The rain throws itself like clumps of sand against the waiting room’s windows. It comes in waves, as if there’s a giant the other side thrumming their fingers on the glass.

The girl squeaks open the door and squeezes through. Her pink hair’s pasted by the rain onto her forehead and neck, like melted cotton candy.

I nod to welcome her.

She puffs out a breath of steam. “Hey.”

She sits two benches away from me. There’s no one else here tonight. She shivers. Tries not to, to hide her feelings, but it’s cold in here and she’s soaking.

I’m not a gentleman, or even close, but I remove my jacket and throw it next to her. “It makes a good towel.” If there was anything better in the bag at my feet, I’d give it to her.

“No thanks,” she says.

Stubborn. Defiant. “Suit yourself.”

”When’s the next train due?” she asks. She mustn’t have seen the overgrowth strangling the station, the twisted-spines of the railway track. It is dark, the moon and stars swallowed by clouds — easy to miss the dilapidation. She wouldn’t have asked if she had seen any of it.

And yet, a train will come.

”Not until the morning.”

She shivers again.

“Use it,” I say. “You won’t owe me anything for it. I’m not your stepfather.“

She looks at me, wide eyed, two twitchy turquoise pools. Doesn’t say anything though — it could just be a lucky guess on my part, after all. She takes my cotton jacket and dries her hair, looks like a bird who has shaken itself after a bath. She covers a yawn.

“It’ll be a long night yet,” I say. “You might want a little rest. I always think clearer after a good night’s rest. Everything looks better the next morning, don’t you think?”

“Why are you here if there’s no train until tomorrow?”

”In case anyone comes here.“

She frowns. ”So… You work here?”

“No.”

”Then why are you—”

She sees the blood on the cotton jacket. Looks at me, searching for a wound, hoping to find one. Then, when she fails, she reaches up and touches her own head.

”What the hell? What the hell?”

Now it’s fear causing her to shiver.

“You wanted to know why I’m here. It’s because I don’t believe anyone should be alone before their journey,” I say.

Her hand is covered in blood. Her pool of memories, leaked empty for a time, are refilling.

”He will be punished, if that’s of any comfort. I promise you that. And I will make sure he does not get to ride this train.”

She gasps at her thoughts. At the violence she’s recalling.

She is fifteen. She will never be older.

“You knew,” she whispers. “What are you?”

”A friend. And you are safe in my home.”

She looks around. The rain taps taps taps.

Only the sound of rain for a long while.

”You live here?”

”You should rest,” I say. “The bleeding has stopped. The rain made it run, that’s all. You’re safe now.”

”Am I…”

”Yes.”

”Oh.”

She says nothing else. Doesn’t cry. Just thinks.

Yawns, eventually.

When she finally sleeps, jacket balled beneath her head, I walk over to her with my bag. It is not the same teddy bear her real father had given her, that she lost when she was nine, but it looks the same. If I could leave this room, I would find the original for her. As it is, this is the best I can manage.

I tuck it into the nook of her elbow.

One is never too old for such comfort.

I return to my seat and wait for the storm to pass, for the pale light of the morning train that will take her to the place beyond.

And I will wait, as always, for the next lost soul.

The void. The abyssal shores of the Nevermore Ocean. The quiet forest where night never comes and day never breaks. A thin, strange land that lies beyond the limiting borders of time and space. It is a place of the lost and the bewildered. Where those who truly become lost beyond all maps, beyond any guidance, throughout all worlds, are its only visitors. These lost souls, who have passed not into death, nor back into the warmth of life, but has been misplaced utterly and completely, can find the Voidwood. They come exhausted, often wounded, and confused. They rest for a moment, dress their wounds, and eat the strange pulsating fruits of the trees that grow in between all other things. Then they sleep, staying for a single night of rest, insomuch as they understand what night could be. Of course, such rules apply only to those who can think in the manner that mortals do. Beasts can go here, and many have settled down to live in this place, becoming animals tainted by void. This realm has no ruler, no master, no owner. It is a land that lies within the firmament, beyond the pale, over the hills and far away; it is a land that only existed a long long time ago, and yet it is also a place that one day will come to be, and in many places it is already happening, has happened, and will happen again. It is a realm beyond the reach of gods, but not beyond the reach of stories.

There is only one house in the Voidwood. It is large, with many comfortable rooms, and it is made from the smoky crystallised wood of the voidtrees. It is the only permanent habitation, the only place with proper beds and a good proper meal to be had. And that is where I live. It is the only homely place in this abyssal realm. I am not a traveller. I am not lost in this land beyond the woods that are lovely, dark, and deep. I do not have many miles to go, nor any promises to keep. I am the only person who came here by natural means. And thus, I am the only person who can live here for long. The precise details of my birth is unknown to me. I do not recall who or what birthed me. Or if perhaps I was hatched from an egg. Naturally, an infant would have perished if someone hadn't looked after me. At first the beasts of this place took me in. Night mammoths, fractal tigers, the dream-shells of the Argentavis, all of them have known me, and have never sought to harm me. Beasts like them, they carried me to the only other inhabitants of this realm; The ones who seek to come here and stay. Wizards, scientists, strange priests. All of them come to prove something or escape someone. All of them die eventually.

Having been born here, I grew up with the powers of entropy and dead dreams moulding my body, making me a part of this place as much as the voidtrees, the dead stars, and the ghost whales that I see from the shores of the Nevermore Ocean. But they are all too old to adapt. Too old for their bodies to acclimatize to this twilight realm. And yet, they strive to survive here for a time. They took me in, and cared for me. Taught me language, numbers, and many branches of magic. They were kind to me. Even though I'd already been altered and fused with the strange energies of this unreal location, they loved me. Even as I grew stranger and stranger still, they did not cast me out. My eyes became orbs that shone with a baleful Tyrian purple shine, and they did not balk at my existence. When I was roughly eight years by their reckoning, my ebon skin contorted and pulsed like nothing that anyone can describe, my flesh twisting and turning in a bizarre and unnatural way, leaving me covered in midnight fur, they did nothing but console me, having been frightened by the painful experience. When I was 12, they marvelled as charcoal-grey leathery wings unfurled from my back, where previously there had been no indication of such things. Remarkably useful for keeping warm or flying around the infinite lands of this void.

Yet, it was not to last. As they became touched by the strange powers of this place, they began to get a haunted look in their eyes. Always furtively glancing at the dark horizon, at the starless sky. And mumbling under their breath, about how dark it was, how they had forgotten the sun. Inevitably, it meant them attempting to return. Opening a gateway home. And the single moment upon which they beheld the light of their own world once more, caused them to shrivel and burn into a pile of jet-black ashes. While they burned, they would smile. Smile in joy as they died from seeing their long missed home again. In time, they all died. No matter how I pleaded for them to stay, no matter how much they knew that they'd been altered too much to survive here. They always found a way back. And always burned.

I eventually left, bitter memories of dead caretakers mixed with years of teachings, giving me a unique perspective on this place. Using magic, I built my own home. A large one. Based on the picture of an inn I saw once in a book. Travellers lost in time, space, and reality, come to my house now, and I offer them food, drink, and a night of rest, probably better than whatever they would otherwise had have to have out there in the wide black woods. Out where the dire shadewolves howl endlessly at a moon that isn't there. Out where curious critters of every strange sort can gawk at them. I take in old confused men who have lost their minds and thus have lost the world, the mists in their memory allowing them to wander in. I console small scared children who are confused and frightened, after they found a hiding spot that was too good, during a game of ''hide and seek''. Young couples, fleeing some manner of danger. Very discombobulated families who really should have stopped a while back and asked for directions. They enter, they eat, they calm down, they sleep on soft beds, and wake up back in their own world again.

All is once more right in the world.

Of course, this place is not only for them. It is, as a matter of fact a trap, of sorts. A beacon of civilisation in the midst of a place made from rejected universes, sunken continents, extinct species, and evaporated oceans. How could any scholar ever avoid it? How could anyone who in their curiosity has thrown caution to the wind, and landing themselves here, just not come in for a visit?

I offer them food and drink, just as I would to anyone who finds themselves here in this dark foreboding realm. But unlike those who came here by accident, I explain to these curious men and women of a thousand different fascinating species what will happen should they stay. I warn them of their deaths, should they make the choice to stay, and offer to share all the notes that the people who raised me made about this place. All to get them to leave. To get them to safety. A few have offered to take me with them, but I do not think that wise. I may have been born of a normal world's flesh. But I have lived here in the Voidwoods all my life. I have only eaten the food of the dark lands, such as the black eggs of the docile dark dodos, or apples that are black all the way into the stem. I am of the void now, and I can never leave. Not that I want to, someone has to warn people about this place. To make them stay away for as long as possible.

The smell of popcorn and fresh air greeted Jonathan as he stepped inside. The hat rack was curiously empty considering the crowd this evening, but he deposited his bowler just the same. How appropriate, he chuckled to himself at the seed of the joke.

Balanced against the wall was what looked to be a worn scabbard and sword and several other accouterments he didn’t recognize. He was careful not to trip on any of them as he turned a carpeted corner into the widest interior he had seen in his twenty-eight years.

He flinched then frowned at himself. He had surely thought he was free of the post-war skitters. Not just yet, it seemed. The crash echoed across the wide expanse of the fluorescent-lit building amid a flurry of squeaks.

“Strike!” a tall blonde man declared in triumph, shaking a bulging arm in the air, furs flitting about him. “Strike!” All he was missing was one of those winged helmets and Jonathan would have sworn he was a Viking right out of Wagner.

Jonathan politely pardoned and expertly excused himself through the listless and quite tall patrons crowding the waiting area. On tiptoe, he spotted a titular sign matching the bizarrely glowing one outside missing only the flickering lady kicking out a leg to send a line of pins flying that graced the parking lot.

Beneath ‘Green Maiden Pin and Inn’ a lovely young lady, green a bit herself with glow caught from above, stood cranking some shoe stretching device.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, clearing the obnoxious gravel from his voice as best he could. Perhaps it would have been better if the hellish gas had just taken him alongside Patrick and dear Curtis. Better that than force others to submit to hearing this wheezing croak.

The young woman waited patiently for him to finish.

“Our vehicle is stranded up the road. I don’t suppose I might borrow a phone? Or if a handyman’s about that might accompany me back?”

A woman leaning on the bar to Jonathan’s right sneered in his direction, no doubt due to his voice. Her clothes were difficult to describe, in both material and cut.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the woman behind the bar said, finishing with her contraption and pouring a golden froth from tap to glass. “A drink while you wait?”

“Oh no, best I begin the night with a level head so that some might remain by its end.” He coughed. His voice did feel dry as bones. “It’s my stag night, you see. The lads are taking to a cabin up north for the weekend.”

“Then I insist,” the woman said smiling and sliding the same drink over to him. No one else at the bar seemed to take offense to this.

Another crash came as Jonathan brought the sip to his lips. He spilled none of it, thankfully.

“Ahh!” the burly man yelled again, this time holding up and shaking his small robed partner. “A strike for you! We are the darkest devils of these games, wolves upon the hunt! The hunt for pins! Strike!”

“Hey buddy,” a starkly handsome man in a plastic jacket offered Jonathan. “What’s your friend’s number? I’ll call them?" He held up a black tile of glass and rubbed his finger on it.

"Well they're not home. They are with the car. I'm hoping to reach a mechanic in whatever the nearest town is."

"Not working in this place anyway, sorry." The curious man pocketed the object.

"I would think not, uncabled from anything as it is."

The woman behind the bar laughed before taking a pair of shoes from the burly man and reaching for her device again.

"Tell me about it. They make their batteries worse and worse every year."

"Quite," Jonathan offered, having lost a foothold for the conversation he may have never had.

"Oh never mind," the man smiled, pulling out the tile again as it chirped like a field mouse. "Yeah I'll be right there. I couldn't find you guys! I'm in some bowling alley."

"Miss?" Jonathan asked again is the man worked back through the crowd.

The pretty woman held up an inquisitive eyebrow as she continued to work on the shoes.

"I do hate to trouble you again but have you worked here long?"

"Now that sounds remarkably like a pickup line for a man about to be married," she smiled as Jonathan's cheeks blushed from east to west.

"Oh, I meant no such thing. My apologies, I only-"

"I'm messing with you," she said, setting the shoes in a cubby aside a thousand brothers. "I've worked here my whole life."

"Why is it that the guests here all seem so peculiar in so many varied ways?"

"They're lost, in one way or another. This is a place you can only find when you're looking for something else, someone else, some when else."

"Hmm," he offered.

"Do you love your wife to be?"

"Of course I do!" Jonathan barked reflectively. "What kind of question is that? I mean I haven't spent a great deal of time with her but I'm sure once we're settled we'll…"

Another thin eyebrow begged. "You'll what?"

"Get along quite well. It's a matter of responsibility more than anything."

"There's more than one way a man might be lost," she said. A phone rang beneath the bar and she picked it up, balancing it between her ear and shoulder. She said nothing into the receiver as she nodded.

"And that was your friends. They managed to make their way into town and find a mechanic. They're asking to meet you back at the car. Think you can find your way back?"

"I do believe so, yes." He pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket.

"You've already paid in full, friend," she said, grabbing his wrist. Her hand was cold as winter ground. "War wears it whet upon its tools and grinds to nubs the bravest fools."

"Indeed," Jonathan said, not sure if she was paying him a compliment or an insult. He pulled away and worked towards the door. "Thank you."

"Anytime you need us again, just don't come looking." The door slammed loudly behind him. He didn't flinch.

He began the thoughtful walk back to the car alongside a dark but straight, unforking road. Jonathan debated the path all the same.

/r/surinical

I pause. I thought I heard something, but it was so faint.

Sighing, I get up from my seat by the fire, always better to check. One can never be sure here and helping the lost is the only purpose I’ve ever had. No friends, no family, except the temporary ones, I don’t know how I came to be, or even when, just that I have always been.

The door opens with a creak and a flurry of snow blows in. Huh… Last time it was a desert. Cautiously, I look around, nothing but a dark and snowy forest.

Closing the door, I return to my seat, picking up a book left by one of the grateful lost. I am the one truly grateful. Food and such appears in the pantries, but entertainment is in short supply and as I cannot leave, not like I can seek my own.

There it is again.

That faint sound.

I go to the door again. This time I spend a moment more and look all around.

I see it.

A tiny gray thing, huddled up under the sill of the window. Having been spotted, it mewls faintly, weak but determined.

I scoop it up, tucking it inside of my robes. Inside, I dry it and set it out a saucer of milk, lightly warmed by setting near the fire.

An hour later, a soft mote of dust lays curled and purring on my lap by the fire.

I’m not sure how this one became lost or where they were going.

The next morning, the storm has passed and the forest lays blanketed. I open the door hesitantly. I’ll be sad to see this guest go, but such is the way.

My guest stares up at me with golden eyes and lets out a plaintive meow, as if to say, you’re letting the cold in, then stalks to my chair, hops up and curls up.

I hesitate a moment, then close the door.

That night there is a strident knock. Without hesitation I go to the door, expecting to see the forest. Beyond the door, I am shocked to see a dusty street and a road weary traveler standing patiently.

I invite him in, the legends have made travelers aware, they know of the safety to be found here, only for a night, but what they need is here.

After settling the traveler, I look over at the cat. This has never happened before. The location has never changed while a traveler remains. The cat looks back with unblinking stare, flicks an ear and curls back up, a clear statement of, “what? I’m not going anywhere.”

A few years have passed. The cat, unnamed, as am I, remains. I finally have a friend.

Shhh. Do you hear something?

Snowy gales beat the door. Yes…definitely something there…

I have lived in this place forever. I was born here. It is all I know. The void that surrounds it is my home, and though others would view it as cold, I don't. It reveals all to me. It always has. The flashes of sight and sound, the pillars of light that appear and disappear. All of creation has served as my teacher of history.

I don't remember my mother and father. Perhaps I never had them. Perhaps they will return for me. Perhaps they already have. I don't know. The sequence of events that happen here are distorted. They've become that way only recently; or maybe they always have been. But my memories are clear enough.

I had only my uncle. He raised me from an infant to what I am now. An adult, though whether I am twenty or two thousand, I couldn't tell you. He built a home here for us, willing the environment to grow larger, from a few simple platforms to a place with enough space for a girl to grow and play and learn. And learn I did, from him, and from my mentor, who taught me the ancient ways, control of the elements. Most only get one, he said, but because of who my parents were/are/will be, I get two. Not quite one of the Magi of old, but closer than most humans will ever get again.

For the longest time, I was happy. I knew nothing about the rest of creation, my uncle and my mentor content to simply let me grow at my own pace, though I can't say how long that pace actually was. Once I was old enough to understand, he took me to view the pillars. I only barely comprehended what he had to tell me, at first. Or maybe I always understood. The pillars showed history. Days of dinosaurs, and of knights, and of automatons. Glaring sunlight and singing winds. Black omens and luminary heroes.

I loved it. It took time to interpret them at first, but I learned. Eventually, the pillars could show me everything, though any time I attempted to move closer, to move through the pillars and experience these places for myself, something stopped me, would always stop me. Not yet, they seemed to whisper. Not now. Wait for the epoch.

There was only one point in time that I could not see fully, only glimpsing the corners of it. A burning castle. Colorful soldiers, metal-clad knights, the colors of kingdoms stained bloody crimson and firey orange. A drake overcome by a lion. A viper ascending to glory. And heroes fallen to a fate they couldn't forsee. But these glimpses are all the pillars would allow me. I was never allowed to clearly see it. The pillars would not, have never, will never allow it. I don't know why.

Once I had become a young woman, my uncle bade me farewell. Had he ever been here? No, he's always here. But not anymore. He left me his hat and coat, and told me I knew what I needed to know to take his place. It was time for him to rest. He stepped into the void and became a part of it. He never existed, and is always watching over me from the swirls of light and sound beyond. My mentor has stayed, though he has gone very quiet. He says that he must save his strength, that he has a role yet to play, though he's already played it. He helped me with my uncle's things, using his arts to make them fit me. Or maybe they always did.

And so I waited alone. I kept a journal for a while, a long while, or maybe a short while, before giving up on it. There was nothing to document. The pillars were going dark. I didn't know what was happening. My home was unmaking itself. Perhaps more than just my home.

Then, an event I could not have seen, did not see, happened. A brilliant flash of light, and an all-encompassing sound as a strange, hammer-headed thing crashed into my house. I had been viewing the last of the pillars when it happened. Destiny at work; if I had been home, I would be dead.

When I went to investigate, I saw three figures standing within the half-destroyed building, people I did not know, though I knew I would know them well. A green-haired woman clad in armor, an enormous sword across her back. A blue-haired young man, with a pair of guns holstered at his hips. And a cloaked woman with a wolf's face, and the ancient arts brimming at her fingertips.

They fretted over their thing, golden and bronze, with a space for people to sit, perhaps pilot it.

"Will it work again?" the wolf-faced woman asked.

"I think so," the blue-haired man said. "No major damage. Whoever built this built it to survive some serious collisions. The problem is that the power source is dying. It got us here and shut off. It needs to recharge."

"Fix it," the green-haired woman said tersely. "We don't have time to mess around."

I cleared my throat as I stepped forward. "In this place," I said, "time is all there is. Or perhaps there is none. What will happen, has yet to happen, and has already happened, all at once."

They wheeled around, drawing weapons and readying spells, but I walked past them calmly, brushing fingers over the thing they had arrived in. This was what I was waiting for. I could leave now.

My fingertips drew slowly over the words emblazoned on the front of the thing. Neo-Epoch.

As I touched it, I felt an echo, a resonance inside the thing. The timeship. Its power source was dead, but I could revive it. It was the same as I was. Born in a place where time was everything and nothing. The combined creation of powerful beings. And a necessary facet to stop the break. It sang this knowledge to me as I felt my essence bolster it, and the thing - Neo-Epoch - flickered back to life, lights and sound emerging from within.

I turned back to the three, who were watching me warily, and smiled, removing the dark bowler hat from my head to let long orange hair spill around my shoulders. I bowed before them.

"I am Leene," I said. "Welcome to the End of Time."

The air shuddered, sending waves of warmth across my sticky forehead. Turning my eyes away from my iced tea, I squinted out across the endless expanse of still water, blindingly bright under the sun. Smoke rose from a silhouette that resembled a human aircraft about five hundred meters away. My eyes could barely catch the fact that they had inflated a boat and sent it down ahead of the passengers. Chuckling to myself, I slurped the rest of my tea, and headed indoors.

It had been a while since I had any guests over, but the good thing about this place is that it's free of dust. My previous guests had been quite astonished that I never had to clean the floors. In any case, I was ready to take on a whole boatload of guests, and they had their luggage with them too. How convenient!

The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, heading down to the garage that the operators of this cruise vessel had helped me build when they were still here. There were vehicles and aircrafts and boats left behind by my guests, so I picked a bus that could probably fit a good number of people inside. Figuring out how to utilise the aircraft this time would be a bit of a hassle. The planes they build these days are too damn big. Maybe I could turn it into an al-fresco dining location?

As I drove out into the sunlight, the people from the plane had finally noticed my presence, and most notably, how I was comfortably driving on the surface of the water without a nautical vessel. One of them tested their footing, like a duckling learning to swim. He stepped off the small raft, signaling to the others that they could disembark from the aircraft.

The door of the bus swung open and I hopped out, boots splashing water as I landed. There was a crowd forming, some crying, some looking dazed. The man I saw earlier walked forward. I suppose he must be the captain. "Where-", he started to ask, but I put up a hand to cut him off. I cleared my throat and began reciting the script I had memorised by now.

"There is a place, further than the universe and yet, closer than a strand of hair. This is neither here, nor there. Welcome to my home, travellers, you may seek refuge under my roof until it is time for your departure tomorrow. And bring your luggage. You won't be able to take it with you when you leave, but I sure need help clearing out this aircraft."

(First time writing for r/writingprompts, so glad I did this ^w^)

The Wayside is all I've ever known. For some, it appears as a tavern with many rooms and a grand feast hall. Others see it as a trainstation. Or even a large campsite with many tents and large, warm, inviting bonfire. It changes to fit the needs of each and every adventurer, traveller, or otherwise lost soul. I was born here, or created, I'm not really sure.

Thankfully, I can shapeshift into whatever kind of person I want to, unlike the Wayside itself. I'm pretty sure the Wayside is sentient, as it always knows what someone needs. Most of our visitors never return. But there's one group of heroes who come every few weeks, and we become a place of respite as they plan their next adventure.

To them, I appear as a child, and an old innkeep as well. They're friendly to both, but they've taught me many things as the child. For example, their wizard has taught me some spells, their bard has taught me how to make simple wooden wind instruments and how to play them. Their rogue has even taught me how to pick locks and pockets, and even how to fight with and throw knives and daggers.

I've never even imagined of leaving the Wayside. Would my powers even still work? Would I be able to exisit in a set place with a set time? These are some of the questions that swirl in my mind as I look out the door at the spiraling portal that connects the Wayside to the Physical Plane.

But I don't have much of a choice to go through. Something is wrong with the Wayside, something dark and terrible has happened. It's as if the Wayside is sick or something. Where once it was well lit and cheerful, it is now dark and gloomy. And it all began with a visitor who had been wearing dark clothes and a hood that covered their face who had been here shortly after the heroes had left.

The Wayside's key felt heavier in my pocket, as if it knew my intent to leave, but it also felt like it was connected to a cord that was tugging it towards the portal. With a deep breath, I jumped in, hearing the door of the Wayside slam shut and the lock slide into place. And then several voices swirled around me.

"Thanks for inviting me you guys, I've always wanted to play D&D."

"Of course, man, we're always welcoming to new players. Do you already have a character rolled up?"

"Yeah. I'll be playing a young changeling warlock, the only permanent resident of a magical realm for lost travellers, which grants them their power as the realm itself is sentient."

"Sounds dope asf. I can't wait to see what you do with them."

Who am I and where are we you ask? the former is both a very simple and very complicated question the latter is just complicated.

so to the former, the simple answer is I am Perdita. The complicated answer is I am the Queen of Nothing. That's where you are by the way. This humble house of mine is the only thing here and that's what I've taken to calling it, Nothing.

Its surprising that you even made it here in the first place. This is a place for only the most thoroughly lost after all and you seem to have a good head for directions.

Me? I was born here. but you. to get here you must have been truly lost to end up in Nowhere.

So the second question, right. This is Nothing, my house, it sits in the middle of Nowhere. Nowhere is where you end up if you get lost trying to go anywhere from Somewhere or somewhere from Anywhere. To arrive at Anywhere you have to get lost going from Here to There and to reach Somewhere you have to get lost going anywhere from Here or There. Here is reached by getting lost where you are and There is reached by reaching your destination without actually having a destination.

I'll give you a second. It can take a while to wrap your head around....

....

....

Leaving? I'm afraid that isn't so fast a process. If this were any of the other places I mentioned simply trying to go somewhere specific and not getting lost on the way is good enough but not so much for here. Try getting anywhere once you arrive and you just find yourself ending up back in the middle of Nowhere, outside my door.

That said, a good nights rest can find you right back where you ought to be. we can talk more in the morning if you're still around when I wake up. The Guest room is upstairs on the left and feel free to help yourself to my fridge. I'm turning in early.

[deleted]

"Who are you?" the man asks me as he stares in awe at the many books that line the ever moving shelves. He sets his hat down on the table by the doorway, I hope he doesn't particularly care for it.

"I wouldn't set that hat there if I were you," I say in an attempt to stop the inevitable, but as the man turns back to grab it the hat is already gone. "Oh well, perhaps it'll turn up," I say as the man blinks in astonishment. "Now, you're here for something, surely you are. No one ever comes here unless they're looking for something."

"N-no," the man stutters "I just wanted to use the restroom. Who are you? What is this place?"

"If you'd wanted to use the restroom you would have gone there, instead you came here, to my home." I turn and gesture to the books, and they freeze momentarily while I add, "So what is it you are looking for?"

The man stumbles, and a chair appears to catch him as he falls backwards, "Morris must have spiked my coffee, the bastard." As he says this coffee appears on a small table at his side. The man jumps as he sees it. "What the hell is going on."

He's going to be a difficult one, the ones that think they're drugged always are. "Here," I say as I sit, a chair appearing to catch me. "Let's start a little more simply," I grab my pipe out of the air, a gentle smoke puffing off the top of the lit tobacco, "What is your name?"

"S-Sebastian, Sebastian Smith," he continues to stutter.

"Alright Sebastian, I haven't met someone with that name in almost a century, your parents must be old fashioned. Try the coffee, I promise it's not been drugged, the Morris you spoke of has never been here and likely never will be."

He sips tentatively from the coffee before asking, "Why am I here?" he puts the cup back on the table, which was starting to wander off, "Where is this place?"

"This," I take a few puffs from my pipe, " is a library, couldn't you tell from all the books?" as if in response a few of the books leap from the shelf and begin to flap around us, their pages rustling in the breeze they made. "As for why you're here I truly don't know, that's why I asked you." I take a few more puffs. "You must be looking for something, some piece of knowledge, otherwise why would you come to a library?"

The man stares in a combination of bewilderment and wonder at the books as they flapped about.

"Oh don't mind the histories, they just want someone to read them," I say, shooing away a history on St. Cuthbert as it strayed to close to my face. "Nobody is ever here for history though, now the books on the future on the other hand..." I trail off. Most of the people who come through my library are looking to understand the future, some want to know who they will marry, others how their investments will do and how they can make more money, very few sought to learn from the past.

"I guess, since there are books on the future, this isn't a normal library?" The man asks.

"Finally, a thought, I was beginning to wonder if you could have them Sebastian," he turns red with embarrassment and perhaps a subtle anger, "No this isn't a normal library, surely the furniture and the flying books gave it away, that and the fact that you apparently entered through a bathroom door. You get one question, and there will almost certainly be a book here that can answer it, so ask and leave me to my books." One does not become a master of a library beyond the veil by liking company.

"I don't know what I want, I just want to be happy," Sebastian begins, but I cut him off.

"Stop there, that's enough," Nobody had ever asked for the secret to happiness before, and I was curious how the library would answer, most of the fools that came through here already thought they knew what would make them happy.

As Sebastian falls silent a book comes flapping through the air, it is a simple one, plainly bound with cloth, but it seems to hum with importance. It lands in Sebastian's lap.

"Go on," I prompt, "Open it."

Sebastian opens the book, not at the beginning, but towards the middle, and a soft warm glow envelops him. As he reads further his face lightens, and he begins to turn transparent. The further he reads, the wider his smile gets, and the less substantial he becomes. Until at last he closes the book, and with the soft sound of the pages closing, he vanishes completely.

Not all who are lost wander. This is how your species has spread across the realities for eons. In torpor the Somnu'F'Ictians have used dreams to explore universes instead of traversing the void between stars. This usually happens to older Somnus'F'Ictians, after their life cycle had passed the point of mating. Your father started jumping earlier than most, while still carrying you to term in his heart. The stress of realizing what had happened caused your premature birth in this reality. His exhaustion and lack of control of this ability caused him to land in a new type of place. He is not an expert on this ability and lacks the experience to know if dreaming himself back to his homework would leave you stranded here, so he dares not risk losing you without knowing if he could get back.

You mature quickly and he teaches you of your family and the culture of Morpheun as best he can. He strains against the biological need to traverse his dreams, but is melancholy for his home and people, his intimate partners, your maternal parents of whom each supplied a portion of your genetic code. He does not know where you both are, but knows from his cultures history that it isn't like any place they traveled to before.

Your father teaches you the skills that have been hard won by your people. Skills of survival, communication, diplomacy, philosophy. He says that your instincts will help fill the gaps in your experience. He tells you that he will one day fail to suppress his urge to use his dreams to travel and that he is sorry for the time when that will happen. His one small hope is that close proximity will allow you to travel with him when he goes, so you sleep curled up against him every night, worried that his fear will become reality. You wake up today and feel cold where you had grown accustom to his heart. Silence where you had grown accustom to the strong heart that had birthed you. And you feel a pull, not through space or time, but through your instincts.

People tell me it's a cold place,I don't know tho as I've never felt anything else to compare it to.

I don't know how long I've been here but I'm assuming it's been atleast 200 million years.

For the first 198million or so I didn't get many visitors besides the odd velociraptor or so.

Recently I've been collecting stories from people and writing them down,although it's taken a few millennia.

Everyone starts to cry while talking about the death of there mother or father but I don't get it.

There is nothing I wish for more then death,there is nothing I seek more then freeing myself from my mind.

mind numbing.Mind numbing.MIND numbing.MIND Numbing.MIND NUMBING.

everyday is the same, I sit,I wait,I sit, I wait, I sit, I wait everyday for millennia.

I've tried everything to escape,whether I live for eternity or whether....well i don't know, I don't see any other option besides living this cruel torture worse then hell itself.

There is a spot on the beach where I watch the stars. The breeze is gentle and the air is warm over the sand, but I don't know why, because there's never been a sun to warm it.

The waves lap gently against the shore. This island isn't large, just a short walk under the stars, yet here is where I am. Where I've always been. Where I shall be. I lean across to put another log on the campfire. In protest it hisses and spits, voicing it's displeasure to the empty night, but takes flame nonetheless. I look away as my eyes readjust to the firelight.

A soft wind rustles the trees behind me, and I wonder what will wash up next. All sorts of things can end up here - broken things usually. Toys, charms, mechanisms and contraptions. But also people, and ideas too.

Where do dreams go when they are forgotten? I'm not sure, but some of them come here, washing up on my shores, poor things. Always alone, shivering with cold. Their light fades in to the night before they return to the sand, and there's nothing I can do for lost dreams. But others I can help. Some of the broken things I can fix. Not all. But some. The people who come here need safety, a moment's rest. Between the sea of stars and the whispering sand, here they can find it. And I am glad I can help them. It's all I can do to watch over what arrives on my shore - to pick them up, to hold them, to whisper encouragement in their ear. Everyone needs that from time to time, especially when they end up here. They need to sit down, dry themselves by the fire, and watch the stars with me, just for a moment in the dark.

I sit on my beach and watch my stars. The night is warm and the water is close. My island floats alone in a sea of endless dark. Here is my place, caught between past and future as an endless present. I put more wood on the fire and watch the smoke curl upwards in to the mirror-black sky.

The Crossways. A strange place, among all the realms, connects them. Many different creatures come through the Crossways, all from different walks of life, but they all have the same story of how they got to the Crossways. As they walked their life's path, they got lost on the way, and sometimes they made it to the end of their path. No matter how they make it to the Crossways, they will always make it to my tavern.

In the doorway, a bell rang, and the thunder outside boomed. There was a man, a human, old and shaggy, poorly dressed in soggy clothes, and his eyes showed his exhaustion.

"Welcome to the Travelers table wanderer," I say behind the bar preparing a drink, "what'll it be?"

The man was stunned at his surroundings, as most humans would be. All around him, filling the tables and dancing to the tunes, were various sentient species from the many realms the Crossways connect to. The man finally moved from the doorway and approached the bar, trying his best to stay away from the many beings in his path. He stopped and sat on the stool in front of me, one I always keep open for new arrivals.

"U-uhh, I'll just have some water, thanks," the man said in his hoarse voice, a dry cough came from him.

"Very well," I say as his glass grew and the water was poured in by a floating pitcher, "so, what's your story stranger."

The Tavern grew quiet as the various patrons paid attention, as is customary in my tavern.

"My story?" the man said as he looked around, "alright, my name is Mathew, I'm 46 years old as of last night. I was born in a small town in Nevada. And as of recently, I've been homeless."

A small murmur came from the patrons.

"How so?" I ask.

"I got fired from my old job and then I couldn't afford to live at home anymore so I was kicked out. With nobody to turn to, I lived on the streets and parks of the city for two months now."

A Tribarch, a tentacle being from a realm beyond humans, patted Matthew on the back.

"So tell me, do you know how you made your way here?" I asked taking his now empty glass and refilling it.

"Sort of, I remember last night, I was very hungry since I didn't have anything to eat for a few days and it was cold out that night. Feeling helpless and lost, I realized that I was spending my birthday sleeping on a bench. I felt pity for myself and slowly drifted to sleep. When I woke up, I was here."

"Where here exactly?" I asked, grabbing my deck of cards and looking out the window to the rain, now a snowstorm.

"Well, when I woke up, I was on a hill under a tree, surrounded by fog."

"What did the tree look like?" I say as I place a card face down on the bar.

"It was lush and had some low-hanging fruit on it, I ate a few of them."

"What did the fruit taste like?" I say as I tap the card twice.

"Oddly enough, it tasted like a bowl of tomato basil soup, but not just any kind, it was like the last meal I had before I ran out of money."

"Anything else?" I say as I rotate the card 180 degrees.

"When I finished eating the fruit, I looked around and saw a path down the hill and into the fog."

"What did this path look like?" I say as I place another card face down.

"At first, the path was straight and looked like a brick road. But then, as I went further into the path, it became more jagged, broken, but easier to see the path since the fog cleared."

"What happened when you finally made it to the end of the path?" I say as I drag my finger across the card.

"There was this light post, tall and black, and a dim light."

"What did you see after that?" I say as I turn the card 360 degrees.

"Walking past the lamp post, I saw a rickety wooden sign, that had some of the letters gone but it said 'Travelers table' with an arrow under it."

"What happened after that?" I say as I place my final card.

"A crow flew over me and landed on the sign."

A much larger murmur went across the tavern when he mentioned the crow, there was even a slight gasp.

"What did the crow do when it landed?" I say as I tap the part of the card closest to Matthew once.

"The crow locked eyes with me with its crimson pupils and flew off."

I drew a heavy sigh as I rotated the card 360 degrees twice.

"You truly fell quite far, my friend," I say as I flip the first card over, showing the lush tree bearing low fruit atop a hill surrounded by fog, "waking up on that hill meant that you came from a decent life at the start. The fog was thick, showing that you were blissful at the start. The lush tree that bore low-hanging fruit represents the opportunities you had at the start, and how easy it was to get them. The fruit tasted like the last comfort you had before the bliss began to fade."

I flipped the second card, it depicted a brick road that was straight and sturdy, but eventually, the road became uneven and jagged, leading all the way to a dimly lit light post.

"At the start, you knew that your life was clear and easy with the fog of ignorance still covering the rest of the path. When you finally make it past the fog, you finally saw that the rest of your life was slowly crumbling and getting worse. Making it to the end of your path you saw a light at the end of it, but it was too dim to make a difference, this light was that feeling of pity for yourself and the realization of moving forward with your life."

My throat clogged a little, I always hated doing this part.

(1)

The ‘air’ shimmered as I waved my hand, specks of plasma swirled in its wake, clearing a field from the existential debris that littered it. It settled, remaining clear in the middle, the specks orbiting and forming an ethereal frame around the clearing. Color filled the area, the shadow of an arrival. I decided to focus on the process.

Not that I particularly cared. Countless arrivals came and went all the time, without my direct supervision. Most of them just passing by, using the Backstage as shortcut, not knowing that they passed through nHere when they teleported. Nor the others, who towards their… - focusss -clear the thoughts!

This one was different. Not special, not through his own nature. The circumstances were exceptional. So yes, I did care in what state he arrived. After all, I summoned him. He was my... not immolation, nor consecrate… shall I say token, perhaps? The colored blots expanded and materialized; the gradient patterns started to set. A shape was on the brink of discernable. The shape of a man. His silhouette filled the contours. His features grew more features as the oscillating wavelengths grew in amplitude. The erratic frequency of the surface tensions was still drawing out the finer details. A pair of lights flickered: soul lit up in his eyes. His mouth opened as soon as it took shape and molded into wildly peculiar elliptical shapes. He was swearing, I knew by now.

“Daemon Clays, in my presence. Welcome to nWhere” -I announced, allowing from that moment for sound to exist. “Shall we assume that you were greeting me.” Sound ended there again, as I uttered the commanding line. This was meant to set and keep the tone. Neutral. As I am. Impassable. Eternal.

“Why am I here?” -he asked, as I ‘opened’ the voice for him. Irritation vibrated in that tonality. Fading echoes of his previous curses still quivered on the edge of perception, then dissipated. I ‘closed’ his sounds again, leaving only mine.

“How you mean? The terms of our enterprise are known to you.” -I finished once more with null, in order to avoid his scrutiny. I was sure he would try to hear a hidden resonance, to find meaning besides those carried by words. He, as all humans, would try to gauge my mood. It's only natural for them, but I have no such. They even presume to prescribe me attribute. I'm cruel, they say, and unforgiving, and capricious. Whereas none of these apply to me. I’m as close to neutral and objective as one could get. I am, however, curious to some extent, and appreciative of impressive feats.

The man rubbed his face, tracing echoing traces of matter-memory. The arrival was still not complete. This means the drawn-out incertitude of his corporeal presence is taking its toll in his senses. His tone was now closer to a neutral, as I allowed the voice on him again. I've explained this many times, that for the sake of all, it’s best he tries to keep it such.

“I mean why am I here now, why did you call on me?” -asked Daemon.

“Because you’re dying, Mr. Grayes.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. I’ve startled him. He was visibly shaking, his eyes rolling around the nWhere surrounding him.

“Regulate yourself, Grayes, and DON’T invoke my Father’s Name” -the interdiction boomed on all my voices filling the Void with a concurrent roll of echoes. It worked though, the name he was about to mouth, remained wordless.

“Forgive me, I meant no offense” -said Daemon, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I’ll try to keep it cool, as you like it.”

“It is not a matter of preference. It’s the physis of the Liminal, and its imperatives are categorical.”

“Sure… But whaddya mean I’m dying? Is this it?!” His fear was understandable. He knew what others don’t. He was in the Liminal. The place you pass on your way out of the living world.

“No, not yet. Your brother still lives, and by our contract, your death cannot precede his demise. Which is why I brought you here, where time is still.” Damien’s eyes darted away from time to time, as a passer-by whizzed through the Backstage, but he focused back at me, with expectative gaze.

“Earlier, when you scuffled with the priests? That bullet did not pierce skin nor flesh but did its damage on the inside. There’s no way to bandage that… but to pour dawha brandy on it? Might as well have drunk some liquid fire. All it did though was to kill the pain, as your blood blossomed through the lesion.” I reached out towards him, my hand extending into his chest. He remained as still as one can be. I took out the wound and tossed it aside. It broke up and evaporated as a flame that runs out of wick.

“I might keep you alive, but you too need to guard yourself.” The blood from my hand dissolved away as I flexed it in a burst of dark light. He nodded and was quiet for a moment.

“So this is your realm, right? I’m not dreaming, fainted into stupor?” -asked he, while he patted himself, checking for inexistent orifices in his chest. “I’m here, where you… live, or… reside?”

“Indeed. In the Liminal, the Limbo, Backstage, or ‘OntheOtherSide’. My realm, my exile, and my home nWhere I once was born.” I tried to list off only those phrases that he could understand.

“Wait, you were born?!” -he immediately raised his hands to show his self-awareness and to regulate his emotional energy.

“As all things are. But that is a long debate which would eat the life of a praying, book-learned hermit. Time permits us not. You lingered enough between worlds.’ – I raised my hand again, this time to start sending him back.

“Wait, please. One more query.” Eagerness still betrayed his passive voice. I granted him the chance to speak with a nod of my brow. “If I… if my brother dies… will I then… how long till I’m next?”

“Your brother owes me a death. Every man does. But he threw me yours instead. I traded your life of current, so that you will bring me his. What is to come after, remains to be seen.”

“Well then, I thank you for the allowance, lord Death.” With no more protests on his part, I resume the expedition. Raised my hand again, draw a circle opposite to before, and the orbiting frame started to fall apart in a messy pour. Inside the clearing, his image started to desaturate and go opaque.

“Make haste, Damien.” -I call out before his presence was interrupted from nHere. The debris from before lost all intentional pattern of order, resuming its initial chaotic swirl. I looked after him as he came to it in the world of the living. He was no longer nHere, but I could see him while he was not yet nThere either. I allowed myself a chuckle.

The rules of the Limbo were not as rigid as I make them out to be. I do prefer to command a decorum in my own realm, and it’s no mortal’s business whether the rules span from my desire or form somewhere else. I looked around and rested my gaze on the long line of the newly dead. They marched single-mindedly towards their destination. Towards in their own dimensions of bliss or damnation reserved for them by their respective divinities.

No one noticed me, nor looked around. Nor should they. I may be Death, but I don’t take their lives, per se. My job is just to oversee the passing, away and through. No one ever looks around. No one observes the transitory spaces of the living world. Except Damien. He did so once, long before. He was lost. Lost in grief. Forgot it since that he has already peeked Backstage. Which is why I noticed him too, when his death was wrongly offered up in lieu of his brothers.
I did not accept that trade. Because I must admit, he is special.

I was not born into the darkness, but neither was I born into the light. I was born into nothing, the Nether, the chasm between realms which only exists to distinguish that which exists from that which does not. Nothing thrives here, but nothing dies here either. Those who stay too long in this place simply wither away and become one with the void. Most leave long before this happens, but the few too foolish or scared to leave on their own eventually learn why it is unsafe to stay. The fading starts slowly, with the dulling of color in hair and complexion. Appetite slowly disappears, as does all fear and passion. They become wraiths, no longer physical beings, wandering aimlessly throughout the void until they finally disappear completely.

It happens to all who choose to remain in this hidden place beyond time and space. All except for me. Perhaps it will one day happen to me as well, but I do not believe that to be my purpose or my fate. I was born into the nether for a reason. The void chose me. I belong to the chasm, but so also does it belong to me. I am it's protector and it's ward. I alone am permitted to stay here, and thus I cannot leave. It grant's me use of its power so that I may make of it whatever I wish, but that power condemns me to loneliness. If the void is similar to darkness, then I am it's only light. My hair and skin seem to glow with life against the dullness of the nothing, and it caresses me as if to say it is sorry for my solitude. And yet, it does not let me go.

My only companions are the wayward travelers, and weary runaways who stumble upon this place by accident. For them, I create a place of refuge, where they may rest and recover from whatever dangers pursue them. I bring up trees, and wave in the sea so that they may find comfort in that which is familiar to them. I even create dwellings from the void so they may rest their heads upon feather pillows and curl up next to a fire that they believe to bring warmth.

I do not speak to them. Most do not even see me as I weave in and out of the trees I called into being. They fall into deep slumbers, content in the safety I have granted. I cover them up with it like a fluffy blanket to soothe their troubled minds. Once their souls have found the calm they so desperately sought, I send them on their way, leading them deftly through the Nether to pass once more into the realms from whence they came.

There is only one with whom I deign to converse. He is the only man to have ever returned to this place on purpose. He also lives outside of the ordinary realms of existence, and outside of the ordinary pull of time. He does not possess the same power over the void that I do, but he can coax it into form. He returns to gather it for purposes I do not completely understand, and when he comes he dines with me and stays until the Nether pushes him to return to his realm. He is the only man I've ever known, and the only man I've ever loved. I call him Ellion and he has only ever been kind and tender towards me, but the other realms fear him. They simply know him as The Collector.

I’ve sat here, on this empty piece of floating scenery for the all of my existence. I am not aware of why i am, or the reason this place decided to trap me on itself. Most might assume the loneliness is unbearable, though i should disagree, the place keeps me company in most days.

This place, this endlessly quiet land, It thinks and, in Its special ways, speaks to me. I dont say this as in one of your metaphors, as It does, quite literally, speak to me. It says things to my soul, my head. I can feel the life blooming in Its air.

Countless times i’ve seen travellers passing through to rest, when i was young, id hide from them, i was scared they would take me away. Nowadays, however, i enjoy seeing It transform to the humans in question. It speaks to their mind, too, It changes according to their memories, It makes them comfortable. I never knew why It loved them so much, if I think about it, I dont know much about anything.

The passing of ages led me to meet humans of all types, I even served some of them, when It asked me to. I have meet said kings and queens and cared for runaway slaves. Though I never learned their names, I deeply cared about each one. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know every little detail. I learnt how to read and write, and to speak properly, even learnt etiquette to some extent. I have learnt about people’s stories from all over the world.

One person, in particular, stays in my mind quite often. Her name was Grace.

She was loud, so impossibly loud. Never had i heard that kind of noise, it scared me at first. She also loved gardens, It changed into one for her, it was very beautiful, in her short stay, she cared about it quite a lot.

She stayed what i would estimate to be three nights, and Grace told me stories about her family and friends, her adventures and her old passions. She was unaturally pale and young, fragile, even. I cared for her much more than all the others, she would tell me beautiful things about her life and she would make me want to live it with her. No one ever made me want to leave this place before, it sounded too stressful. But with her, it seemed peaceful and full of life.

She then, slept another night, her final night. And when i say final, I mean it. She never woke up again after that night. I never knew how that could happen and I did not know what to do with her formerly joyous self. It told me she was ill and didnt want to keep spending her family funds on herself, as she knew she could never recover. I wont ever believe It this time. I cant accept that she killed herself, I cant possibly believe she gave up her own life.

I dont think im ever going to die, so I’m left to my own imagionation for all times, together with It.

A place between places, a rest stop of sorts. That's my birthplace, a place where few end up and even less stay. I have to stay, because this is my home. The only people I've ever talked to have been travelers in the midst of true directionlessness. The first person I met, I was but a boy and it was a man with empty eyes. He talked about how nostalgic the place was, which made no sense because I knew he had never been there before. He talked and talked to me, without knowing who or what I was. He eventually found an exit, and offered to take me with him but I lied and told him I was waiting for someone. He left with a sad smile on his face, and the air rippled around him, that was the last I saw of that man.

The place I knew to be home was a surreal place, with a large tree in the middle and nothing beyond the horizon. That's how it looked to me, an ever-changing tree that never stayed the same for more than a day. I knew that the place was special though I never left it, and that's because I started to grow rapidly after a long time. When this happened, my home started talking to me, communicating with me through my thoughts. It showed me things beyond the place and true destinations. When people came and spoke to me, they always brought up how peaceful and nostalgic the place was. My home showed me how it would appear to them, and it was always a pleasant experience. These people who didn't know where to go, were shown a place where they started and a place they could go. As for me, this place has never changed, only ever showing its true appearance because there is no place I miss or wish to go.

I learned how to change the appearance of the place as I wished, and this allowed me to bring peace to people a bit more. Meeting people was important to me, but one day I grew curious and decided to go to the horizon. I walked towards the horizon and stepped to the edge. I saw nothing but felt a warmth coming from the nothing. This empty place was home to me and that's how it would be. I walked back to my home and laid on the tree, resting my head against the bark. I would be a guide for the truly lost and this place will guide me as I do it.

The door opens so softly that I almost didn't notice the boy who entered. He catches my gaze, smiles, and shakes off the snow that's clinging to his winter coat. It's thick, but not thick enough, for the little boy shivers and wipes his nose shyly on his sleeve, embarrassed.

He makes himself comfortable on the smallest couch in the room, near the fireplace. The couch is a blue so light, so delicate, bright but not dominating, just like the colour of his eyes. I think that's why he likes it so much.

The tray sits ready on the countertop, and I carry it over to the boy, placing it between us. Cookies and hot chocolate, with two giant marshmallows in each cup. He plucks the white candy out first and sucks on it.

"You really shouldn't be coming here so often," I tell him, but in truth, I very much enjoy his company. He knows this too, so he just smiles at me through sticky fingers.

"But I like it here, and you like it too when I'm here. Besides, I don't have anywhere else to go... and you don't either, do you?"

"Well, I do live here, so this is where I'm supposed to be." I gesture around my wooden hut. Or my inn, if you will. It's small, but also a lot bigger than it looks. After all, it is, in theory, infinite. "You, on the other hand, have someone waiting for you at home."

That's what I say, but we both know it isn't true, because if it was then he wouldn't be here in the first place. Like all others who've passed through, he is lost, and like all others who've passed through, he found me. Not all those who stray from their paths wind up here, but those who do usually have good reason to. In this space, they can find safety from their travels, if only for a brief moment, and I'm responsible for maintaining this little haven.

Unlike the others, however, he came back. Multiple times. And I still do not know how.

The boy finishes off his hot chocolate and returns the mug to the tray. He stares into the fire, silent, swinging his legs slightly. Not wanting to disturb his thoughts, I work silently on cleaning up. There are no other travelers staying here tonight, so it doesn't take me long to finish up for the day.

When I get back to the fireplace, the boy seems to have reached a conclusion. He still does not look at me.

"Have you ever wanted to run away? From home, I mean." The question catches me off guard, but only slightly. I try to think of a reply, but he doesn't seem interested in knowing the answer.

"How do people find your home?"

"They get... lost. And they are in danger, usually. They can't find the path that leads to their destination."

"And if they get lost again? Can they find this place again?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?"

The boy nods, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. "Okay, I get it now. When I'm outside I'm always lost. That's why I always find myself here. But when I am with you, I'm safe..."

"But you're not like me, so you can't stay," I finished for him.

"But there isn't a rule that says I can't visit every day, is there? I just have to leave in the morning, and come back at night." He stares at me with those bright blue eyes, which somehow remain animated like a rushing river, soft like the falling snow, wise like the one who wanders, but is not lost. "Maybe you can adopt me, and become my older sister."

The notion of having a younger sibling was unexpectedly funny. "Okay," I promise, and hook my pinky around his. It would be nice, I suppose, and it would make my life feel less meaningless.

Hearts on Fire

Daniel and Michelle both walk into a spiderweb, even while walking one in front of the other, with her huddled behind him. It was supposed to be a simple hike through the woods, but the sun had sat well before they made it back to their cabin.

Daniel’s eyes are closed, and he’s spitting. “It’s in my mouth,” he complains

Michelle’s hair is out of its holder, and she keeps jerking and pulling away from imagined things crawling on her. She combs her fingers through her hair repeatedly and continues to dust off things that aren’t there.

“Ugh,” Michelle groans. “Why did you let me walk into that?”

Daniel runs his palm down his face, then over his hair. “It’s not like I could see the thing. Besides, I thought you were behind me. How did you even walk into it?”

Michelle opens her mouth to speak when a glowing butterfly passes between them. The pastel colors of its wings flap with no discernible body connecting them as glittering dust falls in its wake. Her eyes follow the glitter which leads her to looking down at her feet. Her frantic steps had caused splashes of pastel colors, alternating blue, green, orange, red as she danced away from the web that had encroached on her personal space.

Michelle walks backwards while watching her steps erupt in yellow, purple, then she backs into a tree and turns to see another eruption of color.

Daniel walks up beside her as she’s raising her hands to cover her mouth. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” he says.

She spins back to him. “What’s happening? Are we hallucinating?”

“If you’re also seeing a splash of blue on the tree you just backed into, I’d say this is something other than a hallucination.”

Michelle twirls, each of her steps splashing in a different color. She giggles and runs to a nearby tree, drums on it, then continues her solo onto the other trees nearby. “It’s amazing,” she says, grinning uncontrollably.

Another butterfly takes flight and Michelle looks back to see each of her footsteps pooling and rising off the ground. It’s like they were drops of water that had fallen and splashed but are now rewinding. The drops of color ascend into the air, change into animated wings and fly upward, their glow illuminating the surrounding area.

Michelle’s hands go over her mouth once again, and her eyes go wide, allowing the colors to reflect off of them.

Daniel traces his finger down the trunk of a tree. His finger passes in several loops and arching shapes where a rainbow colored rose soon takes shape. He adds some leaves to the initial stem, then leans forward and blows across the flower’s pedals. Dust moves away from the pedals like the excess that remains when you’re using chalk on a sidewalk.

The flower shifts in an invisible wind, and he reaches, wrapping his fingers around the stem to pull it away. When he turns back with the flower, a gentle dust if falling from the pedals, glittering in their descent. Michelle’s hands are still over her mouth when he proffers the flower. One hand remains over her mouth but the other moves to cover her heart as her eyes fix on Daniel.

“Is this some kind of proposal?” she asks, behind her cupped hand.

“Something like that,” Daniel admits, looking down at the flower. “What would you think about living in a place like this?”

Michelle looks up as the butterflies pass through the treetop canopy and their light, causing the shadows to move as it shines through gaps in the foliage. “I don’t know what you’re asking, but this place… it’s magic.”

Daniel reaches down, takes her hand and closes it around the flowers stem before walking over to her tree-drum. He taps one color and then drags it away from the others, sequentially separating each of them. “You always wanted me to take you home. You wanted to meet the parents, but it’s not that I didn’t want to. My story’s just a little more complicated than you’d probably want to believe.”

Daniel had pulled the separated colors back together and formed a rainbow colored unicorn. He leans towards it and blows. The colorful dust continues to trail off of it as it turns to look at him, then whinnys and gallops across the air.

The unicorn moves over to Michelle, then runs laps around her as she turns to follow it. “The truth is,” Daniel continues, “I’m not from your world. You know the bear attack that you so fervently cited as a reason for us not to come on this trip? Well, those two campers losing their life was actually my fault.”

Michelle gasps. “Are you actually a bear?”

“What? No, of course not. Why would you think such a crazy thing?”

Michelle’s stare becomes flat as she holds out her upturned palm where the unicorn continues to trot in a circle above it. “I’m sort of suspending my belief about how the world works at the moment.”

“Oh,” he says, with a nod. “That’s fair. But this is actually where I’m from, and it’s all I’ve ever known until the day I visited your world. My world is amazing, but it’s also lonely with no one to share it with. Those that I bring here only enjoy it for the night, then don’t remember once they’re gone. After losing those two to that bear, I realized I couldn’t stay in your world any longer and that their deaths were on my hands. You’ll be safe here for the night, but you’ll have to go back in the morning.”

The unicorn’s stage falls away as Michelle lowers her hand back to her side. She looks at the flower, then back at the unicorn. It looks back at her curiously, as if to question why she interrupted its performance. Her gaze then turns back to Daniel, and she walks over to him, reaches for his hand and grips it. “You didn’t bring me here to say goodbye. We came so that you could ask me to stay.”

Michelle presses her chest against his. She turns her gaze upward, compensating for the extra foot of height that he has on her, and meets his eyes. “And if I stay?”

Daniel smiles. “We’d look out for them together, giving them a magical place to stay for the night and letting them go home once the sun is up.”

Michelle turns her head to lay her ear against his chest. The unicorn is there, looking back at her and wondering why it’s no longer getting attention. She closes her eyes, just listening to the thump-thump sounds of a very human heart. “Just let me have tonight to think about it.”

“Yeah,” Daniel agrees, then lays his cheek against the top of her head.

I don’t remember how I came into existence. I don’t think I was born like the others. I don’t remember a childhood or a sibling or a parent. I just was and always has been. No beginning and really no ending in sight. I'm fine with that. I think the travelers put so much thought into what they once were or what they still have left to do in their own realities; the reality that isn’t here.

This place doesn’t have an exact name and it changes for a lot of the travelers. Some call this place limbo, purgatory, the void, Bardo, Summerland; the list goes on. I call this place home and, although I didn’t have a childhood similar to any of the travelers, I did learn and grow here. I learned how to help them, how to listen to them. I enjoy it for the most part, but sometimes it’s very lonely. No one ever stays, no one ever wants to. I’m not sure they could.

A deep sigh escapes me as I ponder this for the millionth time. I’m fine with it, really. I tell myself. Who am I trying to convince anyways? My home is pleasant and warm. There’s sunlight that beams through the slightly dusty windows, giving life to the many plants. There are vines reaching their leafy arms over the door-frames, windows, and white bricked walls. Tulips, daises, and lilies cluttered around most of the surfaces. A small, cozy love seat that faces the large oak bookshelves lining the wall and between them a small coffee table made of a large amethyst geode I found many moons ago. The kitchen is directly behind the love seat with large, open windows above the sink. There are many different types of ingredients and food products in the cabinets and refrigerator. They don’t go bad and anything you can think of wanting will always be in there. I don’t have much use for food, but the travelers sometimes find comfort in a hot tea or some chocolate chip cookies. You see, not only do people get lost. This place is for everything that is lost, whether it be a simple fashion magazine or a large amethyst geode you can use for a coffee table. I even get useful guides for building, decorating, and caring for plants. It’s my way of connecting to a world I have never seen so I can understand the travelers and help them more. Sometimes I feel like one of them when I wear their clothes and speak like they do.

I don’t travel too far outside of my home here, there really isn’t much need. I have a large garden paved with stones and crystals. An iron bench sits in the middle surrounded by beautiful wildflowers of every color and variety. I enjoy watching the bees collect pollen and fly about with one another. The birds sing the most wonderful songs as they glide about with no worries. Here there are no predators, no worries, or even death. I have never seen any animals other than birds and insects. Its bliss and calm mostly, the weather is almost always sunny and bright. The travelers take much comfort in this and most of them are confused by the thought of this in-between world being so wonderful and calm.

I take a seat on the loveseat, sinking into its cushions as I snuggle my body into it. I get that familiar tickle in my brain and jump up excitedly, “A traveler!” I exclaim as I rush to the door.

Before they have a chance to knock the door swings open and I see a man before me.“H-Hi, uhm, I think I’m a bit disoriented. I don’t know where I am, but I saw your home and thought maybe you could help me. I can’t find my phone or... Uhm, really anything else.”

I stare at him, slightly bewildered. All of the travelers that come here always know what happened and are angry or sad or just confused on where to go after they pass in their own reality. They always know. I’m only supposed to be here to help guide them on where they go next and to talk them through what next reality options are there for them. To give options and help show the way. “You don’t remember anything?” I ask, panicking slightly. Don’t panic.

He puts his hands on his head, grabbing and rubbing at his short dark brown hair. His expression changes like he’s straining so hard to remember anything. “I-I don’t even remember my name. What’s happening? Please, I don’t understand.” He says in an increasingly panicked tone. Behind him the clouds begin to deepen in color. A gentle wind picks up, delicately swaying the many wind chimes strung along the front of my home.

Shit. “Come inside, it’s okay. Everything is okay. Let’s get you some tea or something.” I beckon him inside and gesture towards the loveseat, “Sit, please. I’ll do everything I can to help you; it’s my job."

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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