The Next Best Thing

I open my eyes to a constant whirring in my ears. Jerking upright, I take in my surroundings; my head frantic. The movement brings pain in my neck, and I rub my brown hand to soothe the aching. There is dull, grey mist that seems to be all that I can see. I wave some away to better see, but the cloud I waved away is replaced by another.

What is this place? 

A shiver runs down my spine as realization knocks my breath away. I've been here before. 

And I am here again.

I will each step, and make my way forward. My feet are bare, I realize, and the ground beneath is cold, and uneven. Sand. 

My knees collide with something hard and I fall face down.

Sitting up straight, I feel for what knocked me down with my hands, it's an effort to discern anything in this dark place. Horror fills me when I've confirmed what I collided into.

It's a tombstone. 

There are letters carved on the white marble. I brush my cold fingers across the engraving. They appear to have been engraved by hideous, beastly hands. The letters are untidy and horrifying. I squint closer and try to read the erect stone. 

I gasp in horror as I see my hands clearly. 

They are hideous, beastly. 

I start waving them wildly into thin air, gripped by foolish hope that they might become normal by my doing so. 

Nothing happens; they stay the same. 

However, the mist clouding the engraving clears away. 

And I read my name on it. 

Why is the world the way it is?

Why so much hate? Why so much hurt?

Why so much pain? Why so much loss?

Why is there so much dark? Why such less light?

Why do people hate so much?

Why is there such less love?

Why is there blood on the ground?

Why are all these screams? Why all this death?

Why all these tears? And all these fears?

I guess I'll never know.

But deep down inside, I think I do. 

The winners and non-winning award winners of the RCS Essay Competition have been announced. Congratulations to Inessa Rajah; the senior winner, Esther Mungalaba; the senior runner up, Ghauri Kumar; the junior winner, and Tan Wan-Gee; the junior runner up.

I won Bronze, by the way.

The winning stories can be read from the official website. Here's mine.

They glare at one another; in the eyes of each, an insurmountable fire. Like lions preparing for a brawl, they waltz around in a circle, neither wanting the other to gain an edge. The scorching sun dangling up above does naught to melt the steel in their hearts; they move unaffectedly.

One is red; as red as the dawn. The other, blue; as blue as the sea.

After seemingly endless scrutiny, they draw their blades and encompass the distance in between — within seconds. Mountains move when metal clangs against metal. They both jump back; assessing each other again. Then, resume the intimacy of their swords.

They dance with their outstretched weapons; neither giving up, neither giving in. Their movements are perfect; their beastly battle seeming like a well choreographed dance, and they, themselves, two dancers. With every move, their swords embrace, sending sparkles on the earth below.

Soon, they are surrounded by fire.

Day turns dark, but the dance doesn't end. Spinning, then skipping; over and under. It is surprising how a battle between two foes can seem so beautiful.

They never stop; engaged in their endless dance.

Why are these flames too hard to avoid?

Step.

Jump.

Step.

Jump.

Jump.

Step.

When you fall for the illusion of having made it across, your heart sinks.

Because, you haven't.

Jump.

Step.

Jump.

Step.

You skirt to the edge.

But, never reach.

Jump.

Step.

Jump.

Step.

You lift up your head, and try to calculate your progress.

But, can't. Because, you've not made any.

Jump.

Step.

Jump.

Land!

And you fall down, curving into a ball. Burning...

What was it? That I felt forcing me forward, when in front of me lay a vast chasm of icy despair? 

Hands.

I landed surprisingly safely; my limbs intact after the fall. A quick discerning of the surrounding dark made my skin crawl. There was nothing but dark, encompassing me. I felt around with my hands: nothing. A step at a time, I made it to a side. The wall I traced with my fingers was cold; so very cold. 

I winced as something sharply gripped my shoulder. 

I stared at the icy, white hand. Its tenacious grip difficult to shrug off. 

"Who are you?" I asked the horrible, bone-white being.

"I am you." It replied. 

Perplexity. I stared at it in disbelief as it drew a dagger from thin air. The sparkle of the blade illuminated more of the wretched creature. Its features let loose a startled cry from my lips. 

It indeed was me. 

Pain. Pain is what I felt, as the creature — as I — dug the blade into my chest. 

"Welcome," it said, "to the darkness that is your heart."

Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.

As I gasped away, I realized with unending gloom that this chasm was my heart.

And the hands that had pushed me were my very own.

My icy, white hands.

Facing the mirror, he runs a finger down his cheek. The dark thorns encrusting it crackle then fall, leaving pure skin. But, very soon, the pale cleared by his doing is undone, and his skin is covered in those thorns again.

Covered with those hideous thorns again. 

He digs his nails into both his cheeks, peeling away the crisp. The pale he gets to see mesmerizes him. It is covered, again — quickly — with the thorns.

It recovers so frustratingly fast! But he doesn't give up.

A scream escapes him, and his fingers claw away flesh from his forehead, following down his cheeks and chin. The sight of blood unsettles him, but it is short lived; the thorns populate, fast, yet again.

He stares into his eyes staring back at him. What he sees is a helpless creature, incapable of happiness and doomed to ceaseless misery.

He begins to cry.

Dark liquid falls from his eyes.

Overcome with anger, he slams a fist into the mirror, shattering it immediately into pieces. Then, he stares at his hand: thick with those dark thorns.

He howls at the sight.

More thorns begin to protrude from his back, tearing away his clothing. Thorns begin to grow on his arms, and his thighs, and his legs, and his feet.

He stares at them, heartbroken.

In a corner, he places his knees into his chest, hugging himself. And cries away.

He cries away.

She thought she fell in a bed of roses.

But found out they were snakes instead.

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

—Andy Weir

Helplessness.

I've been bit.

The pain has dwindled a little; his venomous teeth have dug indentations into my arm. On every single one of my efforts of soothing the remnants of the agony, I wince. My hands are red with blood, the sight of trickling red liquid on my fingers frightens me.

I am dying. 

I hear him howl. It, howl. He's no longer human. He is no longer unconscious, the way I left him with a blow to his massive, furry head. Its head. 

Fright makes me run. I stumble, fall, rise then repeat. 

Stumble, fall, rise, repeat...

His howling sounds distant, soon, I am succeeding! By every passing second, the earsplitting scream of my pursuer fades. There soon comes a time when I can't hear it altogether.

I sit myself down against a tree, the pain in my arm, rejuvenated. Concentrating on my breathing helps. I regain focus. But the pain steals it away from me.

After a while...

I fall asleep. 

There's nothing but darkness around...

Am I dead?

When I open my eyes later, I know that I am alive. 

When I first rub my arm, I feel strong muscles. Hair...

I start walking, trying to find a way out. I come across a pond instead. My dry, aching throat controls my motions and in a few seconds, I find myself drinking.

It doesn't take much time to notice my horrid reflection...

The toll of transmission.

I am a werewolf.

I am crouched behind a wall.

The cameras scrutinizing these hallways have been hacked shut, probably the work of our tech expert. When I first joined the Resistance, the higher-ups never deemed me capable enough for field work.

All of that has changed, now.

When they discovered that I, too, am an Anomaly, they saw me as a threat; an end to their entire operation. I was locked away, starved for days. They finally came to their senses, not too late, and realized what an asset I could be. I was pampered, fed, and given importance. My training began and I proved to be one of their best. Soon, came my promotion.

I remember the bold, red ink that said: You've been promoted!

Many in the Resistance still don't trust me. Can't blame them. It is out of the ordinary; an Anomaly helping out the Normals. Why I have chosen to side with them, is better kept unsung.

Crash!!!

Something shatters. I hear heavy boots, making their way closer. With every step, the noise becomes more audible. I dare to peak, and don't like what I see.

Soldiers.

I stand upright, and flex my muscles. I decide not to use my powers; like always. I retrieve my gun from its holster, count to three, then dash into visibility.

Bam! Bam!

I had the element of surprise on my side, hence the victory. What these two were capable of, I'll never know. The Anomaly Alliance usually has Fires for field work. Not that they would've burned me or anything.

No other Anomaly can beat me. Or so, say the Resistance thinks.

I still don't use my powers.

I quickly activate my VR Map. It disperses a holographic imitation of this building's architecture in front of me. I locate myself in it, then the point of my destination: The Containment Zone.

I am here to free the unwilling Anomalies; a traitor, here to free more traitors.

I merge with ease in the shadows, and climb the flight of stairs keeping me from The Containment Zone. Emerging from below, I can see someone, standing as if expecting me.

It's him.

"Get out of my way." I say, coldly.

"You don't have to this! We'll take you back. Just stop this!"

Idiot, still holding on to the stupid hope he's been fed with.

"I won't say it again, get out of my way." I hiss at him.

To my surprise he takes off his gloves and prepares to fight me. The nerve! I think quickly, and determine that a bullet through the head of my former best friend is not a possibility. He'll use his powers all too quickly and freeze anything I throw at him.

With only temporary hesitation, I decide to do what I have never in a long time, not since I killed my mother, accidentally.

I'm going to use my powers.

"If I kill you, it'll be your fault." I mock him.

His face exhibits not even a single emotion. He's entered his fight-mode. No more sympathy from him. His tightened fists start emitting smoke, the fingers of his hands turning blue. He raises them in the air and then slams them on the ground. His ice speeds its way in my direction, freezing the ground in its wake instantaneously, getting closer by each passing second.

I imitate his actions; undoing his attempt.

That's what I can do: shut off another Anomaly.

The frozen ground now melts, there is water everywhere. Using his perplexity against him, I pull my gun out and shoot him in his legs. He falls to his knees, screaming in pain.

I walk to him, the entrance to The Containment Zone is right behind him.

"Why?" He says, lying trembling on the ground.

"This is war." I say, and shoot him in the head.

They feel hypnotized when they look in his eyes, mesmerized. What they see are diamonds, glittering blindingly. When he flickers his eye-lids, the dazzling light is enough to illuminate the dark. They feel both awe and envy, when they look at his face. 

I stand alone.

My hands are chained to the ground, the length of my jangling captors allowing me to stand upright.

A thousand glare at me.

There is fire in their eyes, the contempt I can see is unbearable.

Something is weighing me down. It is like a million rocks are hanging from my back. 

The fire in their eyes increases.

Something inside of me dies.

I know what it is.

My spirit.

But, then...

Pure fury is what I feel next.

My imprisoned hands burst into flames, breaking away from the chains binding them to the earth.

The weight that felt like rocks, now feels light.

I glance down at my shadow.

I have wings. 

The fire in their glare is no match for the one in my hands.

I start running, my wings flapping behind, readying to lift me up into the sky.

With a single jump, I am high up in the air.

I stare down below, at the glaring crowd.

They are nowhere to be seen. 

I continue flying. To the top.

They can never destroy my spirit. 

Slowly, so achingly slowly, they trickle down her cheeks, lying dormant for a few seconds on her chin, then landing abruptly on her folded knees. 

There is a table in front of me.