Finding Light is an anthology that's about hope and has a overarching story that matters.
1
It all began with the taste of breakfast on my buds. The walls had provided a mixture of two pancakes, bacon, and an infamous omelette with a thin slathering of maple syrup. Now this is sustenance to me, even possibly better than supper. Which is unmentionable due to it's feasting size. All this food and drink was provided by a thin tube hanging from a circular pod. Now that it had finished filling my empty stomach after waking from rest, it receded from the corners of my sight. With a sliding bang, it's non-existence was confirmed. It was no longer a part of this room. This was an ordinary room, to me at least. But it was also a horror and oddity. A place of four sides, all a different shade. Grey, White, Black, and whatever was in-between. “What’s another shade?" I asked the grey wall before me. It, she…, didn’t answer. Thinking up a word for the wall behind me, I took what Grey had once said, in account. She had had a name for it. A name I found was perfect because I was at a loss at what to describe its emptiness. Grey had said that it was neither Black, Grey, nor White. Instead it was apparently more of a brighter white, a brighter grey, and a brighter black put together to something she called bright. And so that’s what was behind me, a bright wall. In front of me was Grey, to my right was White, my left, Black, and behind me, was Bright. I had a name to match each part of my surroundings. My surroundings, a box. A cube that has a hold on my very being, and it keeps me where I am. I can't see behind me, only presume from what I hear. And this is where I fall on a new problem. The ceiling and floor have no name. They are just more sides in a cube. One above, one below. If you were to change the physics of this cube, up would be down, ceiling would be floor. So therefore the wall above, is wall number five, whilst the floor is number six. The life I know has six walls, the open world I theorize, does too. The only way I can be sure of this theory being true is by finding a way out. But for now the only life I know is the cube. I have never stepped foot into the open world, or at least I don't think so. All I know is that I was born here seventy years ago. And the only reason I know about the open world is through the walls. They show me what happens in the open world. To be precise, only the first four walls can speak to me. Or at least those are the only voices I hear aside from my own. They have told me stories that frighten me. Stories of monsters and their terrible acts. But after being here for as long as I remember, I wonder if there is any possibility of it being better than the cube. This place is maddening with it's lack of freedom. Nothing here truly makes sense and I have a feeling it shouldn't exist. There is more to these brief moments of the cube as I fall to darkness after every moment. So I have come to a decision; I must escape to the open world. Maybe I belong there, not here where I'm the only one of my kind. Once there, I will also see everything that the walls' have talked about. To really know if what they say is true. The words they use after all are hard to trust, I've been around them far too long. I attempt to look past the line of vision, not being able to move my head. All I can see and ever will be able to see, is a colour like no other. It's different from all the rest, worth no words I can muster. Except maybe, the two silent ones. An indistinguishable voice from one of the walls' reminded me that my nap had arrived. I feel my very essence becoming a dark cloud. The air, of what there is of it, smelled metallic and clinged to the skin. It made my nostrils burn. I have felt, I have seen all of this before. And like all of those other times I have experienced this, my mind goes blank. Then my vision grows nil.
2
The nap is finished. And I'm back to standing in the very center of my prison. I'm like a statue that can't move. Although statues in general, are stone beings that don't make movement a habit. This is one of the many things White has told me. As for standing, the walls state that I've been on this same spot for as long as I've lived. I know I have, but I don't want to believe it. I do believe that I've been here for some time, kept against my will, persuaded that I belong here. But how can I belong when I just stand here without much activity? All I've ever done is watch the open world through the walls' open mouths. The only way I can keep mentality is by thinking and this alone drives me mad. I'm starting to fall apart after so long, I must escape! I must see the world that is dreaded by my parents. And from this world I see the past, and only the past. The wars that run like a plague, and the immorality that never ends. This is what I see as I gaze into what Grey's showing me. Her mouth changes images as my daily spill begins. Horrific things make it into my mind and I attempt to look away. But I can't, I just can't. And if I could, the spill, a load of history and information, would still pull me in with its claws. I'm not in control of myself. My family, the six sides of the cube, are my puppeteers. Bright says he's my father and both White, and Black, say they're my brother and sister. Finally the grey wall in front of me, states that she's my mother. And thinking of my parents, I have never seen my father. I've only heard mention of his shade and wrath from my mother, and siblings. They say once I see him, I'll meet death. But I don't know this death they speak of. So every time they mention him, or it, I ask about death. They say no more. Is he a good soul, or is he like my father? This is something I simply don't know. Something I do know is that I must escape this prison to save my sanity. That is, if sanity's even a good thing. How do I know this is real? How do I know, this isn't a dream? How do I know I'm not insane? I've got it, I am insane. How else do I explain this maddening place that never ends? How else do I explain the feeling of not being who I am? My thoughts suddenly grow silent, and the spill ends. A voice breaks the glass of this stillness. It's the grey wall. Mother speaks.
"What is this useless babble you think, child?"
"I'm not thinking mother. I swear I'm not."
"What!" she exclaims with expression on her ridged appearance. All you can see is a pair of black, thin eyebrows, and a protruding nose with the outline of a mouth.
"I'm not talking," I lie to the grey wall.
"But you are. You're talking with invisible words I can still hear."
I ponder then answer in shame, "I confess, I lied to you about thinking. It's impossible mother. I can't live without thought. It would mean my mind was dormant. Therefore without a mind, I can't exist as a logical being," I stifle a nervous laugh.
"You lie, child. Thought is illogical. I only wish you would remember that you can by no means think. And you shall absolutely not talk if not spoken to. You have done wrong once again, and I have run out of patience for your kind. We as the cube tried to make you perfect like us. I tried to train a human. But now I realize that that was a useless effort," she scoffed with a belief that the walls were superior.
"What I have done is part of human beings. I haven't made a mistake and it's true, we're imperfect. I realized it later than I should've. You lied to me, you're not my mother. The open world is where I belong. Not here. Not in the cube. Not in this madness."
"Hmph. Do not remember what I said before! This is the last time you'll ever commit another fault. First you tried to see your father, and now you defy what I say. Goodbye, child of the cube! This is the end. It's time for you to meet your real father!"
"I'm sorry mother. Please, I don't want to. I won't turn back, I won't think. Please, I don't want to see father, I don't want to meet death." It's too late. My body is figuratively thawing. I'm moving and I can't stop it. I can't stop this life that's flowing through me. A part of me is terrified of seeing what's out of my vision, but another part is relieved. This might be a promise of freedom. My arms are now moving, I'm moving them. I'm pretending to resist, to fool mother. I mustn't see the unseeable, I'll die. But this means escape, it must. I'll be able to see the open world. I'm lowering my arms now. This is it, I've turned all the way around, I'm free.
"Stop bickering human. You are no longer my child, I banish thee!" Father's looking at me with anger. He is bright, they were telling the truth. The wall's brighter than all light inside the cube. It then turned to an inward opening leading into an abyss. This is a confrontation of darkness. And I have faith that is starting to grow dimmer. I'm doubting the freedom that I've been promised. It's more of a hope for this death to be the end of this insanity. Preferably it's a glance of the open world. A small glance, at least. All thought vanishes in an instant. I'm swallowed up by the dark abyss, and the cube is turned into nothingness, once again.
3
A new sensation breaks the dark ether as I'm taken away and to a familiar corridor. A familiarity I can't place for the life of me. With an abrupt pull I'm being led down a walkway reminding me of prison. A punishing sector that I had only seen from Grey's screen. I was being led by the strings that lead to the one puppeteering my advancement down the corridor. There's nothing I can do to halt the movement I make. I am not in control. I'm not who I am. Several flashes of colour lash out at me as lights flicker to black. The strings belonging to the puppeteer then snap, leaving my feet to do the running. Then all of a sudden arms shoot out from either side of the corridor, attempting to drag me closer to them. I'm not safe and most of all, I'm scared. Scared of the dark. Scared of the walls. This can't be freedom. For it's worse than the cube. I was wrong, death wasn't someone to mess with. This was death, and all I can do is run. I don't even know what freedom is anymore. I just want to get out of this nightmare. Perhaps this is how insanity feels like? Perhaps this is really just sanity in disguise. Is this sanity, or insanity? This question lingers in my mind as walls close in, making it hard to breathe. I trip over something unknown in the darkness and fall to the mysterious ground. I must get out of here, this can't be freedom. For if I stay any longer, I will be crushed by the stone sides of the corridor as they shift toward me. A light emanates at the end of the corridor. And without hesitation, I push myself away from where I'm hunched on the ground. I'm running again and this time I have somewhere to run to. This time, nothing is stopping me and I take the chance to escape by reaching the doorway of brightness. The light engulfs its enemy and I'm left in despair. I am surrounded by walls. Walls that are different but very much the same as the last. They have similar colours, but this time they've been variated. The wall on my right is Black, left is a tint of Dark-Silver, and the wall directly in front is Grey. Grey has never changed. Mother is still there. And that stillness that was once in my bones, is again there. I can't move my body. I'm frozen. So therefore, I can't see my new father. I turn my head as much as I can, moving my eyes to glimpse the tip of a ceiling and the bottom. And the bottom… wait, no! The bottom wall is nothing and has no face. That's why they were the silent ones, they weren't walls. There is nothing supporting my feet. I'm going to fall to what I no longer believe is freedom. Except I'm not falling, I'm still in the cube. I can't see what's happening but I can sense a change. The room is getting smaller as I think these thoughts. And with a burst of strength I can move. I'm turning around and no one is controlling me. My eyes fill up with tears. This is my nightmare. This is my never-ending nightmare. But this time, everything's wrong. Father's gone from behind me. Which means that there's only one last place where he could've gone. He's the wall that should've been underneath me. I glance down, seeing the entirety of the floor. I'm not going to fall. With an inkling of hope, I fall. Time doesn't give me the chance to cry out as I leave my prison in a downward flight.
4
A green surface rushes up to meet my covered feet. Which subsequently led to my body rolling to protect them from breaking. But the rolling never stops. I keep descending at an angle, down a lush, green hill. The rolling then slows down and stops, leaving me breathless. Picking myself up with difficulty, I whisper quietly to myself, "freedom, at last." Having seen relatively nothing of this land I survey, the green hill dipped down into a valley. All around the valley mountains tipped with snow stood like guardians silently watching. Silently like the ceiling and the floor. I dread the memories of the cube. Threading down the valley's summit, on the flattest section of ground, is a large, white dome. Spires reach to the sky like fingers. And small, black dots fly around, what I presume is a city. Something tells me that this is not from my time. But nonetheless all of this feels too real not to be. And therefore it can't be a nightmare. I've escaped the cube. I look to where I fell, but there's nothing indicating the cube was ever there. It was like my nightmare never existed. It's gone now, that's all that's important right now. I carefully amble down the rest of the hill until the grass ends and dirt replaces it. Then a dozen footsteps later I realize I can't reach the city. It keeps on moving every time I get closer. It's stepping back while I step forward. I should've figured it out sooner. This is too good to be true. Freedom was never at my fingertips. Instead, I'm still in my nightmare. I can see the walls now. A ghostly image of them is getting more concrete over the scenery I'm a part of. They rise behind the mountains and higher before they meet together to form four corners in the sky. Amidst the corners, a purple hue pigments the heavens in one blink. I'm still inside the cube. This strange world disappears and the shaded box is back. My sanity still stays broken and escape is only an impossible dream now. I fall to my knees, begging for it anyway. With my hands intertwined, I plead for freedom. Whatever this is I call life, it's not what I want. There is more. The grey wall speaks. The city in the valley brought the truth out. How, I don't know, but it's somehow connected to who I am. My determination to escape has also been rebooted. I must escape sooner than ever if I want my mind to survive. I have hope, I'll escape the cube, I must have freedom.
"What, this isn't possible! You should be gone by now! Gone from our presence! I have tried to teach you, pet! Don't come back! Don't try to avoid your fate!" I'm speechless as I watch the grey wall contort in a protruding grimace. Her words are replaced by serenity, which are taken by a sharp sound that pierces my ears. Hands immediately shoot out to protect them but the sound soon morphs into laughter. The walls are calling me names now that churn up the despair. Names like: circle face, yellow-head, and the worst of all, the insane loafer. I don't have the slightest idea what the latter means, but I don't like the sound of it. I'm starting to break again and so I scream at them. But they just retort back.
"But you are. You are. You're an ugly loafer, cause all you do is stand there doing nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing at all. Mother tried to train you, make you logical. Except we all know now that you're not worth it. Not worth it at all." The walls taunt me as I sit there on my knees, trying to ignore what they say. They try their hardest to keep me from freedom. Like tricksters, which is what they are. But that doesn't stop me as I'm overcome with power to fight back. It's like someone beside the walls is watching. I don't know who, but they're also not the mountains.
"I'm not going to let you bombard me with lies. None of this is my fault. And that name doesn't bother me, cause I would if I could. I would move if I could. I'm not insane. I'm not. You are the ones that…," I'm still on my knees but now consciousness is starting to leave. When will the ending of a moment, and the beginning of another, stop? I can feel myself topple over in a mess. But no matter how much I try, I'll never be rid of the cube. I'll never have freedom.
5
I wake up with arms that I cannot move. They're indisposed. And this world I was trapped in, I'm not sure if it ever existed or not. It is merely a broken part of my broken mind. So henceforth I shall treat it as an apparition of the mind. It was a fake reality. I am now in what I can perceive as real. However, just like the nightmare, I am constrained. The more I struggle, the noisier the bell clangs at the side of the bed. This sends the dark notion that I'm still in a prison, through my very mind. I sit up and it's not long before the ringing achieves its purpose. The room I'm in is brightly-lit until it darkens with tall, faceless forms. My vision is being crowded and it hurts my eyes to keep them open. It's another nightmare. Except this time, I don't think it's fake. Struggling to tear off the confinement, I'm pushed back onto the bed. My arms are somehow a part of what imprison me. And there's a name for it on the tip of my tongue. It's a straitjacket. One of the figures disappears into an area beyond what I can see. Then it comes back, holding a thin object between a few fingers.
"Relax Arthur, everything will be alright. I'm just going to make those nightmares go away. And this is what's going to do it. It'll make you go sleepy-sleep. There's no freedom, there never was," the ominous and calm voice tries to reassure. Of course I doubt this and keep on fighting back. It repeats over and over, never stopping. So my real name was Arthur. And the question I asked before in the cube, sanity or insanity, I think I know the answer. I'm trapped in my own reality. The thing is, it's worse than the nightmare I tried to run from. It's the reality where my answer isn't what I want it to be. This reality, I'm trying to run from it. And as the thin object comes closer, and closer, I have time to blurt out my last sentence. Before I feel the small pain of breaking skin I utter one, four word line. Repeatedly spoken in a faltering breath. Child of the cube, child of the cube. And when the time was still available, I complimented the sentence. I am, the child of the cube.
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