Page 134 of The Shadows Beyond
Cinn
Cinn was trapped.
Trapped in an endless cycle of his worst memories, warped into worse versions of themselves, like a ride at the fair that never stopped spinning, making you dizzier, and dizzier and dizzier.
Friday the thirteenth of July, the day the social worker had come to collect him. In reality, his mum had sunk to the carpet and sobbed, but his cruel mind had his mother laughing maniacally to herself.
The day Tyler ended up in an ambulance after an overdose was a favourite on the list of replays. He’d been seamlessly transported to the hospital and treated, but in this personal hell, Cinn had to watch him die again and again, paramedics failing to save him.
Back to Rosewood Parlour,again, but this time, it’s Benny and Sarah who end up a bloody mess on the floor, and this time, it’s the knife in Cinn’s hands that puts them there.
And then, the blackness again. Nothingness. Nothing but an impenetrable void stretching into eternity.
That was, until he sawhim. Julien. A tiny speck of light that floated towards him, getting infinitesimally bigger until it became human-shaped. Julien walked on the black nothingness as if it were tangible stepping stones, seeming to be aiming right for him.
Julien!he tried to call out, even though he had no control of his petrified vocal cords.
Walking towards him in a loose fitting white shirt he’d never seen him wear before, Julien’s grey eyes looked right through him, unsmiling.
Julien!He tried desperately again.Julien! Julien!
Something slightly dislodged in his throat; a strangled sound emanated.
Julien! Julien! Julien!
He tried and tried again to force the name onto his lips, but every strained half syllable was a shard of glass against his throat, tearing and ripping the soft flesh in searing waves of pain that escalated into a dissonance of anguish. Soon, he found himself choking on the metallic taste of his own blood, the hot liquid molten agony.
But Julien was so close! Touching distance, if Cinn could only move. Eyebrows pinched, face turning this way and that, Julien appeared lost. Lost in the darkness.
Julien!Cinn attempted one more time, as Julien passed straight by him.
Blood poured out of his mouth now, he could feel it dripping down his chin, even though he had no access to his other senses.
Please!he shouted, in his mind now, relenting his futile efforts for Julien to hear him.Let me go. Let me go.
Who he was asking this of, he had no idea.
All he knew was that his mind couldn’t survive this much longer. Wouldn’t survive.
And so, on he screamed.
thirty-seven
Julien
Julien glanced down, dazed, to find himself dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt that billowed at the sleeves. He plucked at the material before casting his eyes across his surroundings.
There was no mistaking it: he was in Cinn’s red city, in all its dusky twilight glory.
Here was the cracked asphalt, red hazy mist, the crawling scarlet ivy over every surface. Derelict buildings, some of which were mere piles of concrete. To his left, it appeared like someone had attempted to build a makeshift shelter out of salvaged metal sheets and tattered fabric. The structure seemed precarious, with mismatched pieces held together by improvised ties and ropes. Faded graffiti adorned the makeshift walls, tags left by artists long since gone.
Across the road were the strange, streamlined cars Cinn had described, all curves. They looked fast, he’d give them that. None of them would be a patch on Maz, of course.
Half-ripped billboards filled the sky, advertising products or people Julien couldn’t place.
However, this wasn’t quiteCinn’sred city, was it? Because that had turned out to be London, and thiswasn’tLondon. Julien knew this for sure, because he was in Paris. Far across the horizon, the Eiffel Tower’s steel structure still stood, but twisted, warped, sagging down towards the ground on its right side. An eerie red hue was emanating from the colossal vines of the invasive red ivy that choked almost every beam of it.
This was the City of Lights no more.
