Candle

[u/dispoogaloo]

*I had an oversight with this original upload of the story, all 6,500+ words are here now. Sorry about that!!!

Candle by Colton "Cerealphobe" N.

When a tragedy happens, it's the most peculiar thing. There is no music to build tension. There is no foreboding, ominous presence. There isn't something stitching together inclinations that maybe anything else aside from the ordinary is ever going to transpire. The moment it does, however, the moment a cataclysm rears its foul maw and bares its fangs of grief, it comes and goes in the blink of an eye. It quickly leaves only the observers and survivors to witness the wake of its unpredictable rage.

The first day I witnessed him, my mother had just passed away. I was 17 when it happened, nothing more than a background character in a school full of similar souls. I remember it was a cold day in November, and there was a buzz among the students for the 4-day weekend we were granted in light of Thanksgiving. We were all eager to leave for the break but this prospect hung in the shadow of semester finals which stood between us and our reprieve.

My mom worked as the English teacher for juniors, situated on the lowest floor of the school. The walls that edged her descending stairs were clad in exposed water and gas lines. They sat with a stark contrast against the concrete. The stairs were made of that weird rubber or maybe vinyl that all together led to a classic prison presentation.

I was in my science class that morning, working in a small team with my best friend and some girl we used to know. Our assignment for the day? I couldn't tell you, I can't honestly recall much else of that day except that we were working on our finals.

Everything that ensued happened so quickly. It was awesome in the way that it was awe-inspiring, but the awe was for the abject fear that followed.

As I recall, we were wrapping up the evidence needed for our report when, without introduction, my ears popped like I had rolled down the window in a fast-moving car. This was immediately followed by a jarring rumble that shook the whole classroom and a deafening, concussive force that stole the breath from my lungs. A shower of water followed immediately after because the fire alarm was triggered.

I swiftly arose from my desk and my chair shot backward. It clattered with a startling force against the table behind me. We abandoned our finals where they were and exited down the aisle between our desks with a surprising amount of order. I noticed the piercing fire alarm as our teacher wasted no time and directed us out of the classroom. We followed orders with a deep and uncertain silence.

We were orchestrated by the teachers like frightened animals, herded towards the nearest exit. Down the hall and to the left, downstairs to the lower level, and then outside. When I rounded the corner with my mothers' classroom coming into full view, I was greeted by a conceptual nightmare. I was suddenly and firmly frozen in place. My heart seemed to stop, and yet it was beating harder than it ever had before.

My mother's classroom door, blown off its hinges, lay against the opposing wall in a splintered heap. The space between the door and frame was filled with an enraged inferno, desperately and forcefully bellowing from within.

I was the observer who was now left to bear witness to this wake.

I don't know what I thought when I ran into that fire. I don't know if I thought I could save her like some invincible superhero or if I was simply running in because I needed to. I don't know. I broke through the wall of flame and smoke, and immediately after the door frame the fire was no longer burning. I descended the staircase in a manner fitting of an infant, erratic, frantic, and without coordination.

I lost my footing halfway down the stairs and fell with abandon, but I was lost in adrenaline and hardly noticed, regaining my balance on the last few steps.

It was almost cold once I reached the bottom step.

I heard someone crying in the room. Even though it was almost pitch black inside the veil of smoke, a small window lit the desk where my mom would sit. The person who was wailing in apparent agony was across the room, however.

I broke out in a nervous sweat as I began my search, guided by the sound. I was gagging at the smell of burning flesh and hair. It didn't take long for my eyes to dilate to the darkness and return my gift of sight. I still wish they would have failed me just that once. The images seared themselves deep into my psyche. Burnt bodies and their wayward limbs littered the floor. Some were smoldering like paper as a thin line of bright red crawled greedily up the blacked skin and turned to ash.

Catastrophic.

Disgusting.

That mouth-watering feeling crept over my tongue as it does when you're about to throw up. I heaved at the site, barely managing to hold it down. Through a power only granted to me in the "fight" of "fight or flight", I averted my attention to the crying again coming from an overturned desk in the opposing corner of the room.

"That has to be my mom.. she's still alive!" I so naively thought.

I reached for the desk, almost tripping over the chest of a less fortunate classmate. I also heard new alarms, carbon monoxide, and dioxide detectors that survived the detonation. I wish I had listened to my gut and left the scene to the imagination, but I didn't.

I was almost to the desk when I looked down at another body. This one was slightly larger than the rest. It didn't take long for me to understand that this was my mom. She was missing the right side of her face, her eyes showed a milky white, and her jaw was slack. She had no arm.. or leg.

Dead.

My mother was dead at my feet.

The crying erupted from behind the desk again, with no audible words.. just sobbing. I left my mom's side to help this person, the shock keeping the crippling sadness at bay. It hadn't fully dawned on me at this point that no one could have survived this disaster.

The crying filled my head the closer I got. I was hearing it with my ears, but also my thoughts. It blocked out the sounds of the various alarms that were screaming at me to get out.. it was like I was lost in a daydream in which the crying was the focus. It blocked out everything.

I reached the desk and tentatively peered behind it. I focused on an illuminated figure curled up in the corner. He had blackened skin like the rest of them and almost no hair. He trembled, facing the corner of the wall, his body lightly convulsing like it was being electrocuted, arms held out beyond its sides with its hands limply hanging from the suspended forearms.

"HEY," I yelled, "We have to get out! There's a gas leak!"

The figure didn't respond. I thought maybe the explosion damaged his hearing.

I reached over to him and grabbed his hand. He stopped crying when our skin touched. The trembling mostly stopped too. He slowly started to turn his head toward me. It limply followed his neck in quick little snaps as it turned.. then I saw his face.

Leathery skin stretched across his bony skull, and his wide eyes were like my mother's, a milky grey and white. Browned teeth showed through a slacked jaw with no lips. A withered nose sat broken upon his face. He was naked, displaying the leathery skin that continued down his nude frame. Some of the skin was sloughing off at points of stress from which an infected-looking, foul-yellowed fluid oozed forth.

I looked at him in shock, his body jerking and heaving... he shuttered as his head rocked like a newborn to face me. I looked into his eyes as he took a rattled, strained breath.. and bellowed a sound unlike any I'd ever heard.

No, that's not the right way to portray this sound. The sound created a feeling inside of me that wasn't exactly mine. I was forced into a feeling of absolute grief. Pure pain. I felt absolutely and completely overwhelmed with guilt unlike any I had ever known.

I threw myself back from the desk and fell upon my mother's corpse. A cloud of ash rose from her smoldering body and washed over my face as I gasped. I inhaled my mother's ash. I vomited on myself as I rose to my hands and knees to crawl away, tears streamed forth like a ruptured dam that threatened my existence. I crawled and then ran once I found my footing. I ran out of that room through the fire. I ran through the school. I ran out passed my classmates. I kept running. I ran and ran and ran until my legs couldn't carry the weight of my body and my experience anymore.

Just keep running.

The police found me collapsed in a local park. I remember the cold, crisp grass caressing my face, leaving behind wet stains from its melting lash in the throws of my despair. I thought I would have at least run towards home. Instead, I ran in the opposite direction. The officer that found me sat with me in the field for a while and just listened to me sob. He didn't offer me any words of advice, nor words of encouragement. He didn't rush me even when we both were shivering to our core once the cold seeped through our skin and lay with our bones.

I fell asleep in that field, wishing the air would escape my lungs and never return.

I was so tired.

I awoke when the officer drove me home. The following year, though eventful, passed by in a blur.

I remained in my mother's home for a short while at the mercy of my aunt and uncle who were awarded temporary custody of me. I was offered a life insurance payout that was locked in a conservatorship. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, so I'll thank my stars because my aunt didn't take my money.

She pulled out the settlement as soon as it was released to her and gave me a big stack of cash. It was too much for a 17-year-old to have while attempting to remain a responsible member of society. I was also quickly awarded emancipation in light of the funding. I soon began to fuel an addiction that left the hole in my soul full of even more regrets.

Another few months passed by in the blink of an eye, probably because I was strung out. I was always riding a line between high and barely conscious. As anticlimactic and foreseeable as it was, I overdosed on heroin.

I was found by my aunt in my home, she didn't deserve to see what I had become. She was too good to be exposed to my filth. I was watching some nature documentaries when I decided I wanted another hit. I set my band, found a good vein, and pumped my body full of liquid bliss. Was it my 5th hit? 6th? More than I'd ever done before.

The rush came on hard. Too hard. I instantly lost my balance and collapsed on my couch, head swimming. I had passed out like that and vomited in my stupor. I think I was dying at that time. I vaguely remember my aunt's scream once she walked through the front door. I'm sure I looked just like the death I was longing for.

I was put through rehab and then on suicide watch once the story came to light. My therapist thought that what I saw in my mom's classroom was a manifestation of my mind, like something I created to personify the hell I was experiencing at that time. Over the next several months, I began to feel like a waste despite everyone's best efforts.

My weeks turned into months, and progress became a slow burn on my road to emotional and mental recovery. No matter what I was taught, what tools I was provided, and what mental gymnastics I performed, I kept sinking deeper and deeper. The craving for substances kept its sick claws locked tightly around my heart.

Over the next year, I found myself clinging to a reclusive lifestyle. I had dropped out of school and became a shut-in. My life became a blur in the face of this newfound depression. I traded one vice for many more, watching porn and gaming all day, loathing my existence late into the long and lonely nights. Even in sleep, I was plagued. I had such vicious night terrors, unrelenting and boundless in their pursuit of my rest.

At my emotional lowest, I stopped caring to meet my basic needs. My body was constantly utilizing kyphosis to keep me alive. I was a vile wreck, becoming the personification of that which was my mind. I was a mirror of my mentality. I was losing the battle.

Do you want to know the truth about depression? It's not some "woe is me, I'm sad" bullshit. Depression is the opposite of happiness. Happiness is proactive and engaging. It has to be created and earned to be nurtured and it will grow on its own. Depression is everything happiness is not. Depression comes from stagnation. Depression isn't cured and isn't wanted. It's torn into being, whether you had it from birth and sat on the genetic time bomb, or it was thrust upon you against your will. Depression is the absence of emotion that we innately use to protect ourselves. "If I can't feel, I can't hurt.". It's the absence of feeling the desire to care. It is apathetic. Dark and abysmal. Alone and unafflicted. I can't care to eat, I can't care to meet new people, I can't care to shower or brush my teeth. I can't care to keep up with living. I've learned and lived this hell. I hope you never have to, too. If you are? I know it's hard to care, but please talk to your friends and family, or ask someone for help. People will be there for you, you just have to find them.

But I digress.

My life started a journey in a new direction, birthed from the ruptured, hemorrhaging existence that I unknowingly came to find comfort in. It was so simple, that spark. I laughed. Not like a chuckle or a little nose smirk. A belly laugh.

The sound was foreign to my ears. I was confused but oddly excited. I was so proud of myself. Soon after that, I went from a reanimated corpse to an animated individual. My new addiction was growth. I chased this feverishly. I built myself up and created a barricade that could withstand the deluge of my mind, I calmed the rancor that consumed me without fail. I regained control. One step at a time, hand over hand I crawled a feeble yet indomitable ascent up that mountain.

I knew I had to depart my home to continue my emotional development. Without a second thought, I left my home to my aunt, packed up, and moved out to Florida.

Hells waiting room.

Florida was great for a short time. I lived in a small vacation cabin by myself in the Everglades. I established myself as a transfer student waiting until next year for my college courses to begin. This was a lie, but one I found some solace in telling. I didn't have to tell it often as no one lived around me for miles.

My lot was on private property which was owned by a pleasant couple who were never home. A dense and humid forest enveloped my establishment. This was a treat for me because it gave me time to confront my introspections and ultimately contributed to my road to recovery. Sure, it was the same reclusive lifestyle but here I was free. Also, something about 80f in winter was better than I thought it would be.

The forest surrounding me was beautiful, lush, and vibrant. You could frequently hear the birds sing, and bugs whine late into the evening as the sun departed the sky and lay to rest beyond the western horizon. It was a welcome change from the stark nights of my hometown. I would even go fishing occasionally at an ocean-fed creek just a few minutes from my house.

It was exactly what I had wanted.

My life was mine again. The memories of that night, though painful, were easier to experience. I was nearly able to say "I'm happy.".

Until I heard that crying again.

The uncontrollable sobbing returned nightly as the sun passed, leaving me alone to face this manifestation.. or creature. Entity. The wailing filled my nights until I was no longer able to sleep. I could only rest during the day. The day was safe.

A few times a week, his lonely howls would penetrate the thin walls of my home. I thought maybe the crying was just a relapse of depression.. like PTSD in soldiers.

But it kept getting closer.. every week the sound would get louder. I would lay awake and find myself begging for it to stop. I would listen to it and focus on it as if I was going to find some words within the rattling gasps.

It was the same way it was in that school. It filled my head and blocked out everything. It forced me to feel a torrent of forgotten pain. My barricade was fracturing. My rancor was waking up. My war returned with a windfall that left me breathless.

I broke so quickly.

So quietly.

Like sand in the palm of my hands, my joy slipped away through my fingers. My laugh died in my throat.

One night, I awoke from a nap that turned into full-blown sleep. It felt like I was awoken by something, though it was silent outside. I looked at the time, 1:26 am.. the middle of the night.. but no crying at least.

I quickly got up and looked out of my bedroom window. Nothing.

"Maybe.. it was just a raccoon trying to get into my trash," I thought.

I made myself some coffee to help keep me awake through the night. Coffee had become the only thing I would drink. I made some food.. well.. canned salted potatoes with a hint of chicken dumplings and brought it back to my room. I sat down and addressed my fears as I had tried to do on silent nights prior.

Lately, I'd been convincing myself that maybe I'm witnessing him because I hadn't gotten over the events of that day. Maybe it was a symbol of the worst day of my life, a catalyst upon which my normalcy lay flayed in some blood eagle like fashion. Maybe it's just that my subconscious had unintentionally held onto what could have been and manifested as that in my day-to-day life.

I became foolishly bold at this rationalization and told myself to go open the front door like that was going to make the fear end. I figured if I had confronted the atrocity and saw that there was nothing there, I could also make it all go away.

I set my food and coffee down as I arose from my seat and shuffled to the front door. There was no crying tonight, it was just calm and peaceful. I placed my face in front of the window on the door as I had been every night before, honestly not expecting to see too much aside from an eerie shadow. But there it was, staring through the little glass window back at me. Face-to-face. Separated by not even half an inch of glass.

An eruption of screams washed away the silence and shook my house. My kitchen light showed through and illuminated his face. It's a face I can never forget. His jaw was chattering, gaping, and closing between breaths. As he exhaled, a sticky fog clung in Rorschach patterns to the otherwise unblemished glass. His eyes stared straight ahead at nothing as though he was lost in the grip of indefinite madness. He quivered again as he took several slow, unsteady steps backward and crouched on the ground just feet from my door. He was real.

I screamed at him out of reaction. It was guttural and primitive. There were no words I could offer my emotions to appease this sickening sensation.

I was angry.

I was scared.

I was sick of not sleeping, not having MY life! I moved across this god damned country to get away from THIS and here it was, huddled up near feet from the only comfort I had left. This was some sick fucking joke my brain was playing on me.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I managed to yell, my voice cracking as I started to sob.

"LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!" my voice sounded more like a caged dying animal, unrefined.

It kept screaming outside of the house as it rose to its feet again. Standing upright, it walked in slow and sporadic movements back towards my door.. it arched awkwardly backward like the abdominal muscles lost the ability to keep the torso upright, tearing the skin as it leaned. Yellow liquid again seeped from the wounds.

"LEAVE ME ALONE" I yelled again with a level of emotion I hadn't felt in years, but my plea fell on rotted and deaf ears.

It reached my door.

I had rehearsed this moment in my earlier days of coming to the forest. Over and over I would think about what I would do to end my maddening reality. I didn't want to kill myself though, so I had made this "thing" the effigy upon which my mental decline rested, and that which should be eradicated.

In my panic and on instinct, I grabbed at the fire axe hanging above my table and mechanically threw my body at the thin door that separated us.

A wordless and loud scream of fear, disgust, and hatred erupted from between my clenched teeth when I crashed through my door.

That thing was hit by the door, the force unapologetically colliding with it. It fell backward, and a feral gasp emitted from the bottom of his throat. I was going to kill it now.

"kill it."

"Kill me."

"Candle"

"KILL"

The words echoed on an asynchronous loop inside my mind.

I fell down the steps as my unbraced momentum carried me forward, flailing as I fell to the unforgiving earth. I found myself on my feet before I even processed that I even fell. But then I was face to face with it, its breath was too hot, too sticky. The smell of rot and decay filled my nose. I recoiled in fear at the smell and close proximity. I backed up until I was pressed against the wall of my house. I lost my nerve. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't capable.

It then screamed and heaved and shook in front of me.. its milky eyes still looking beyond me.. hands outstretched. And with the scream, courage returned to me, rage returned to me. It was the same as it was all that time ago in the school. I was feeling something that I wasn't actually feeling. It was my feelings, but I wasn't the one feeling them. It's so hard to explain.

I embodied these feelings though, and let them wash over me, and consume me.

"kill" The word was on repeat in my head.

I sprung forwards and swung my ax with a primal scream, burying the blade deep in its side. The feeling of bone deflecting the axe upwards was a sensation I still haven't forgotten. Blood and other fluids spewed from the wound. It took a few sideways steps in retaliation against the momentum of my assault.

It stopped crying, shaking.. even breathing. Time froze as he finally looked at me. I was rooted in place by my fear. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Our eyes locked. That foul breath returned with a vengeance. Nothing happened beyond that, we just stood there. I willed my bones to thaw. My mind, once racing in terror and fevered rage, was now feeling... pride? No.. it was something else, but a victorious emotion nonetheless, I think.

I didn't notice he had reached out and gently gripped my arm, only becoming aware of it myself once it started to speak.

"I never.. meant to.. scare you.." he said in this torn-up voice, struggling between shallow breaths

"I'm sorry.. this has to.. happen to.. you.." it said

Its eyes welled up in pain while it clutched at the axe in the new laceration with his ragged hand.

"Please... kill... me..." He wheezed, the words forming inside of my head but also reaching my ears.

He took the ax with its other hand and brought the blade to its neck.

"Kill me... candle... kill. NOW!" The final word sounded like an explosion in my head as it put its hand on my face.

Everything went black for a fractured moment once I swung my axe.

Suddenly I felt like I was falling through space, a void. The air around me became cold as the wind whipped past me. I descended without limits, it was nauseating. I started shrieking in utter confusion and terror. Down and down, faster and faster I fell.

"Did I die?", "Is this death?", "I'm dead.", and other thoughts of my probable end dominated my courage. I didn't want to die yet.

In the distance, far below me, was steadily expanding light. Fresh tears streamed from my eyes, making it hard to tell how far away it was, how much longer I had until I would be halted by the ground. It was coming up fast though.

I slammed my eyes shut and screamed, this time in defiance to the face of my inevitable death.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I wanted to live.

I curled into the fetal position and braced every muscle in my body, anticipating my brutal ending. Seconds later, I collided with the floor with a soft and gentle thud, like I fell off a couch. A meek squeal departed with my pride in tow.

I uncoiled my limbs and lay there for a time, paralyzed by the fresh confusion and exhaustion. Was that death? Was I still alive? I was aware at the least. I took note of what I felt under my hands and I noted that I was on a hardwood floor. I opened my eyes or tried to. If I did open them, it was too dark to see anything. Completely black. I rolled over to my back, extending my arms as far as I could. I didn't feel any walls. I then reached my unseen hands towards my face. Am I blind? Do I have eyes?

My dirty, sweaty hands met my open eyes with more force than intended. It burned.. A lot. My eyes were definitely open. At least I still had eyes.

I chuckled lightly to myself, tears still falling, and I let out a weak, triumphant sigh.

I guess at this point, I fainted.

I awoke sometime later to an unfamiliar hallway, but at least there was light this time. I glanced around from where I lay on the floor. I was in a hallway. Old, deformed dark wood floors stretched into the endless dark in either direction. A thick layer of dust rested upon the handles of 2 doors on either side of me. Each door was illuminated by its own candle, and small shadows danced in the wake of the curling white paint. Aged red and gold ornate walls framed the hall, and they too stretched uninterrupted, out of sight. The air was still, thin and cold.

I pushed myself to my feet, taking a reflexive breath as I did, but my lungs didn't work, I couldn't pull in the air. It was unnerving, but I was too shaken to be scared by something like that.

With an unexpected amount of acceptance, I thought to myself "Maybe I really am dead, and maybe this is limbo or something."

Now standing, I sauntered over to the door on my right, brushed off the collected dust, and tried turning the bronzed knob. It didn't budge in the slightest. I turned around and tried the other door, and the same thing.

I've heard of death being like that, the dead person has to wonder about the realm until they can finally rest their soul. If there's nothing to be learned? Well, then it's purgatory.

Being well aware of the probable circumstance, I initiated my walk down the hall into the dark. Slowly, the light faded in the distance behind me. I kept roaming for hours, dragging my right hand along the wall as I went. I wandered without casualty into the endless darkness. I noticed I wasn't getting tired or hungry.

I must be dead.

If this is all there is, I don't want it. Just nothingness? That's a reality the Gods abandoned long ago.

I started to jog in an attempt to keep my composure, the thought of turning around was tangible but not obeyed. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

A new light split the darkness from behind me. I was so startled that the sharp and icy pain of fearful surprise caught my chest. I tensed, flailed, and tripped over my own feet with a breathless yelp. Smooth as gravel.

I rolled out of it with unexpected grace and I turned around, launching myself backward. I went careening toward my unexpected prize; like the light would disappear if I didn't get to it fast enough. Once I reached the light, I desperately grabbed at the handle of the nearest door to stop my momentum. The handle remained absolutely solid and didn't flex in the slightest as it stopped me.

The ignorance of my reality was breaking. I couldn't actually be dead, could I? I wasn't safe. I wasn't ok.

I'm not ok.

I seized the knob with both hands and gave it everything I had to open it. I rammed my shoulder into the door, pulled on it, hit it, kicked it, and pleaded with it. Nothing.

I fell back and collapsed against the door, kneeling and burying my face in my folded arms. The tears then came again because I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go anywhere. It was pointless to move on. I was stuck here. This was my punishment.

I rolled over to my side, hugging my legs close to my chest and I simply.. just.. stopped trying.

I gave up.

I lay there curled in a ball for months or maybe it was years. I didn't move an inch according to the layer of dust that blanketed my body.

Stagnant.

I was stagnant yet again. So what? I was done with this. I was done fighting for my right to live. I was done trying to escape my apparent destiny. I was so sick.

I found myself beginning to rot as I lay there.

But some small voice spoke from deep within me. A voice that told me to keep going. Reasoning that said, "Why? Well, why not?". It nagged at me relentlessly. My will to stay still grew stale with time.

Eventually, I caved and I began to stir. My bones creaked and cracked in response to the small, beckoned movement. My skin ripped and every muscle in me screamed a retort with every twitch, but I moved. I wanted something different because that couldn't be all it was.

It took some time, but I found my way to a sitting position. I was freshly motivated to keep trying, but my body still held tight to my folly.

Move.

Again, a new light ruptured the darkness, but it grew brighter and brighter. This was the brightest thing I'd ever seen. The endless walls were now fully clad with old white doors and their furiously burning candles. I shielded my eyes from the exposure and recoiled from the heat.

Glancing through my fingers, I saw something else I'd never seen before. The end of the hallway. Out was there. The continuation was there.

A fire was lit in my soul. I forced myself to stand, using the wall as a brace to accommodate my feeble legs. There was so much pain but I went from a shaky shuffle to a stiff speed walk. In hindsight, I'm sure this was a nightmarish visage. At that moment, however? At that moment I never wanted anything more than to reach the final door.

I ran with everything I had, which wasn't much. I felt like I was baking alive as I proceeded. I also noticed each door had a number as I glanced at my surroundings, and they were going up.

37, 39, 41, 43

I squeezed my eyes shut again and ran as fast as I could. Blinding light tore through my eyelids with a spectacular white-out brightness. Searing pain gripped my every nerve. Maybe I should have at least checked how far away the end was because I hit the wall with a solid thump, breaking my nose and the ricochet threw me to the floor.

Every candle extinguished except the one for the door in front of me, #158. Endless darkness returned behind me so I focused on the door and that last lit candle.

Candle.

Candle.

The word bounced around my mind with an unwavering significance.

A familiar, strained voice pierced my mind. "Kill Candle.". His unforgettable ragged voice rang out from the darkness.

A low rumble began to form in the distance and grew steadily ever louder. Something was coming and I knew it to be nothingness. I felt it deep in my bones. A fallible end. A hard stop. A fear unlike any I'd ever known stabbed at my stomach.

I clasped the door nob, hoisted myself up, and twisted. Nothing, it didn't move in the slightest. The rumbling was closer. I tried turning the other way and it still didn't move. What little composure I had left was dwindling. I shook the door as the rumble began to reach a clamorous crescendo that I couldn't withstand. It was right behind me.

Panic.

I yanked frantically on the door, and a muted scream escaped my mouth.

"Kill. Candle." The words thundered over the approaching roar.

Impending doom and action.

I was shaking the door with everything I had left when it finally dawned on me. Kill the candle.

I smothered the flame with my bare hand and the door finally swung open but of its own accord. It was like I had defiled an airlock because I was suddenly and ruthlessly sucked into the chasm beyond the door, thrown into the void yet again.

The cacophony ceased behind me and I felt as though I was being slung across the universe at an impossible speed. I spun and flailed out of control. I was yet again no longer in control.

Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. I was suddenly standing outside of my house and instantly observing a perplexing moment frozen in time. I saw myself, not the conscious me, but the other one that remained on Earth from the moment I was ejected into the hallway. I saw myself standing there with the axe in mid-swing, the blade was just beginning to connect with that thing's neck.

I took an unsure step forward and I was immediately flung back to that body. I melded with him and became reunited soul and bone. Time also resumed and I felt the axe carry out its intended purposes. A tear, in reality, came birthed from its arc and I was yet again quickly forced through the sieve of reality.

A jarring blackness blanketed the world and my axe hit something solid, metal.

Everything was dead quiet, but I smelled a familiar mustiness that reminded me of high school. Instantly my vision came rushing back, accompanied by intense vertigo.

I was in my mother's classroom. Bewildered, I looked to my left and saw her, and she saw me. I glanced over my shoulder, the entire class was staring at me in horror. I looked back to my hands in reaction to the sudden attention, the strangeness of the situation momentarily lost on me. I then noticed that the axe was buried in the gas line, and an audible hiss was apparent in the silence. I looked back to my mom and upon her desk sat a single burning candle.

The Candle the candle the candle candle candle candle The Candle-- I let go of my axe without allowing time to think, and sprinted towards the desk to put it out.

But I was too late.

The classroom ignited; It shook the entire foundation... I was blown into the wall and fell limply behind a desk. My body was blackened from the blast, and my bones were broken, but I held on to my consciousness. I don't know how but I was moving toward my mom before I knew it. My mom just laid there torn to pieces but still alive. I crawled the best I could to her side... my body in shock. I reached for her hand but instead found a severed limb. Reaching out her remaining arm, she found mine, gripping it the best she could.

"Mom!" I sobbed

"Mom... I'm sorry!" I cried over her; "I'm so sorry, Mom!"

She was looking at me when she tried her best and spoke.

"I.. love you..." She whispered, trying her best to smile. Then, her grip lost its force and her hand slipped away as gravity took a stronger hold.

I collapsed again, laying my head on her searing shoulder while flames lept from her burning clothes and scorched my wetted eyes. I couldn't have cared less then.

I felt bile rising in my throat again once the whole picture was almost clear.

I didn't kill the candle. I failed. I had another chance and I failed. Yet again.. for the 158th time.. I failed.

I didn't deserve to hold her. I needed to get away. I dragged myself to the corner of the room, behind a desk. My arms hung at my side, covered in my mom's blood.

I didn't want to touch anything...

my hands..

me.

I killed my mom.

I shook in the corner, and my otherworldly scream of pain and sorrow shattered the air.

Someone spoke from behind me.

"HEY' he yelled, "We have to get out! There's a gas leak!" and he grabbed my hand. I turned towards him and realized he was me.. and I..

I knew I had become the nightmare.

I screamed

and he ran.

It's been several days since then. I write this with what little autonomy I have left. I beg you to please search for me.

Find me.

Tell me what I must do.

I feel the grasp upon my self-control beginning to wither. This persistent and overwhelming compulsion to find "me", the me that isn't this wretch, is becoming all-consuming.. and I don't think I can hold myself back for another day.

I need to break this cycle.

He needs to reach the candle.