The Eternity Rift

Submission for round two of NYC Midnight is submitted.  My prompts this round were Sci Fi (yes, again), Halloween, and a bus driver.  Below is the story I came up with, The Eternity Rift.  Being part of this contest has been so much fun.  It is my very first writing contest ever, and I feel very good about just making the second round.  That said, I really hope round three is in my future!


The Eternity Rift

    The shuttle shook slightly as echoes of colliding debris resonated through the hull.  Captain Axton barely noticed these minor bumps anymore.  They were a regular occurrence on the voyage to the Eternity Rift, and he had made the journey countless times.
    The captain looked over at his copilot, Caldwell, a young man still new to the Aeon Flight.  The copilot was reading a brochure, the words “The Welcoming Beyond” printed across the front.  He was transfixed by the text, unaware of his captain’s gaze.
    “Thinking of signing up for the Flight, Caldwell?” Axton asked with a grin.  Caldwell put down the pamphlet and busied himself with his terminal rather than answering the captain.
    Axton chuckled to himself as he got out of his seat.  Opening the cockpit hatch, he walked back in to the main cabin.  He felt the eyes of all the passengers snap to him as he walked down the main aisle.   
    “Everything’s fine, folks.  Very common for some minor bumps and bangs on our way out.  Nothing to worry about”,  Axton reassured the passengers.  “We’re very close to the Rift, soon it will be time to cross over.”
    “Captain Axton, would you speak with me a moment?”  a meek voice asked.  Axton looked down to Catherine, an older woman he had shared a few conversations with over the past hours of their journey.
    “Of course, Catherine” Axton replied as he knelt next to her.  She reached for his hand, and he took it with both of his.
    “It’s just...  I’m not sure if I want to do this anymore.  I’m scared.”
    “I know, dear.  It is scary.  But it’s also beautiful.  The Rift, when you see it you’ll understand.  To travel to the other side, without the burden of having to die.  It’s how I’ll go, I hope, someday.”  He gently stroked her hand as he spoke.
    “I know that.  That’s why I’m here.  Yet I’m now afraid.  I thought this was what I wanted, I paid to come, to escape the crowded streets, the toxic air.  And...”  She paused for a moment.  “And I want to be with Henry again.  My husband Henry.”
    “I remember, dear.  You’ll be with him again.  He’ll be waiting for you, on the other side of the Rift.  We finally have the proof of life after death, and an option of life without death.”
    “My daughter...  She didn’t want me to do this.  She says it’s not natural.”
    “Maybe it isn’t.  I’d say it’s supernatural.  But knowing there’s something beyond, something eternal and good, something real and finally proven, how can we fear it or turn away?  I remember being afraid as a boy, that I’d one day die and no longer exist.  Now I know that I will, that I’ll live on in a place without war or hunger.  Where there’s space for everyone, and all our hate, sadness and hurt is stripped away.  That helps me live at peace, it gets me through the day, until it’s my time to be a passenger here.”
    “You’re a sweet man, Captain”, she said as she squeezed his hand.  “They should get you to sell the voyages!”
    “Hah, I don’t know if I’d be good at that.  I’m more than happy just driving the bus!”
    “Well, anyway, thank you.  Thank you for listening to an old woman and her fears.”
    “Of course, Catherine.  I’m happy to.”  Axton stood and turned to walk back to the cockpit.
    “Oh, Captain”, Catherine called before he walked away.  Axton turned back to face her.  “Happy Halloween!”
    “Halloween?” Axton asked.
    “Oh my, you young people never celebrated Halloween, I always forget.  Halloween is an old holiday, a day of the dead.  We used to dress up and get candy when I was a little girl.”
    “For a day of the dead?  How strange.”
    “Maybe, but it was fun.  I looked forward to it all year long.  Even as a young woman, even as it faded away, I always remembered it.  They used to say that it was the day souls would cross over to the other side.  It’s why I chose today for my own crossing over.”
    “Well, in that case, happy Halloween, Catherine.”  Again, Axton turned and walked up the aisle.
    As he entered the cockpit, Caldwell quickly put down the brochure in a futile attempt to hide his consuming interest in it.  Axton smirked, and let Caldwell think it had gone unnoticed.  
    Checking the navigation computer, Axton saw they were only about fifteen minutes from their destination.  He began to go through his checklist.  All pods showed operational, located an insertion point with minimal debris, last was just to prep the passengers.
    “You want to prep our voyagers, Caldwell?” Axton looked to his copilot, who still seemed to be trying to act busy.
    “Umm... No, can you do this one?”
    “Of course.  Don’t worry about it.”
    The captain moved over to the communications panel, turned on the internal speakers, and picked up the microphone.
    “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.  It’s been my honor to be your usher this day to the Eternity Rift.  We’re approaching the Rift, and I’d like to take a moment to prepare you for the final stage of your journey.  I’ll soon be opening hatches on either side of the cabin.  These are the Dimensional Alignment Pods, and will allow for your safe phasing through the Rift.  Please do your best to enter the pods, and I’ll be by shortly to assist anyone who needs it.”
    Axton flicked off the mic, and began to activate the pods.  A mechanical humming permeated the ship as they came online and the hatches swung open.  Checking the cameras, the captain watched as his passengers got up and started getting into the pods.
    He again wandered out into the cabin.  Most of those aboard had already made it into their pods, and he made his way from hatch to hatch, checking on them and reminding them to keep themselves clear of the opening when it would close.
    Catherine was standing by one of the few remaining pods, waiting for Axton.  He approached her, and she wrapped her arms around his midsection and held him tightly.  He hugged her in return, and gently patted her on the back.
    “Are you ready, Catherine?”
    “I am.  Thank you Axton, for everything.  I want you to have something.”  She reached into her purse, and pulled out a golden locket.  “My husband gave me this, forty years ago.  I’ve kept it with me ever since.  I know I can’t take it with me, but I couldn’t leave it back on Earth.  I want you to have it, to thank you for helping me to be reunited with him again.”
    She hugged the captain again before he helped her into the pod.  Axton squeezed her hand goodbye, and returned to the cockpit.
    “Seal the pods, Caldwell.”  The copilot pressed a series of buttons on his console, and the hatches in the cabin closed.  “Ready to send them to the other side?”
    Caldwell said nothing.  Axton turned to his own console and activated the pods insertion protocol.  The ship shook as the pods opened to the void of space, evacuating those inside into the vacuum beyond.  
    “Lights”, Axton commanded, and Caldwell activated the ships external lighting.  Through the cockpit windshield, the only external viewpoint of the vessel, they watched as their former passengers drifted off into cold dead space.  Most of them still squirmed, looks of confusion and terror soon to be frozen on their faces.  Perhaps, in their final seconds, they realized the truth, there was no Rift.

Beyond them, a vast field of of bodies, the millions of others who had taken such flights in the past.  The light glistened off their frosted husks as they drifted, slow and silent.

    “The Eternity Rift... What a cruel trick.”  Caldwell muttered as he looked back down to his console.  Axton looked out at those he had just ejected.  In his pocket, he rubbed Catherine’s locket between his fingers.
    “It’s Halloween, Caldwell.  The day of the dead.  I like that.”
   

Getting Served

    My mind wanders to nowhere coherent.  I feel separate to what is happening in my own life.  Gulping down more beer, I look to the divorce papers on my table.  The papers I demanded in response to her continued infidelity.
    What sparked the change in her?  I think of how things were, how she used to feel for me, how I was once irreplaceable.  I like to think it was something complex, beyond my understanding.  Someone just told me the simplest answer is often the truth.  It was said about something entirely different, but it rings true.  My wife cheated and left out of boredom and laziness.  She is gone because the infatuation of a new lover is a greater pull for her than love of depth and reality.  
    I feel strange at the thought that I  don’t mourn her loss anymore.  She at least gave me the parting gift of tarnishing herself beyond the point of desire.  Now, with these documents, whatever obligation and duty I had will now also be gone.
    What I have found since she disappeared has been great.  Strength, motivation, true courage in the face of the unknown, such things I lacked.  Things I’ve needed desperately for years.  I feel now on the verge of greatness.  Greatness I would have shared with her, but perhaps would not have achieved without the loss.
    My obligations are now only to me.  My duty to my dreams and desires.  I will write what I see and dream.  I will create love and life out of words.  I will speak to those that dream, seek depth and understanding as I do.
    An old familiar song plays, reminding me of another woman.  A woman who was gone, and now returned to my life.  A relationship that I need now, that I will not again harm or sabotage.  I wonder if perhaps what I’ve gone through served to forge me into something worthy of being back in her life.
    I stand true to my realizations of these past months.  My selflessness served to harm me more than help.  Now, it is time to begin a selfish age.  Selfish, yet retaining the values true to me.  Selfishness that does not sacrifice compassion, grace and integrity.
    The future looms, unknown, unmapped, and as dangerous as ever.  Yet I am excited and hopeful.  I finally believe in my own power of creation.  I will mold my dreams, and not bend contrary to my will ever again.
    The fire is out.  The ashes are mine, to do with as I see fit.

To Rage

Something new with great potential, dead before it ever began.  Perhaps easier on the weary heart, yet I ache at the loss of could be.  The future, the unknown, which I seek so passionately, and feel more distant from by the moment.  The realization that we are all as empty and worthless as I feel in those dark moments.

Destruction runs wild in everyone.  Creativity fills my heart, but it pales to the carnage spread around me.  To build a monument in a field soaked through with the blood of ten thousand dead men, how can I rejoice in what we manage to construct?  Pale, weak, shallow, selfish little mortals who scurry and scrape without ever knowing why.

I aim to be enlightened, so escape the humanity I was born into.  Difficult, when I feel so shackled.  A sinking of the heart, into the thick, murky bog of my innards.  

Frustration leads away from creation.  I yearn to smash something.  To fight and crush, feel blood that is not mine splatter across my face.  To destroy as it feels all I know. 

Sprinting for the Future

    What is it we pursue? Is it something new, or rather chasing a feeling or place we once were? I often find myself torn between the desire for the unknown, and the comfort of the familiar.
The familiar is safe, predictable. I know how I will feel when I achieve something, I know what the risks are, and I know what it will cost me. These patterns, however, I feel are often destructive. Like a drug, you end up chasing the feelings you had before, rather than pushing through them. When things do progress beyond your comfort zone, into the unknown and unexplored, you will turn and run, abandon what is around you, and find something new to serve as a rewind.
I know this, because that is where I was, years ago. I was terrified of the unknown. I wrote stories about this fear, about pursuing what was once had, that feeling I had assigned perfection to. Now, I no longer fear the depth, the realm beyond my understanding, emotion surpassing my current capabilities. I hunger for it.
I want to push past all that has limited me. I want to love deeper than I have, and be loved deeper in return. I want to know joy and pain, laughter and sorrow beyond my current comprehension of these words. I want to feel beyond expression. I want depth.
Such depth takes time, and effort. It takes a will not only to stay in the moment, but also to keep pushing it ever forward. I feel a frenzy within me, a force that spurs near frantic behavior and emotion. Yet I know if I stop it, or try and quell this raging sea, I will die. I will put out a flame that has burst to life to achieve, see and know.
I will hunt the edges of understanding, stalk the unknown, bask in the lost emotions. I will have this even if it destroys me, because if I don’t, I might as well have never lived at all.

Starting the Journey

    My mind blazes. A fire of thought and emotion rages through the deepest corners of my brain. Sitting in a college coffee shop, I try and sift through the chaos, to pull out what is of value, and put it to pen. The struggle is difficult, though, for many reasons.
I came here, to this school far away from what I know, to start the novel I need to write. The greatest story I have yet lived, the darkest, yet strongest, chapter in my life. A story of betrayal, loss and heartbreak, but also courage, grace and growth. I know pain awaits me in this process, this first serious and committed attempt at writing. I feel ill prepared to capture what needs to be told, to convey the message of my heart.
I’m not sure what expectations I had in being here. I had hoped inspiration would strike like lightning, driving me forward, producing work beyond my talents. Staring at the page, waiting for that magical moment, I know it isn’t coming. I have it all in me, I have the conviction to write it, and I need to just do. Yet it intimidates me still. I feel this is because it is a story I must tell, not one I want to.
The events of my life I am to capture in the novel I start today have changed me, permanently. Though I have steered as much change as possible in a positive direction, it is still something I mourn. Despite the fact that my life now seems flooded with possibility and renewed potential, I can’t help but wonder over what has been lost. Perhaps my life would have remained mundane and in all ways ordinary, but the love I had was not ordinary. The care, affection and adoration I had for someone else was not simple, it was strong and lasting, true in every way. I can’t shake the feeling that I will never love again in such a way, if only because the scars and damage to my heart have left me no longer capable of such pure feeling.
What will become of me now? I will write this novel, pour heart, soul and passion into it. I will push and see it through. I dream of becoming a success, of exploring the world in search of new depth and story worth telling. I feel that these are not mere dreams, that it is merely a matter of time and perseverance for me.
Such success does not breed happiness, however, as is evident in so many of the authors I admire. Too often the source of such emotional creation is pain that tarnishes the beauty of life. Too many of my heroes were suicides. Dark thoughts in the face of this journey I am about to undertake.
I suppose that these are things that I will always struggle with. The same conviction I have in my work I must translate to life. I want to love and care as I did, and so I must put forth the effort to heal and mend, to one day get back to the point of at least being able.
For now, I will just thank you, dear reader. Your caring, attention and connection to me keeps me strong in this. I hope that what I produce is worthy of you, and in fact can move you. I write for those who relate, who value depth and struggle. I am so grateful you exist in this world, too often absent maturity and love.

The Publican

A short intro to this post.  I entered the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge, and for my first round was assigned to heat 24, given the guidelines of a sci fi, a new law, and a tax collector.  Below is the story I submitted.  It was so much fun to participate, and I am hoping to advance to the next round, as well as find other fiction contests.  I hope you enjoy!


 The Publican

     I stood in the threshold of the couple’s home, smoking a cigarette as the soldiers did their duty. The woman of the household was pinned on the floor, screaming pleas for mercy. Pvt Myles was on top of her, his knee pressed against her back, a hand clutching a fistful of hair so she couldn’t look away. In front of them, her husband was slumped over in a chair, face bruised and bloodied. Sgt Harmon paced the space between the couple, tapping his baton impatiently against his thigh.
    I flicked my smoke outside and walked back into the house. As I approached the woman quieted her wails to low moans, and I was grateful. I had been at this all day, and my ears were ringing.
    “Ma’am”, I spoke gently as I knelt next to her. “You know why we're here. You know we are not going away. This can all end right now, just tell me where your child is.”
    She sobbed in silence, biting her lip and shaking her head in somber defiance. I took a deep breath and sighed, folding my arms across my chest. I turned my head to nod at Sgt Harmon. He readied his baton and placed himself in front of her husband. He activated the weapon’s taser, and it awoke with a sharp crackle. I heard the woman’s fear escaping her as a whimper as he pointed the baton at her husband.
    “Are you sure we can’t solve this in a more civilized manner?” I asked, looking back to her.
    “Go to hell, Publican!” She spat the words at me. This was her decision.
    Sgt Harmon thrust the rod into the beaten man’s chest. A horrible howl erupted from the husband’s lungs as he writhed in his chair. His torturer continued to press it against him until my ears could no longer handle his cries.
    “Enough, Sgt. They know we aren’t leaving. Not until we find him.” I said, shaking my head.
    I stepped outside and lit another cigarette. This had been my day, and I was exhausted. Nearly every parent had tried to hide their child from us, had tried to keep them from joining the Ark. Why couldn’t they accept and understand? There could be no peace with Earth. Had they all forgotten the missile assault that rained down upon us barely a decade ago?
    I stared out at the setting suns, and the massive silhouette in front of them. The Ark of War, Alpha Centauri’s answer to the death dealt that day. The colossal vessel had taken eight years to build, and finally stood near completion. All had known it was to take ten million souls on the twenty year journey to Earth to defeat the aggressors, to ensure peace and survival for our people. Few of us had known the Emperor's plan to seed it with infants, to be trained over those two decades into the most elite army ever known.
    Few had known, but they should have suspected. Certainly they didn’t expect Earth to fall to an army of middle aged soldiers. Yet when the Decree of Perseverance was issued just a few weeks ago, requiring all children born in the next two years to be submitted to the Empire and join the Ark of War, parents across the globe began to hide their newborns.
    It was anticipated by the Emperor. He had formed the Publicans, men and women like myself, tasked with collecting the children. We had been preparing for this for several years, still I had hoped more would pay these dues of justice with pride. Scurrying like rats, stuffing their children in basements and cabinets, I expected better of our honorable citizens.
    Of course I didn’t anticipate people swarming the streets, thrusting their babies into my arms, but I thought they would at least understand, and be proud that their offspring would secure peace and freedom.
    I dropped my smoke on the stoop and stamped it out. There was no point wondering why they couldn’t understand, there was simply the task at hand. I strode back into the house.
    “Pick her up”, I ordered Pvt Myles. I turned to the husband, lightly slapping his cheek until he opened his eyes. “What we’ve done to you, we will do ten times worse to your wife. End this insanity, tell me where you’ve hidden your child.”
    I stepped aside so he could watch as his wife was pushed into a chair opposite his. Pvt Myles bound her hands, then drew his own baton off his belt, brandishing it to the beaten man. The husband coughed quietly, then whispered something inaudible.
    “Don’t tell them anything! Keep our boy safe!” the wife shrieked.
    “Shut her up” I snapped. A series of jabs to the abdomen ended her commands. She was coughing and crying, and I turned back to the husband. Still unable to hear his words, I lowered my face to his.
    He lunged, snapping his jaws ferociously. As I tumbled backward, he fell on top of me, his teeth finding flesh upon my cheek, and they sunk in. Flailing, punching, I desperately tried to free myself from his bite. Sgt Harmon finally pulled him off of me, and I leapt to my feet.
    “You bit my face!” I shouted in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You just bit... My face! Are you insane?”
    The husband was laughing, my blood still dripping from his teeth, dribbling down his chin. His cackle was mindless, and it shook me. This bruised man before me was broken beyond the beating, whoever he was had left in a primal panic to protect his family. I stared at him laying there, out of options, nothing but desperation, and in that moment I feared him.
    I retreated to the kitchen to wash my face. Gingerly dabbing it with a wet towel, I looked around for some bandages. I began to walk up the hall towards a bathroom after I couldn’t find any in the kitchen, but stopped and turned to the wall.
    I had already searched the house, I had been up and down this hallway a dozen times, yet I hadn’t paid any mind to all the pictures on the wall. Now, they captivated me. I stood, staring at images of the couple in the next room, smiling, laughing, playing. There were wedding pictures, shots from vacations, and even several with their new baby. As I looked at their faces, I hardly recognized them.
    I turned away, suddenly unable to face this family. All at once, I felt that this was their end. They would never again smile as they had, their laughter would be hollow, as their existences would remain empty. Somehow now, the big picture seemed insignificant. Children sent to protect a world that would forever miss them. Families torn apart that would rather die together.
    I walked back to the front room. All of us had fallen silent, they weren’t going to talk, and I couldn’t summon the conviction to continue an interrogation. I sat in one of their chairs and lit another smoke. Leaning back, I stared up at the ceiling, wondering if I even knew what was right anymore. I exhaled a foggy column, curious if there even was a “right” anymore.
    Silence was then broken by a faint, muffled crying. For several moments, all was frozen, five of us stopped breathing, transfixed by a baby’s bawling. Action then exploded upon the room, the parents frantically struggling once more, the soldiers restraining them, and I raced out of the room, following the cry.
    In the kitchen again, I paused and listened. Honing in on the sound, I emptied a cabinet. The baby wailed, resonating through the base of the cupboard. Feeling around, I found a latch, snapping it open to reveal a small compartment, and the child I had come to collect.
    The child quieted as I picked him up, and as I looked down into his face, I couldn’t shake a feeling of remorse. What was I taking from this child? What would he have become, living his life here on our home world? I imagined him as a painter, a doctor, a teacher, even a government official, like me. Whatever he became, it would have been his choice, and that is what I was taking this night.
    To secure the freedom of billions, we were taking the freedom of millions. I had thought this over before, it had made sense, it was reasonable. Yet in this moment, it seemed so cruel, so unfair and unjust. This boy was only days old. He would not remember the world he fights for. He would never know his parents faces. A life without a mother’s love, or a father’s guidance. He would be brainwashed, his convictions would come from training rather than emotion. Was I robbing him of the very things that make him human?
    As I reentered the living room, I felt as if I were entering a funeral. The boy’s parents stood together, crying quietly, their hands still bound. His mother’s head was buried in his father’s chest. It was over for them as well. Their lives had built together to this moment, they had a child out of love, and now I was taking him away forever. How did we expect them to recover from this taint upon their lives?
    “Untie their hands”, I commanded, weakly. The soldiers looked confused, but complied. “I really could use another cigarette. Would you hold him for me as I step out?”
    I handed the child to his mother. She clutched him close to her chest, and began to whisper to him. Not wanting to hear their goodbyes, I walked out the front door.
    As I lit my cigarette, I wondered how many I had smoked that day. I had been talking of quitting, but I somehow knew now that I never would. It was a comfort I would need forever.
    I picked at the blood dried to my face as I tried to imagine how I was going to do this every day for two more years. I tried to summon up the pride and certainty I possessed before, but I could not find it within me. Regardless, this was reality. I had no more choice in this than the parents inside the home behind me. Even if I quit, another Publican would come for them.
    I put out my cigarette and turned to go back inside. I struggled to control my expression. I could show no remorse, no doubt. This was necessary, I told myself. This was an unfortunate tax of life, but there was no other way. I knew this to be true.
    I took the boy from his mother’s arms. She resisted for a moment, but relinquished her son to me. I could see the fire had died in her eyes, she had surrendered to the darkness, the cold facts of life. I left them like that, hoping to never see them again. I could hardly handle the thought of them drifting through the rest of their lives, forever dominated by fear and guilt for the son they surrendered.
    I climbed into the back of the transport and placed the child in the container prepared for him. Looking down at his blank stare, I felt a small joy in the fact that he would at very least not remember this night. I turned away and strapped myself in as the vehicle began to move.
    On the seat next to me was my communicator, which I specifically had not brought inside. It was blinking with missed messages, and I picked it up, hoping for a distraction from the events that had just transpired.
    Fifteen missed calls from my wife, and worry flooded through me. She rarely called me at work, and certainly not fifteen times. I quickly called her back.
    “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” I asked immediately when she answered.
    “No, I’m not. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was hollow, and my worry turned to panic.
    “What’s going on? Has something happened?” I waited for her response. I could hear her breathing shortly, and knew she was crying. I was desperate to know what had made her like this, but knew better than to rush her. It seemed an eternity before she answered.
    “I’m pregnant.” My body went cold, as if all the blood in my body had suddenly evacuated. I searched for words of reply, but had none. Stunned, silent, I just sat there, her two words repeating in my mind over and over until she finally spoke again. “What are we going to do?”

Maybe You Don't

    How foolish you are, little person.  How completely blind you are to all around and in you.  You dare to throw around words of love, when you have no idea what love is.
    Love does not just come into being.  Love is not just attraction or infatuation.  Love is, when true and real, a force in itself.  It must be, as it is battered and tested through time.  It is hardened in a fire of conviction and commitment, yet you don’t consider this at all.
    Your love is a clay.  Moist and cool, you move and mold it into the shape that suits you now.  Never fostered, never fired, it remains weak.  A weakness you celebrate, for when love fails you, it makes it easy to ball up and restart.  
    You will never find a use for this love, though.  It will add nothing to your life, as you add nothing to it.  The clay will become dirty and dry, begin to crack.  Each reforming becomes harder, until it resembles nothing at all, a pile of worthless dirty.
    If only you could see beyond the initial flame of passion.  You see love like a match.  You strike it, and it bursts into flame.  An ignition of heat and light, burning through whatever material you have for it.  You can try to pile on fuel, but ultimately, fire dies.  You remain, perhaps exhausted by your efforts, covered in ash.  
    It must be so lonely, it must be so maddening.  You must be so frantic all the time.  Those around you must shake their heads as you run to and fro, but how can they show you what you refuse to see, what you find yourself always to busy to contemplate.  Perhaps those around you know no better themselves.
    Sit down, little one.  Breathe deep and slow, and consider what you want to build, not what you hope to find.