Orange Horizons - Reid McLeavy (Charles Best Secondary School, 11th Grade)

Out of the orange sky, a hole opened up. Simple, and dark. Like a pore in the flesh of a giant beast, it breathed, and out fell a man. His tiny little white body dropped from the sky, plummeting to the ground. His gnarled screeching echoed across the vast plains, but his fall wouldn’t hurt him. It was in a pile of purple mud where he landed with a thud. The dry soil cracked easily, spewing up dust in his wake. His hulking body of muscle and flesh shifted and rolled, limp with a dull pain. It wasn’t a physical feeling, but something much worse. It was not his body that contributed to his state of distress, but his mind, which felt thick with fog. Twisting over and opening his eyes, he could see the tiny hole closing above. In a blink it was gone. The sky resumed its unnatural and uninterrupted tangerine pigmentation.

         Somewhere deep in the back of the man’s mind, a worm of recognition crawled. The artist saint with one ear had warned orange was the colour of insanity. This saint had been from the world before, but perhaps he had ventured to this place once or twice in his quest for solace. At least, that’s what the man thought quietly to himself. 

But beyond his cognition was the knowledge that this place was his and his alone. He couldn’t see it, not for a long while, but if he looked hard enough and far enough, maybe he would’ve noticed the pulsing membrane of the outer edges. He would’ve seen the crafted walls, how fragile they were. In some cruel joke, it was his own doing. He had brought himself here—a fabrication of his creation. It was both a prison of his own punishment and a palace of his own escape.

           Sliding out of the puddle of mud, he rolled into a cluster of soft tendrils. They snaked away from him, careful not to get too close. Along the edge of each coiling tendril, an array of blooming magenta flowers ran its way up in arresting colour. Against the dry, dead background of dirt and sky, the vivacious blossoms were a stark contrast of vitality. 

Seeing their wariness in his presence, a flash of hot, lurid anger crossed his face. They had recoiled in something that almost resembled fear. He spat at them.

         “You’re good for nothing anyways,” he sneered, “you stupid pretty flowers.”

         In front of him, a path appeared. Concrete tiles rose from the ground, tearing through the dirt and up to the surface. They were perfectly carved, perfectly square. He smiled at the tiles. Maybe he was happy they didn’t recoil from him in fear and had instead appeared to greet him. He outstretched a foot and with a thrust he hopped onto the first tile. One he counted. Perched on the first, he jumped to the next. Two. And then the next. Three. And finally…four.

         The next set of tiles rose from the ground. Another perfect four. One, he counted.

He screamed suddenly, a blood-curdling sound of fear.

         “No,” he cried. “Not again!” He couldn’t handle the repetition. Not anymore.

         From the ground, the tiles shifted away, and instead something stirred deep below the surface. The fabric of the ground moved, the strings stretched and broke and a hole not dissimilar to the one in the sky appeared. 

This hole was larger, but simple all the same. In his disjointed state of panic, he toppled forwards, fingers fanning out like feathers, hopelessly trying to counter his inevitable fall. Deep down the hole he spiraled, eyes closed—in fear or grim acceptance. Impossible to tell which.

         When his feet hit the ground, they were last. It was his face that landed first in another pile of mud. Gooey and gross, this mud was different–far from dry–and when he stood up it dripped down his limbs, pooling in little purple puddles.

         He had landed in a strange place. He was in a cave somewhere—his fall had brought him deep below ground. The grey walls of carved stone stretched high above his head. Dirt drifted out in dry clumps beside the rocks and roots that ran up the walls, snaking their way to the top. There was the strange impression that this place was something greater than a simple cave. This place seemed to move and breathe like a great giant beast—as if it had a life of its own.

         “Hello,” a voice said.

         The man’s head swiveled to find the source of the sound. Across from him, several feet away was a woman. She was sitting on a strange sculpture of rocks–something that resembled a throne, but the way the rocks jutted out in shocking angularity, made it look much less comfortable than a throne. 

Despite the seemingly uncomfortable seat, her face was gathered in a serene expression, perfectly calm. In waves, her blissfully blonde hair fell down the sides of her pale face; her white-blue eyes pierced like diamonds. She wore a simple but elegant garment. She was draped in silvery blue robes that ran all the way down to the ground, pooling in piles of silk.

         “I see you found your way back,” she said. “I had no doubt you would.”

         The man’s face burned with intensity, his eyes hot like fire, the lines of his face crinkling with concern. “Who are you?” he demanded. His words boomed through the cave, slapping against the walls with indignation.

         “I’m Reason of course.” The woman’s eyes glimmered with something like satisfaction.

         “I figured,” the man said, his voice quieter now. He paused a moment. “You’re horribly ugly you know. I can’t stand to look at your face.”

         “I know,” she smiled. “But only in your eyes. You can’t see quite straight, but I think you’ve known that for a while. Haven’t you?”

         “Maybe,” he shrugged.

         “Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.

         “No.”

         “Yes, you do. Don’t be unreasonable, now.” She held up a delicate hand.

         The man frowned. “Fuck you.” He spat. “I don’t need your help anyways.”

         She laughed softly to herself. “I thought you might say that. Carry on. As you will.”

She outstretched her hand–this time it was the left, and she pointed towards a tunnel ahead. The man’s eyes followed her carefully suspended hand. The tunnel was growing and stretching in a twist as it made its way to unforeseen lands. Wherever it led, it was a more dangerous place than this. 

From the man’s chest, his heart gave a single, solid, bludgeoning beat. The blood-filled organ surfaced, pulsing once in indignant declaration. And then it sunk back down beneath the surface of the skin—disappearing to a quiet place once again. He made his way forward, approaching the tunnel with caution, footsteps falling lightly on the dirt. 

When he entered through the tunnel, the air darkened as a strange sound reverberated and echoed against the wall. It was the sound of laughter—children’s laughter. The laughs arose into a song, the chorus slapping against the walls in forceful power. The man started to run—the fear of children strong in his chest. His legs wobbled like spaghetti, slick and sticky against the ground. His pace quickened to a run. Slap, slap, slap. As footfalls came faster, his head turned on its axis, eyes glaring back down the tunnel. Reason was watching him from her pointy throne, expression perfectly composed.

“Good luck,” she called. Her words sounded like they were underwater. “Remember, don’t be unreasonable!”

A single tear ran down the cheek of the man, and with tremendous effort, he tore his gaze away from Reason, and back to whatever it was that awaited him. There was hatred in his eyes, but he was reaching the end of the tunnel. He let out a cry of angst, and felt a big gust of wind as it wrapped around his navel–blowing him forwards and out into a new land.

It was in a jungle full of blooming magenta flowers where he emerged. The heads of the bulbous flowers and their leaves swayed on spiky stems, and clumps of vines slithered across the ground. This place was beautiful and full of colour; exploding in kaleidoscopic magnetism, unlike the ugly terrain of Reason and her cave. 

A faint hissing sound rose from the ground, and as the man followed with his eyes, he landed on a tiny beetle perched upon a fanned leaf. He eyed the beetle with suspicion, for although he inevitably knew the worst was yet to come, he couldn’t help but feel the beetle had his best interests at heart. He approached the tiny bug, and its antenna twitched with excitement. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but the man seemed to think the beetle would finally lead him out of this wretched place.

It hopped across the leaves and crawled across the ground, snaking down a dirt trail that made its way into a downwards slope. Rocks and leaves progressing towards the edge of a cliff, gave way to a rocky ravine, descending below. The little beetle sprung from its position on the leaf, wings outstretched, flapping and slapping at the air in translucent blurs. It floated through the air and down the steep rocky cliff, leaving the man behind to simply stop and stare. The drop was not as extreme as the first hole he had fallen through, but the slope at which it progressed sent a grim shiver down his spine.

This time his fall was different. His foot slid forwards, and his body flung backwards, head landing with a thwack against the ground. He slid down the slide of dirt, pieces of grainy grit flying into his eyes and mouth. When he landed, his whole body was covered.  The dirt was everywhere—deep in the crevices of his nails and dried into the hair on his legs. He stood up in a cloud of fog. It was all enveloping. He couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and the beetle, his optimistic companion, had seemingly disappeared.

(Insert third possible character.) 

“Hello!” he called out. Why he did was unclear. No one was around. “Who’s there?”

The temperature of the air suddenly dropped drastically, a cold shiver running up his spine. A strange creaking noise echoed from somewhere far away, cutting through the fog in sharp precision. It was like door hinges screeching with the wrath of an angry falcon. The noise was entirely alien.

“TH-H-H-HELLOOOOO” it cried. “Whsthoo is you?”

The man did not answer. He was frozen in fear.

“C-ck-cth-omme clos-er,” it chided.

Out of the fog, a shape surfaced. Great looming columns rose up to the sky, and rows of bricks stacked on top of one another, forming the walls of a giant palace. Stained glass windows rose up on either side of a hulking door. This door creaked open, slowly but surely, revealing a long hall. The man walked up the stone path and stone steps, admiring the architecture of this exotic place. Up above, a frescoed ceiling with a startling mural of God-like figures floating on clouds.

A sharp sound made his head snap back down to the ground, tracking where it had come from. 

Across from him, all the way at the other end of the hall, a dark figure stood. It wasn’t quite human-shaped—rather strange limbs stuck out at odd angles and the giant bulbous head twitched on its twig-like neck. From where the man was standing, the figure was swathed in shadows, but as he approached, the lines of its form came into clearer focus.

The limbs he had seen from a distance were indeed limbs, but not the arms and legs of a human. Furry bug-like legs extended from its sides, and giant mandibles twitched from its mouth. The face of an insect took the position on top of the twitching neck, with an infinity of big black eyes glaring back at him. Inky goo dripped from its nostrils and mouth, running down its limbs and furry body. It was a terrifying sight.

“W-elc-omme,” It said. “You are p-p-pretty. You’re face s-s-so smooth.”

“What are you?” It came out as a whisper.

The giant beetle tilted its head. “Abb-ruptt.” It shivered in disapproval, “D-ont you know? I am R-R-Repeti-tion. I am who br-rought you here.”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, but you know its t-t-true,” it purred.

“Then why? Why am I here?” Fire burned in his eyes.

“Your soul—it is in trouble. Your life from the world before is broken—it is breaking. And your mind, it is not quite right. I may have b-r-r-rought you here, but it is you who have created your own h-h-hell.”

“How do I get out? I need to go back. Back to my world before.”

“No, you do not. You are not ready for th-th-that yet. If you go back, you will hurt yourself again and y-y-you will only find your way back here.” Its mandibles moved upwards in something that almost resembled a smile.

“I don’t want to die!” the man screamed. His words boomed through the hall, pulsing like blood in the giant heart of the great beast. “I don’t want to fucking die!” His sobs came in rapid pants, veins in his neck jumping to the surface, tears streaming down his face.

The beetle began to laugh. Cruel, mocking laughter shot across the room like bullets. Growing and stretching, it doubled in size, then doubled again until the laughter was the only thing to ever exist. 

And with the blink of an eye, the world turned black.

When the man woke up, he was lying in a grassy clearing. Above him trees jutted out into the sky like blunt brushstrokes on canvas. The sun was shining down on his face, warm against his skin, and clouds passed above him in peaceful bliss. 

From somewhere in the branches, birds were singing; softly, but still singing. When he sat up, he saw that there was a tiny stone well several feet in front of him. Little smiling faces were carved into its base, and stone flowers bloomed from its frame. A soft light was shining from inside the well, golden in colour.

He approached the well with tender caution. He felt his feet press against the soft grass. The stone of the well was cool against his hands, and a faint breeze blew through the trees. 

He looked down, searching for the source of the golden light. But when he looked for it, the light was no longer there. Instead, deep in the shimmering pool of water, deep at the bottom, a reflection shone—no not a reflection, an image, for it was not the face of the man. 

A scene of flashing cars and street lights appeared. Pedestrians were passing by in the water, faces swimming through the scene. Out of the crowd, the man’s own face appeared. He was walking down the sidewalk. It looked to be a cool autumn day. He was smiling in the scene. Happiness was foreign to the man. In its absence, he had ended up in his own hell, but in this scene, there seemed to be plenty of it. There seemed to be enough to get him out of here.

He reached out his hand, reaching deep down the well towards the water, where the scene swam in startling clarity. Only a few feet farther and he would touch the shimmering pool below. He would finally make his way back to the world before—the real world he belonged to. 

With a gasp he felt his fingers touch the cool water, his legs sliding down over the stone, landing with a splash in the water. He closed his eyes.

He was falling. Falling once again.

He opened his eyes as he fell.

But the sky wasn’t blue.

Once again it was burning orange.