I had to edit a peice of Endoflux Theory for class today. My mind’s been really far from the story lately, so I feel like what I wrote is slightly lacking. Nonetheless, I think its decent enough to share with the few of y’all who may read this. Just as long as y’all know, for the record, that this piece annoys the shit out of me. For those of you who read the original on SE, this will be 100% new. Enjoy, if you can.
“Jump, Lucas.”
Lucas Sebring blinked. Below him sprawled a world shielded behind grey curtains, streaked with the white of slowly falling snow. He knew this place.
He’d had this dream before. It was always the same. The same thoughts. Same stimuli. Nothing was ever any different.
Somewhere behind him, the man who’d told him to jump stood, but Lucas knew that he would never see his face. He was transfixed, as always-rooted and staring into the oblivion below him with the suspicion that somewhere below destiny waited. Was it a chasm? A city? Hell? It was impossible to tell from the muted glow barely perceptible from the other side.
Lucas Sebring sighed. He’d had this dream before. His task was burned into his mind like a drug habit. Right now, he was tripping, repeating things he’d done a thousand times before. When he opened his eyes-or rather, found them open-everything would be gone. Not even the tatters of the dull tinge of this high would remain.
The voice behind him, repeated. “Jump, Lucas. Save yourself.”
Who the fuck are you? Lucas yelled in his mind. Irony told him it was his father, and this dream was post-traumatic stress. Of what, though? Why the hell would he associate that with his father? He couldn’t remember exactly. Something unpleasant. He evaporated the thought.
“You must save yourself!”
The voice had become urgent now. He’d had this dream before. Why did it want him to jump so badly? There were no answers-just orders. Jump. Save yourself. It was like being asked to lose all faith in order to regain it. Stupid shit-the sort of crap religious fundamentalists tell you to do when you meet them on the train. Take a leap. Take a word from someone who’s face he couldn’t see.
So did that mean this was the voice of God? Lucas was a biologist. He was raised in the Earthen tradition of Roman Catholicism. He went to church on Sundays-at least, when he didn’t have a hangover to recover from. That he attended at all was out of guilt, Lucas knew-for what, that was another thing he couldn’t remember. Why the hell did all his memories feel like distant road signs in this place?
The voice came again, this time its tone was reproachful. “Hesitation will not save you, Lucas. Only action.”
Even if the man behind the voice wasn’t his father, he sure as fuck sounded like him. Even the frustration was the same. Fine, Lucas hollered, remembering a time where he might have screamed this from the other side of a door, rather than on the edge of some precipice overlooking some nondescript place. I’ll fucking do it. Save myself-Whatever! Just stop telling me what to do!
Lucas took a shuddering breath and knew what came next. He would close his eyes. Then he would open them. Take in one more breath. Hold it. Jump. His final exhale would propel him to his death.
He’d had this dream before. It was always the same. The same thoughts. Same stimuli. Nothing was ever any different. Except for this time.
This time, Lucas found defiance lingering beneath the surface of his usual response. Where it had sprung from, he didn’t know. Perhaps one of the distant road signs had changed. Maybe it was less clear than usual or more so. Whatever the reason, when Lucas finally jumped, he didn’t let himself fall as he always did-turning in midair as he fell, so he wouldn’t see the ground coming up. Instead he turned, twisting in mid air so that he faced the precipice, to gaze upon the face of the man giving the orders…
…But there was no face. No eyes. No nose. Or even a mouth or hair. Just a broad frame, the hands held behind its back expectantly, waiting for the command to be carried out.
Figures.
Allowing his back to turn to gravity, Lucas Sebring fell to his death. An instant later, he found himself staring at the stucco ceiling of his apartment. The traffic light outside flashed yellow against the ceiling. The synchronized beats of his twin hearts echoed in his ears. The 36-hour time clock beside his bed red 9:55AM-five minutes before his alarm. For all he’d known, he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
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