Verse 7

it feels good to close my eyes

Falling…

The pool had no bottom, it just sank deeper and deeper into darkness. A bright light from above made the water around Gallow seem so much darker, to the point he couldn’t tell how long he’d been plummeting through the depths. He could only hear the hollow, washed-out sounds of the currents streaming past his ears; eventually, the light was clouded by darker and darker waters, until it had shrunk to the size of a pinhole.

The blackness was so encompassing that he wasn’t even sure he was underwater or just floating through space. He was very alone.

“I don’t think I ever learned how to swim…” he thought. “I always turned down lessons for it from mom, I always said ‘when am I going to need to know how to swim?’ I guess I look stupid now…”

The faint memory drew a small smile across his face, a small piece of comfort. With a start, he realized that his mouth was open. Survival instinct asked him to close it immediately, but fear gripped him for just long enough to notice that it was not filling with water, and in fact, he barely felt the water at all.

“Actually,” he considered, settling his heart. “I haven’t had any trouble breathing this whole time.”

Out of curiosity, he inhaled, and to his surprise, his lungs were not drowned.

For a few minutes, he practiced his breathing, his chest rising and falling with ease. He began to notice other curious details. For one, his clothes were obviously drenched, as the fabric was flowing loosely upwards, and each breath still expelled a string of bubbles. Eventually, it became apparent that the light source from above had completely vanished.

“It’s absolutely dark down here,” he noted. “But I can see my legs, I can see my arms, I can see my-”

He stuck out his hands to confirm that he could see them as well, and saw the sigil, emblazoned into his skin. It glowed with an otherworldly blue hue which lit his whole body.

The thought burst into his mind, “This is that woman-!” Of course, all of this had been set up and planned by her; somehow, she knew the greater mechanics of what was going on here. “She’s using me to get to the Spring, and then she’ll take it away from me- she’s trying to kill me…!”

Anger boiled up inside of him, until a different side of reason suggested something much darker.

“If she wanted to kill me,” he rationalized, “why am I still alive here? Unless I’m just dying slowly… But I’m not… I can breathe and think, and I can still feel. Or am I trapped in here forever? Was that what she wanted? Am I already dead? Is this limbo? Please-” he appealed to a power he hadn’t thought of in a very long time. “Please God! Please forgive me! I wasted my chance, I know!”

Fear welled up in his heart, he could feel its beating hasten. The next time he opened his mouth, it was flooded with water. The shock arrived before the panic; his eyes widened. His breathing only intensified with short, sharp, desperate attempts to live. His lungs were inundated and burned as if they were being doused with alcohol. His vision became hazy, like the light above had, but now the light of his soul was the one flickering.

“Please! Please! Please!” There was nothing else he was capable of saying, his pleas for mercy continued on for many torturous minutes while he refused to drown, like God– or the Devil– was toying with him.

“This is my punishment, isn’t it? Did I deserve this? It’s my fault, isn’t it? It was my fault!”

Deep, angry parts of him stirred and rose up, a self-loathing which had laid dormant for some time.

“It was my fault! It was my fault! It was my fault! It was my fault! It was my fault!”

A touch to his chest; something silent spoke to him.

Instantly, the dread, hate, and fear evaporated. The water left his lungs, and within moments the searing pain was lifted, and his breathing was able to steady itself. His vision returned, and there was someone in front of him coming into sharp focus.

Before Gallow was a beautiful woman of no apparent age. Her hair flowed from her head like rivers down a mountain and faded away into space. Her form was ethereal, indescribable, and not obviously physical. He could see through her, but when he focused on her face, her kind eyes, she seemed solid.

“Is this God?” was the first question that occurred to.

“I’m not God,” she said. “You don’t remember me from your time in the Garden?” He was too tranquil to be alarmed that she’d known his thought, and that somehow, she’d whispered to him without opening her mouth.

“I’m such a tool…” Gallow almost kicked himself for not remembering who she was, that he’d forgotten what she had given him.

“You’re fine,” she said in a voice that wrapped him with warmth.

Gallow couldn’t bring himself to look at her, and she raised her hand between them, as if offering to take his. “What’s troubling you?”

It took some time for the words to come out, but eventually he forced himself to speak. “I just feel guilty about-” he laughed weakly, taking pause. “A lotta things, but about using the Spring for money. I don’t know, it’s like I’m doing something good for people, but it’s wrong…”

The feeling lasted a while and didn’t fade. The same stream of apologies poured out from his heart and into her hand. She straightened out her palm and let the regret slide down her arm, then delivered a chop to his forehead.

“Yagh!!” Gallow went spiralling backwards, tumbling through space, displaced from the static spot he didn’t have the gall to leave. “What was that for?!” he barked.

“You keep apologizing to me,” she replied, without a hint of hostility.

Gallow found his bearings. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t be sorry, or what?” He couldn’t fathom a reason not to be apologetic.

“Do you know why you weren’t drowning until a moment ago?” she asked.

“No?” He wasn’t sure of where she was going and proceeded with caution.

In the blink of an eye, her peaceful demeanor took on an air of wisdom. “The Earth you know is bound to the physical plane, it is a place of hard facts and absolute outcomes.”

“Yeah?” Gallow didn’t really know what she was talking about.

“The Garden is like a medium between the absolute and the abstract; it is perceived the same way by all living things, but exists outside of the physical plane, it is the borderline.”

“The border…?” Gallow was hearing things well beyond his scope from someone he still wasn’t convinced wasn’t God, yet he soaked everything up with minimal thought. Despite how fantastic it was, it all folded easily into his view of the world, like its nature had always been at his feet, and he’d just neglected to look down.

“If the Garden is the border between those two, then what’s this?”

“This place,” the Spirit turned her gaze up into the darkness. “Is the world on the other side of that borderline. A world of pure mind and soul. That woman above, the one who sent you here, her people would call this the Spirit World, you would know it as Heaven.”

Gallow looked around. “Heaven?” The meaning of the word took some time to catch up with him. “Isn’t Heaven a shiny place in the sky with god and everyone you know who died?”

“Maybe…” she smiled knowingly. “It’s difficult to see in the darkness.”

Her words hung in the air like the bubbles of breath that left his lips.

“I have to get something straight,” his words shook a bit. “Am I dead right now? And this place is Heaven?”

The Spirit floated around him many times over. “Dead? No,” she reassured him. “Right now, your physical body is still in the Garden, probably lying face-down in the water at the bottom of the Spring.” Gallow’s head snapped around in abrupt alarm. “Don’t worry, you won’t drown, I’m keeping your body safe as we speak.”

“Okay, so why did that woman send me here? What does she want with me and you?” Gallow still had not puzzled together what anyone’s goals were here.

The Spirit stopped turning around him, and allowed Gallow to focus on her as he had been before. “She doesn’t have anything to do with your presence here, you were just a means to finding me.”

“So just give me an answer,” he insisted. “What am I here for?”

She looked at him with a warm, motherly smile.

“That sigil drew you here,” she gestured to his hand. “You’ll understand why when you awake. If I wanted to tell you what your goal was, I’d say you needed to discover it here.”

The Spirit swept her arm to the side, and the darkness of the water was parted like doors sliding open. Before Gallow could comprehend what she’d done, he was standing on a rooftop in broad daylight.

“What?” The picture pulled into view around him. “But this is-”

The tall, brick towers, square shaped and inelegant; little single-floor houses that tried to be cozy; the sound of a police siren honking a few miles away; the crisp, autumn air that smelled like dry firewood. He was in Pettma, his home city.

Gallow spun wildly in the Spirit’s direction. “Why am I here?!” It was not unlike his plea for forgiveness.

She joined him in overlooking the city skyline from the rooftop they were standing on.

“These waters are meant to heal you, but to heal the deepest scars in your heart, you must try as well.”

To Gallow, this was just a nebulous word of advice, until he heard the sounds of creaking and clanging from behind him. He whipped around to catch a metal door being thrown open; the roof entrance of the building. From the door, two children appeared. The first had dark hair dashed with a single blond streak.

“No…” Gallow’s heart sank; he recognized this rooftop. “That’s- no… That’s me…”

“You were cute when you were ten,” the Spirit teased. Gallow had never gotten a good look at himself as a child. There were no mirrors in he and his mother’s home, and the glances of himself he saw in the murky waters of the Jeb River that ran through Pettma never left an impression on him.

He looked on with some amusement as his younger self played with another child, whose face couldn’t be made out. They scampered about the rooftop, picking up sticks and playing soldier with each other. They giggled and got into a few small arguments, but they were the best of friends.

“I wonder,” the Spirit began. “Who that other child is?” Her ethereal attitude made it ambiguous whether she knew the answer or not.

Gallow looked more closely at his friend’s face. What was a blotchy, unclear image slowly began to sharpen and clarify, as everything seemed to when he gathered his awareness in this space and directed it at something.

“His face…”

In the few seconds it took to lift the veil of foggy memories from the child’s face, the pleasant, nostalgic grin on Gallow’s face dropped.

Yes, he could see who his friend was.

Yes, dark shades began to befall the pit of his stomach.

“Gallow?” the Spirit asked. “Do you remember who that is?”

“Yes, his name is Warren Roseraid.”

Chapter 9- Nightmare Act 2: INNØCENCE & DISCØNSCIENCE

Warren Roseraid.

The name sent spikes of sorrow through Gallow’s heart. All the noises of the city were drowned out by silence.

“Who is he to you?” the Spirit asked.

Gallow was slow to respond. He opened his mouth, but by the time any words came out, they were careful, thoughtful.

“If we’re up here… then this must be…” he paused, surveying the roof, with its cement ground and brick chimney. “Warren lived in an orphanage, here in Pettma,” he started. “My dad was… killed in action in the Andeidra-Demeena War; my mom did social work at this orphanage, so I spent a lot of time here when I wasn’t at school.” He stopped once more, blinking with a pensive concentration.

The day melted from noon to sundown, and soft, orange shades dominated the sky like a painter’s brush strokes, the perfect memory of sunset.The two boys sat side-by-side on the roof’s edge, short legs dangling over the side-alley below, where the light didn’t reach.

“Hey, Warren?” the little Gallow said.

“Yeah?”

“What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

“Uh…” Warren’s eyes drifted to the skyline, his voice trailing off.

“Even as a kid, Warren was special.” The distance behind them folded into darkness, the Spirit turned around to see the memories in his mind take shape. Framed behind she and Gallow was a new scene, erected atop the rooftop. The atrium of the orphanage was thrown up like a display, the front door, painted an apple green, the floor checkered with black-and-white octagonal patterns. On the left side, a black-painted iron staircase rose to the higher floors. A coat rack and umbrella bucket were placed together next to the entrance.

The front door opened, morning light streamed in, and the small Gallow entered with his mother. She was a spacey-looking woman with tired eyes; streaks of gray slashed her long, brunette hair, and her powder-pink and white-spotted dress hung down to her ankles.

“Elaine?” his mother called out, her voice bouncing off of the floor tiles. Upon receiving no response, she walked over to a door built into the side of the staircase and knocked.

“Elaine?” she repeated.

The door opened without a creak, and an older woman, dressed similarly conservative, answered her.
“I remember, my mom had volunteered a few times before, and figured she wouldn’t have to pay for a nanny if she brought me along.”

From out of the older woman’s office, a little boy walked out, holding close to her leg.

“He can play with Warren here,” Elaine suggested with a withered, sing-song voice. “It’s much better for him than helping me do papers.” With deliberation, Warren stepped over the threshold, dressed in an ill-fitting white shirt and stained tweed pants.

“My mom always made sure I was dressed well. She got some nice checks from the government. She always said it would make people respect me more if I wore nice clothes, but I remember Warren was always different. He was a lot poorer than even we were, he didn’t wear new clothes. It’s funny now that I think about it; other people would have looked down on him. For some reason, though, from the first time we met, he had this big presence. It was like an adult’s, when you know they’re keeping everything under control. He was calm- and really cool.”

Gallow sheepishly stepped out and stretched his hand to him.

“N-nice to meet you, I’m Ajax, Ajax Clarke.”

The Spirit peered at Gallow with a kind curiosity, and he winced at his own name.

“I mean, you could have guessed,” He muttered gruffly. “What kind of a name is Gallow?”

Suddenly, the memory trailed away, and various scenes of childhood melted into each other, a blur that was more of a collection of feelings than hard details. It was undeniable that Warren was not intriguing from the outset; he had piercingly blue eyes; his hair was blond, though the tips of his hair turned to a charred black color, as if his light follicles were burnt at the end. When he was left at the orphanage doorstep, he was an infant, and his unusual appearance was as mysterious as his parentage.

In a snap, all of the imagery and emotion vanished, and Gallow returned his thoughts to that memory on the rooftop, where their shoes dangled over thin air.

“Oh, I know!” Warren blurted.

“Yeah?”
“Well, we need to pray every night before we go to sleep…”

“Uh huh?”

“I don’t really like doing that all that much, but Sister Elaine told us that if we don’t, the Devil will tempt us in our dreams.”

Ajax nodded.

“So… it would be better if we didn’t have to be scared of him, right?”

Gallow’s brow furrowed. “I don’t get it,” he replied, bluntly.

Warren paused to articulate himself, his nostrils hissed as he retreated inward. After a moment of deliberation, he perked up and with bright eyes proclaimed:

“I’m going to go to Hell and kill the Devil!”

Ajax’s eyes widened.

“I remember his face when he said that, it must have been the first time he’’d ever put all of the thoughts together.”

The Spirit turned her gaze from the memory to Gallow, who was only staring ahead, deep in thought.

“I don’t think,” he began, “that he knew what that would mean.”

A gust of wind picked up, autumn leaves swept the skyline away and replaced it with nothing at all. The rooftop became an island in a sea of unconsciousness.

Years bled by the two ethereal onlookers, seasons passed from one to another, the two boys grew up. The bricks and mortar of the rooftop fell away and drowned in the void, replaced by the concrete ground of an alleyway. Gallow already knew where to look, down past the broken window, to where his younger self and Warren were approaching from the streetside.

“This should be…” Gallow thought aloud. With a sudden defeat in his voice, he whimpered, “Yes…”

The air was as heavy as lead, and the sunlight never seemed to touch anything. Time slowed as he reminisced on this time and place. “I remember one of these two buildings– I think it’s that one,” he gestured at the wall to their right. “That was a seedy hotel, and the other one,” he pointed to the other building. “That was a bar. I remember one time, when we were both fifteen, Warren tried to get in there and started a fight with the bouncer. He broke his nose and had to tell Sister Elaine that he walked into a pole blindfolded.” Gallow chuckled, but it was an empty expression.

“That was the first time I ever saw him do something that got me worried,” he continued. “That was a few weeks before this day; I remember seeing we were in this part of town, and I got a bad feeling. For a moment, I saw the bar and I got a little relieved- maybe he was just going to get in a fight again; I mean, not like I wanted my best friend to get hurt, but maybe I could prepare myself. I was a weak kid.”

Gallow turned his attention back to the memory, which began to reenact as it existed in his mind. The worry on his face was deep set, as if it had been just below the surface and merely resurfaced.

“So… who are we meeting here, again?” Ajax wondered with a cautious lilt in his voice.

“Just a friend,” Warren replied.

Down the alley, a boy who was a few years older than both of them was leaned against the wall, dressed in a long overcoat and a bowler hat. They made eye-contact, and Warren slowed down to approach him.

“Hey, I’m Warren, you’re Jemin?”

The older boy looked the two of them up and down, slowly piecing together an impression of each through their expression and body language.

“Yeah, I’m him, are you looking to buy?” His analysis was apparently completed. It was easy to tell their dynamic, Warren was the more dominant personality and Ajax was his meek follower; if he wanted something, there was nothing the latter could do about it.

“When he said ‘buy,’ I had all these alarm bells go off in my head.”

The older boy opened up the long coat draped over his shoulders to reveal rows of pockets, each filled with individual bags of powders of varying hues.

“What d’ya want?”

“I could feel it, it was palpable, that this was a bad place to be. No matter what happened, this would be a disaster.”

Warren raised a finger to point out a bag.

“Here.”

Jemin peered at his selection, nestled in the folds of his coat, and promptly stated “That’s 80 for an ounce.”

“Hey!” a shout echoed from down the alleyway.

“Disaster.”

All three of the boys’ heads snapped to the direction of the shout. From the other end of the alley, the one closer to them, two policemen stood cast in shadow.

“Get out,” Warren commanded. Gallow stood perfectly still, frozen by a wave of shock. He had never had any run-ins with law enforcement, and his mind was inundated with dreadful thoughts.

The dealer sprinted off in the opposite direction, Warren followed suit. However, after only a few paces, he stopped and turned back to look at Gallow, frozen in fear.

“Come on!” Warren called; the patrolmen would catch up to them any moment, but Gallow’s body couldn’t move. He slowly turned to face his best friend.

“I-I-” Tears were already leaking from his face, his voice faltered.

The alleyway was swept by darkness which, upon passing, revealed to the two observers a jail cell where Ajax and Warren sat on hard stone bricks.

“This was the scariest moment of my life, I still remember how hard the floor was.”

Four grey cement walls loomed over the teenagers. The evening sky was visible outside a high barred window; they sat on either side of it opposite the barred cell door. Ajax’s expression betrayed the agony of panic and boredom he was mired in. Warren, on the other hand, sat cooly, contemplating the situation unperturbed

Cautiously, Gallow’s face tilted to his friend’s direction.

“Why did we do this?”

Warren turned to him, his expression unchanging.

“And I’ll never forget what he said to me.”

“In the Holy Book, do you know why the Saviour died in front of a salamander?”

Silence hung in the air.

“No.”

Warren pulled his knee up to his chest. “Because in the ancient region they lived, the salamander was revered for its ability to regrow its tail. The verse reads ‘And he fell to the ground before a salamander, and his body was covered up by the Earth, and his spirit became endowed by the Earth as its new life.’”

“Yeah?” Ajax was familiar with the script, as he’d heard it every week at church.

“The secret to true life lies after death,” Warren eyed him with an almost ravenous gaze. “The Saviour created the Heavens from Hell, but died before the pilgrimage could be completed. I’m going to finish it.” He flashed a smirk that, for the first time, made Ajax uncomfortable.

Warren got to his feet and cast his gaze out of the window above them, pointing outwards toward the sunset. Rays of orange light cascaded down from Heaven.

“I want to be the Salamander.”

Ajax trained his eyes on his best friend; his heart was quaking, but he couldn’t tell why. “Where did you get this?”

Warren lowered his hand, his hair glimmered in the sunset, his calm stare pierced Ajax’s head.

“These thoughts fell down from Heaven, and I picked them up.”

Silence filled the room once more, like a vacuum of existence, utterly unreal. Slowly, Ajax found the courage to speak.

“So why are we here?”

Warren cast to the ground and replied with a jarring, pitiable inflection.

“Because I’m going to go to Hell. This is a minor setback for a minor step.” His voice was cold and hard, a departure from the sort of grandiosity that it oozed just a moment ago. “The law only exists for people who are too weak to free themselves from the chains of the World. Prisons are meant to strangle repentance out of people like that. I’m not looking for forgiveness, this is useless.”

He paused for a moment.

“Will you come with me?” he asked. “To the place I’m going?”

Ajax felt like he was being shoved around by Warren’s tone. In an instant, it was tender and filled with sweet longing.

“I-” Ajax had to choke the words out. “I don’t think I can.”

Silence set in between them, and Warren turned away to stare off into the corner.

“Shame,” he said. “This world is lonesome enough.”

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