been twenty years. I know that you feel safe here, but you can’t stay forever. What good will it do you, just whiling away eternity like this?”

You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to believe it. She’s got to be messing with your head. Maybe if you just get away from her, you can clear your thoughts and sort things out.

The moment you step out into the street, a car slams into you. There’s a sickening crunch, unspeakable pain, and everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re on a park bench next to the girl. She’s drinking some kind of fancy, whipped-cream-covered drink that smells like vanilla and caramel. Wordlessly, she hands you an identical cup.

You take it. The first sip is every bit as creamy and sweet as you knew it would be. Yeah, you had one of these before, right before that car blindsided you into oblivion.

“He didn’t stop,” you say.

“No. He kept going. Cops caught up to him three miles away when he hit a parked car. Got charged with vehicular manslaughter.”

“Good.”

The two of you finish your drinks in silence. They just disappear once you’re done, which you suppose makes sense for phantom coffee.

“So, are you ready to move on now? If you stay here, it’s going to be nothing but this forever. Come with me, and you’ll get to see everyone that matters to you again one day. Hang out here and…well, get hit by a car every time you try to cross the street.”

You have to admit, she makes a convincing case. Why have just the memories of your friends and family for all time when you can see them for real again one day? Also, truth be told, you’re not all that keen on being blitzed by a car periodically. “Yeah sure, um,” you cock your head. “Come to think of it, I don’t know what your name is.”

“Aurifiel. That’s my name.”

“Aurifiel, then. Yeah, I’m ready.”

She smiles at you and holds out her hand. You take it.

At long last, you’re ready to go.

If you liked this, there’s more where it came from. Feel free to check out some of my other stories: