THE SIXTH BUILDING

It had been said, back before the world had gotten into the mess that it was, that the sixth building, the only one remaining in that area, was once a hospital, specializing in mentally ill patients, that was abandoned at the beginning of the world war. Other said it was simply another horrid building from the post-war era, a shanty box to put dissidents in. Either way, what was now a crumbling rundown structure, soon to join its five other friends, had beyond its years ordeals which hid from the foliage outside to the walls that were once painted teal, to the pained feeling these doors gave when opened.

There was but one ordeal that was dinstinct. The structure had been build on something seperate from it. You entered looking for it among the dusted glass and rusted remains of objects, the reflected moonlight showing the semblance of the miserable sight around you. It was november, and the cold was digging to your bones, the melancholy of the weather just part of the short days at the end of spring. The wind came at midnight, whistling a heavier weight on to you, one that you were prepared for, yet also on degree, wanting for.

The truth was that the building had no basement. You were justified in that belief as you descended the curled gazed space around you, more pearly now, signs of an older age. There wasn't even a scent to it, unlike the slayed floor above. You were surprised to find down there elevators, unlike any you had ever seen or even fit the place, but not reluctant to open one. But you didn' have to do such thing. A blade of light appeared, light bathing through as one of the elevator doors, spread wide, soaking the wall and floor in front of you with a wash of other-worldly shine.

The silence which had now laid full seperated this space from the world above, and left your empty self to think.  This was where the real ended and the dream begun, the pill between two worlds, the end of the river that all of your old friends so diligently daydreamed about. Those that searched the darkest places and never came back again. You grew up, and you wondered what golden line they had crossed that took them away from you.  But that was all old tears, from which not even the marks remained.

It's up to you. You've suspended your disbelief, the only companion to take your out of this, you breathed with a certain calm, the wheel spinning inside your head, and for now, thinking with endurant patience. The spring was ending after all, and the day was silently coming to its end. Only the present remained.

You pull out the radio from one of your pockets, eyes gazing down the plane of light. The long piercing scream of static ended the silent awareness of the present. What were you expecting anyways, to order pizza this deep underground, or worse, happen upon military comms. There was nobody to call anyways. If there was, you'd be thrifting away with them.

The light fell obliquely down your face. You were a midnight transpasser, about to go into the dream. Where did this supersition of psychological monsters come from? A day ago? A month? Forever? You barely knew. Maybe an answer was down there, maybe what was needed was a purge. You sat in silence for a few moments and you laughed to yourself. What evidence was there; that the elimination of superstition will inevitably lead to happiness? That the ignorance of your own nature is the source of all problems?

Perhaps... one should not be in search of monsters to kill after all.

You took your first steps, and you recalled a hazy image in your head, forming by itself into another body. You saw that image then clearly. Yourself. And all you had to do is think of your name, "My name..." you think

But names are for mortals. Now you enter the immortal life.

The time came. You provoked yourself, as you took the first steps and passed through the soft cloud of brilliance in front of you, eyes closed, and disappeared into the deep white.

An empty space appears before you. You’re inside the elevator. A whimper came out of you, immobile you glance around. There are no controls on this thing, and the immaculate state of it reminds you of quieter times.

You try to pass the time without time passing you. An irritation forms in your throat. You cough. On the chambers above there was a lot of dust. No worries. You’ll just have to do jolly sick.

  You check your radio again. An eternity of static met your ears, again, a few words came out, punctuated by the compeer of momentarily silence “Begin… Greetings… Hera-Alpha, copy?...”

Despite your donkeysish insistence, neither the radio, neither the elevator retort

 You spread your gaze around, eyeing the elevator, gaping at its opulence. Such material was of rare character, it shines and reflects, the peachy color making you wince with memories of Mediterranean adventures. But there was no hidden seal, no broad sneak in its surface. The damn thing was perfectly flawless.

You pinched your eyes. There was something off with the shine, it bloomed like a floret mound in the spring, it didn’t strain your eyes like that rotten light in similar buildings of this age. There was something off here, a felt ditch, but and unseen one.

You spared another moment, closing your eyes, other senses taking control where your vision failed. Water droplets seeping through decollated cracks in the distance were the only thing hinted, aptly able to be heard barely above your own heartbeat. Not even the wind could riddle its way around here. The silence was almost savage in nature. Uncommonly uncomfortable, you let your imagination run to calm you down. Fern green creatures you saw, unusually curvy.  Too much Ovid, you thought, as you opened your eyes and returned to more important matters.

Controls. Control. How silly it was that you thought that was. So many things were beyond that, your dreams, your nightmares. Others waste their life searching to gain control over their wasted time.  The issue to you hadn’t been trying to find, whether you had it or not. The issue was to manage to live despite of it.

You peeked outside. Still the same unearthly silence, the pale long hallway gazed back at you. An unusual scent was barely detectable, the bare hints of moisture in the process of seeping in, bringing in the bacterial mash of the world above. “Must have started raining” you induce

You raised your head. The soft light was satisfying to look at, even if the feeling of intimacy were not reciprocated. You pulled out your multi-tool, arms raised. Too far away to reach. You took a breath. There were numerous objects you could use as a platform. You thought you saw some stool or half steady wooden ladder above, maybe something else to try and reach it. Or maybe you could think of something else...