Eden

A man is on a mission. To get his prize, he'll have to face his worst fear.

I
The Fortress
The structure stood surrounded by a thick forest, hidden in the center of a maze so complicated that no living soul ever got close enough to behold it in its entirety. The interior of the round shaped building was divided into four different chambers, each roughly of equal size.

First, there was a library holding various volumes of verse. Some of these books were bound in leather, elaborately decorated; others were neglected, crumbling, dusty pages of parchment. They seemed to have a particular arrangement, but the method behind this madness was only known to their owner and author -" the master of the fortress himself. The walls of this room were painted a deep crimson, to match the dark passions that lived locked inside the writings that lay on the shelves like the flesh of butchered animals at a market vendor. The master of the fortress prided himself on having collected writings that illuminated the secret life of man’s soul from all possible angles. On the spine of each book there were two letters: A and Z in different sizes, fonts and types.

The library was connected, through a narrow passageway, to a dimly lit gallery that housed a collection of portraits and statues, the latter of which were all made from the hardest, purest white marble. They were all female figures - or rather, one female figure in various positions. Similarly, the portraits that hung on the whitewashed walls showed the same face - that of a woman - from different angles, in different lighting, in different seasons and in different moods. Some showed great variation, ranging from joy to rage, pleasure to disgust, and some seemed to show the same exact expression over and over again: a blank face staring into the distance in a way that the viewer had the feeling that the eyes in the picture looked through them and into the distance searching, waiting for something or someone to arrive.

From here, one could go through another narrow passageway and arrive into what looked like a shrine. There was a black, square-shaped elevation in the center, with another, smaller, but also square-shaped structure on top of it. The construction resembled an altar - with crumpled covers thrown over it. It now stood empty, with traces of some earlier activity that could be seen all around: empty bottles, chalices, candles, and musical instruments. Some of the candles were still flickering, but most were burned down long ago and now were cold and blackened stumps. Heavy, purple curtains covered the windows here, and the room had an aura of secrecy, and narcotic, seductive magic.

The last room, that completed the walk around the circular structure had a heavy, bolted door, over which hung a black cross and the words “Memento Mori - Chamber of Memories” were written. This door stayed safely locked at most times. It was a sad, forlorn chamber that even the master himself loathed to visit, although it was here that he had been spending the endless hours of his sleepless nights brooding, thinking, and reminiscing over bygone ages, events and faces.

He was standing at the only entrance and exit of his fortress now, ready to leave. He was clad in full body armor: black, iron plates covered his body. He donned his horned helmet, making him look like a fierce bull, or the Devil himself. In one hand he held a sword, in the other the miniature portrait of the same face whose likenesses filled his gallery. He turned around to take one more look at the abode he was about to leave behind perhaps forever.

His eyes silently tracked the various chambers, savoring the moment, taking in every image, shape, form and memory with a determination to brand and burn them into his soul for an eternity. Inside his black armor his chest began to heave, behind his horned helmet his face got twisted, he closed his eyes as if to cry, but there were no tears. He stood alone, in silence, the blood throbbing, rushing to his head.

"It is time," he muttered.

With that, he opened his eyes and with the fixed stare of someone who just peered into a bottomless abyss, he stepped outside and threw himself into his self-made maze, ready to trace his steps back, ready to make his way through the thick forest of his life toward his destination, toward his destiny where he'd have to fight one last battle just as he had foreseen in a dream exactly a year before.

II
The Journey
A wild, uncorrupted animal instinct led him through the maze, through the forest. He was a dream-walker, a soulless machine, fueled by a single desire which led him closer and closer to his destination where he knew he would both end and begin his life.

He went through a desert - or so it seemed to him - of tall buildings, streets, and an entire civilization which meant exactly nothing to him now. He slowed down for no one, nor did he stop to eat or to sleep. His long, painful journey ended at the edge of the wasteland, in front of a tiny, cavelike cell. The door was ajar, inviting everyone in - although no one ever visited here.

He knew: he has arrived. It was the place he saw in his dreams. His heart was in his throat. What would he find inside? What sort of monster would he have to fight to the death? What trials awaited within to test him? He had no idea, other than that there was something inside there he had to have to fill the void in his soul, to quiet the throbbing in his blood, to fulfill his calling, to stop the longing and the dreams that consumed his days and his nights. He lowered his head and stepped inside.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within. He heard a voice - like the whining sound of a cat. Gripping his sword tightly, he made his way toward the only door at the end of the short hallway. He had no plan, did not waste time thinking, but barged straight in screaming, with his sword raised high.

III
The Cell
His frantic eyes searched for the creature, the one he saw the blurry outlines of in his prophetic dream, the one that guarded some invaluable treasure, the one he was supposed to slay.

He surveyed the tiny room in a flash. It was an irregularly shaped room, one the like of which he’d never seen before. Small crooks and crannies pockmarked the walls, a sloping ceiling, an uneven floor that rose sharply then dropped suddenly, or was wavy, and the walls that leaned in or out at random angles made him disoriented and dizzy.

There were two human figures in the center of this small cell. One was a small female child, about the age of three with thin black hair tied in two pigtails. She had inquisitive, intelligent, deep, brown eyes, and was now sitting on the floor, occupying herself with twisting one of her little toes. Then, her big, wide, innocent smile slowly vanished and she shouted out something the man did not understand. It was as if she spoke under water. Her voice came to him only in distorted, gurgling snippets. She seemed to be in some kind of pain and started crying.

The second human figure - an older girl, about the age of twenty - knelt beside the child and was comforting her. She was medium height, slim with soft curves. She wore a long dress, and her straight, shoulder length, jet-black hair covered her face. She spoke to the child, and the man realized that it was her voice he heard when he had entered. Her movements and gestures were gentle and careful. She showed a lot of love and care for the child as if it was her life’s mission to protect and shield her from harm.

The room was quite narrow and dark. It only had two small windows, but neither offered much of a view to the outside world. From the corners of his eyes, the man saw some paintings lying around the tiny cell. Some were on the floor, some on the desk that stood on one side, and some were pinned to the walls.

They were portraits of female faces, mostly melancholy, sad, dreamy faces - not unlike the ones the man had in his own gallery. The cell was rather unkempt. Clothes and old toys littered the floor, closet doors stood ajar exposing their own disorganized bowels, food leftovers were on the desk close to a set of paints and brushes. There was something shiny coiled up like a snake under the desk. It was a necklace, thrown away, forgotten, lying in the dust next to an empty bottle, some seashells and silk garments. Other than this, the man only saw small souvenirs from distant lands crowding the desk.

The man suddenly let out a gasp of air, took a step back, tensed all his muscles, and raised his sword in an instinct to protect himself. Above the two human figures now he saw a third figure. It was a ghostlike apparition, similar to the other two - that strangely looked very much alike - but older, more mature. This ethereal figure hovered and moved around the other two noiselessly. These three were in constant communication it seemed, although hardly any sound could be heard.

The man stood there motionless, confused, not knowing what to say.

“I…,” he mumbled finally, but his mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

They didn’t seem to hear him, but the ghostlike apparition of the mature female figure raised her head and stared the man straight in the eyes. She had a handsome face, but it was cold and devoid of human qualities. She searched the man standing there in his clumsy armor, with his horned helmet on, and with a quick gesture of her head she motioned toward the rear end of the room.

The man looked toward the place the apparition indicated. He strained his eyes and saw the outlines of something - something bigger than himself, bulky, thick and heavy. He tightened his grip on his sword, narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the thing he recognized from his dream.

III
Face to Face
He quickened his steps, closed his eyes, raised his sword, was ready to strike, but he heard the girl say,

“Stop!”

He froze, with his sword raised high in the air, opened his eyes and realized that the large, heavy, bulky object standing against the rear wall of the chamber was a mirror.

“Now, you see,” said the girl in a cold, accusatory voice.

The man stared at his own grotesque reflection, standing there in his heavy, black armor, and horned helmet.

“There’s no monster to slay other than yourself,” she said in that same cold, matter of fact voice.

“Leave us!” she shrieked suddenly. “Leave us!”

With that she turned back toward the other two, they held hands, and together they started to hum a lullaby. They formed a perfect, harmonious unity. It was then that the man realized that they were all the same person: the child, the girl, and the woman were the past, the present and the future of the same being, the same soul, the one the man had been haunted by for a long, long time.

The dream started visiting him at the apex of his life. It became a recurring dream, and then an obsession. He never knew what he had been missing from his life until the dream showed it to him. He never knew he had a twin, but from that moment on it...she was all he lived for.

The man lowered his sword, and removed his helmet revealing a hanging, haggard, tortured face. He stood there for a while in front of that mirror, facing his own reflection. One by one he removed the black, metal plates that covered his body and let them fall to the floor. Then he raised his sword in a flash and struck the mirror in which he finally saw the monster he had been searching for, the one he was to rescue this girl from.

The mirror shattered to a million pieces. He continued to stand there, with his sword at his feet in the dust.

When the dust settled, he became aware of a door that was hidden behind the large mirror. He slowly opened it. Behind the door there was a meadow, a beautiful, sunlit field of green grass - the Garden of Eden from which the man and this girl once came forth together. They might have looked different, but they left the garden as one before they split and had been searching for each other ever since. He stood there amazed, speechless, filled with an ancient recognition, and a timeless, eternal peace. Turning back toward the cell he said,

“Come with me, I cannot return without you”.

But the girl was already lying on the floor asleep, with the child in her arms, as the ghostlike apparition of her future self hovered above them protectively.