The opening chapters for my short story "The Blindfold".
Chapter One
Eyes open, awoken in surprise. Why he had fallen asleep, he knew not. He didn't even need sleep. Not here. It was a luxury, and just that.
Each and every time he surveyed his surroundings, he would note that he hadn't really moved anywhere. He always stood in the same spot on that same ribbon of indeterminate composition that seemed to stretch into eternity, moving up and down gently as it undulated, as if it were a sheet covering the ocean. Whether he was moving or whether the ribbon was like that, he knew not. All around him were glowing patches of light. Stars, as his heavily eroded mind recalled. He knew little beyond the name and that they were very far away.
In the dim starlight, he gathered his bearings and headed along the ribbon. His instincts told him that he'd eventually find something at the end of the ribbon. This was his motivation. This was his purpose.
He walked for what seemed like hours and hours without rest, just as he did every day. Day. A new word. Day was when the sun came out. He remembered it only vaguely. A bright light in the sky that would retreat with the coming of night. The moon. The sun's sister. She dominated the night. It was a power struggle.
This place had neither the sun nor the moon. It had the stars, and while they were numerous and beautiful in their own right, they weren't brilliant. He could not be blinded by their light, by the intensity of their distant fires. It wasn't the same. How he missed the sun and the moon. To have been deprived of them was a crime.
Eventually, he decided to sit down and momentarily rest. His mind had been worn down by endless thought and the morale crushing eternity of the undulating ribbon. He was determined not to fall victim to torpor or sleep like he had last time. He was afraid of sleeping. What if the soft wave action of the ribbon were to push him off into the abyss below? He shuddered at the though and grabbed his legs to his chest. He looked up and stared at the stars. So many of them. So beautiful.
He awoke in a strange place. The light was bright here, and he had to cover his eyes to get used to the sting. As his eyesight slowly adapted, he tried to search the sky for the sun. All he saw was a barrier. Matter. A wall. A ceiling. A room. He was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of recalled information. He was in his home in rural New England. It was 1914 or 1915.
And then he heard a voice emanating from behind him. It was like his when he spoke, but much softer. A female. She was singing a song. Music. He tried to grasp the meaning of the words, but he only got fragments. His mind had been slightly repaired but not fixed. She came through a portal and graced him with her presence.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, a spring in her step as she walked towards him. She came and kissed him on the cheek.
He eyed her from toe to head, admiring the yellow dress embroidered with floral patterns, until his eyes met her beautiful green ones. "Is this the one that Nan sent you?"
"Yeah. Pretty, isn't it?"
"You look gorgeous in it, Stella," he affirmed.
"Thank you." She turned from him and gathered some items from the room they occupied. She was probably going shopping. "I'll be back with Jed at 4. I'm going to the market with Laura and Gertrude before that. Is that all right?"
"Yes. Do as you please."
"Alright." She walked out of the room. "I love you, Stan," said she as she exited.
Stan. Stanton O'Claire.
…
He awoke and gasped for air. He had fallen asleep. But how could he be somewhere else? He had never experienced something like that. At least not here. But he vaguely recalled experiencing these visions before. Down there in the old reality. Dreams. They were called dreams. So vivid. So lovely. He felt anger at having to look upon this monotonous existence again. He wanted to go back, but he didn't want to sleep again. He suddenly shook with fear. A fear he couldn't explain to himself. Instead, He decided to walk on, all the while contemplating his bizarre experience.
Chapter 2
Stan contemplated whether or not he could go back. He wanted desperately wanted to be with her. He wanted desperately to caress her hair and whisper to her that she was beautiful. He wanted to feel the warm embrace of the sun. To experience a night with the moon shining it's sickly white glow upon his skin. Sometimes, instead of traveling, he would settle down and draw things he could recall. He didn't have a stylus with which to accomplish such a task, so he used his fingers and hands. The ribbon was soft and one could leave an impression upon its greenish-white surface with ease.
He drew a house. Outside, Stella and he were holding hands. In addition, he drew random objects he could remember from his recollections. A lamp. A dog. A tree. A bird. He also drew other people. They were all the same. He had decided to put blindfolds upon all of them.
Blindfold. His only worldly possession besides his off-white tunic and trousers. It was wrapped to his right arm. It held the image of an eye upon it. A solitary eye with long eyelashes and an ornately designed iris surrounding a dilated pupil. He suddenly remembered what it was for.
"To help me go to sleep," he told himself quietly.
He had tried and tried, but he hadn't been able to fall back asleep in some time. Latent fears? Fear. He drew fear. It was a man. He was all alone. He was hunched over weeping into his hands. Stan had been living his fear for some time. The problem was that he hadn't noticed until now. He didn't know about caring for others. This was all new to him.
"I am afraid," he said. "My fear is isolation. Isolation is being alone. How does one go about curing fears? How may I escape?"
"Jump."
Stan turned his head in surprise and stood up. He balled his fists and looked around carefully, ready for anything that would come his way. "Who are you?"
There was only silence.
"SPEAK!" he yelled. He bore his teeth like an angry wolf.
"Jump. Try."
"Where are you?" He looked all around, aided by the light from a bright cluster of stars and dust to his right.
"Underneath you. Look."
The surrounding opaque layer of the ribbon peeled back revealing a mirror version of himself standing upside down. Every move Stan made, the mirror image made also.
"You don't want to be alone. Jump and we can be together."
Stan sighed but contemplated the offer. "How do you know I won't fall."
"You can't. We are gravitationally bound to this ribbon. It's impossible."
"Why would I want to be with you?"
"You don't have to be alone. And I have information. I've picked up other memories that you haven't."
Stan got back away from the edge and ran to the gap but stopped before he could go over the edge.
"Come on! Go! You'll be alright! You don't need a running start."
So he tried again. And as he neared the edge, he thought he heard the copy say something along the lines of "We'll be one." The copy jumped as he did, a thing he did not forsee. They met at the midpoint and became one. Stan was surprised, but he felt no pain. He reached the other side as promised, utterly confused and shaken. He looked up—or rather down—at the spot in the ribbon that was transparent. It was slowly closing back up. The doppelganger was nowhere to be found. He got on his knees and began to cry. He was alone again.
05 May 2011, 5:33 pm
