Headcell: The End

The man who struggled with his sanity must now struggle with something much more. The path has almost closed but there remains the final fight, yet with whom, what, when or where remain to be seen...

Drifting gently along, upon the open Sea of Destiny.

The makeshift raft He had constructed was holding well thus far; the yellowing bamboo intertwined satisfyingly with the mint-green vine, holding the contraption as one. No sense of strain nor fragility thus far. Thinking back to the first plannings, He grinned at the thought of time no longer being imaginary. Here it was real and had a face, a smell and even sounds signalled its presence. 

Waves breaking into white foam on the unruffled sand, which sucked itself backwards and forwards before it gave up. He had watched such a thing from under the cooling shades of the palm trees, where many very real hours often passed under the eternally blue sky. Thought ran through him uncontrollably, thoughts of Her, thoughts of the new life and sometimes even the State reappeared, albeit briefly. But the pain was never there for long and disappeared the instant the next wave crashed along the infinite shores. The shade sheltered Him from the sun as well as the pain. 

Some days were different than others though, for even routine carried over into paradise in some proportion. 

Every now and again, out in the gleaming Sea that was not yet one of destiny, He would spy something that both belonged there yet was wholly alien to the new world; a sharp, jet-black fin cresting the surface of the water. No imagination was needed for the vision of what it belonged to. The days that the fin rose from the depths, it cruised the length of his sight, up and down all day long before finally vanishing, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The shade would then urge Him to leave; run and leave. And He always did.

The jungle would then greet Him forth as His legs worked in tandem, but tiredness never took hold until He reached The Dwelling, a hand-made home right in the middle of the shrubbery built over days (that could be called days). Paradise had brought Him all kinds of new skill that the State had left almost untappable after so long, yet here they were in full re-emergence. Sawing, sticking and configuring with a mixture of materials had brought Him four walls and a roof. It was lopsided and out of shape, yet that was perfectly okay. Something they would never understand, only Him. 

Inside hung a hammock, in one corner. Chairs were fashioned out of sticks, rocks became blades and food was to be found within literal reaching distance. He kept himself occupied inside The Dwelling with only the primal instincts of sleeping and eating. The natural ground became the floor; browns and dusty yellows mixed with more of the same tones to create a rich, earthy interior. Muskiness was the only enemy here, as well as humidity from the sun, which crept in through every crack and crevice imaginable. His body would sweat copiously in these times, to release the occasional fevers which overtook Him on the days where the heat may have been just that little bit too much.

Fire was his friend, a unique lover if He ever had one. By nightfall, thought followed him into a different sanctuary as He spent the darkness studying the intense flickering, spitting and dancing of the flames as it cooked the evening meal. And what food there was to be had too; grilled animals of all kinds and varieties, yet guilt never troubled Him. Everybody kills sometime, what happens merely happens. The hunting was the worst part, yet not for the sheer savagery. On all fours at times, His hands and feet would be wracked with dirt and scratched to pieces before He claimed a prize. However, time's passage in paradise meant the skin on His naked body had now grown tough and leathery, almost impervious to physical damage or excessive strain.

Most of the time however, fish were the easiest game and the heavenly waters were absolutely abundant; sea bass, mackerel, salmon, you name it and it resided. He would wade out as far as the length of His legs would allow with a sharp spear and, with great patience, wait for the right morsel to swim along. Jabbing at the speed of light, it would always be over in an instant. Then, back to shore, once the fish's wrigglings had ceased, oranges, guavas or even pineapples would always serve as the side dish, juicy and forever fresh. 

The flames kept Him company as He ate the meats and fruits of surroundings. Grilled and fresh, it was an entire universe better than that which the State had ever provided. Once His belly had filled and the fire began to die, then His hammock would call him the loudest, as it swung from the roof of The Dwelling, with the subtlest of creakings.

Laying there, the thoughts began to swirl more, however in a nice way. Instead of dread there was hopefulness, and instead of pain was the prospect of more tomorrows. Closing His eyes brought an even better paradise into view, one where She remained, yet despite the knowing impossibility He remained satisfied. 

The sounds of the jungle were His clock in these moments; the nightcalls of birds and the howling of distant creatures. The darkness brought with it the absolute savagery of nature; a cacophony of absolute and utter primeval instinct. The swaying kept His mind focused on that most inescapable of elements in these times. He would hear packs of wild animals run past The Dwelling always one after the other, on their way to their nests and feeding grounds. Sway, sway, sway, more beasts tread hard. Judging by the colour of the sky in the midst of the transition from pure black to dark blues, then from dark blues to gold-amber, the worst ones came the earliest and as dawn drew nearer, the paradise would return from its descent back into what it still remained at its core. The animal kingdom had its own form of society He never wanted to get involved with. 

Morning came then, and so the cycle was repeated, day in and day out. Yet this given passage of time only served to fuel His enjoyment rather than diminish even a single thing, in the great, continuing search for truth. 

It was one of those days that the idea for the raft first came to Him, as He sat under the shade looking out to sea. The fin was nowhere to be seen that day, yet if it did it would not have troubled Him. Being alone here was manageable. Yet on this day, the thought of what lay beyond the comfort zone kept playing on His subconscious innerworkings. Out there lay an even greater world, even if no signs existed, His belief always did, always had.

The shore is only the shore. The sand may be so, yet what more could it be? The palm trees and their sensuous shade fill one with relief, yet what more could be had? More is the key word. Maybe I should know, but not too soon. 

His eyes caught the glinting of the waves again, which seemed to dazzle Him into finalization. But still more crucial questions began to build within.

How would I do it? Yet, I think I already know. I have the full power of my body at my disposal as well as the elements. The only right thing to do is go. Eventuality necessitates it, I think. But the sea can be harsh when one is further and further out, should this become a problem?

No. Think only of the means now, the obstacles will come later. 

And so that was the germ, later the hammock gave birth to the spreading of the seed. The remainder of the day was spent scouring the immediate area in the beginnings of His newfound goal. Wood would have to be procured, as would leaves, and twine, and provisions for the crossing that may never end. The sun baked with the most dire heat, yet His resolve stopped Him from fainting into another fever. With spear in hand, He set off into the wild, only returning when He had decided that this decidedly insane thought may just become a reality. The hammock session that night laid out His plan for Him; three days of work and then a lifetime of escape into the rest of paradise. The Sea of Destiny would not be a problem, for as He knew more than He knew himself, its waters would always be calm and inviting. 

Day one would be wood. Day two would be leaves. Day three would be gathering something to hold the raft together and then food on top of all that. This can work, it must, it will. Failure is an option indeed, but I know that it can only be a distant one. The paradise is in my favour now.

And so it begins, He sees the opportunity and takes it, maybe for the very first time in His life, at least in His life post State.

Day one went by quickly, Him gathering wood by the pound. He had to harm the palms to do this but they did not mind as He worked slowly and carefully, cutting into them with rocks and then shaving off thick sections of the rough, coarse bark. Choosing the bulkiest tree He could find, He made sure to work close to The Dwelling, so as to lighten the load. The danger of it toppling onto his homestead sometimes panged Him, but thankfully it eventually fell the right way down, making the work even easier. Working from the crack of dawn right through to the next sunrise, the task was soon complete, as a small pile of wood now stood beside His little shack in the clearing.

Day two saw the gathering of the leaves, where in amongst them, the insects and bugs gathered in their tight-knit microcommunities. Spiders, beetles, worms and centipedes. They never troubled Him either, instead focusing on scuttling away as fast as they could while he plucked from the shrubs and bushes as many thick leaves as He could find, shoving them into a great bamboo basket woven by Himself, another one of the several skills the paradise had bestowed. And which was necessary. The leaves were slick and wet, meaning He would have to work fast when the time came, lest they should dry out due to the great spherical oven in the sky. Soon a big basketful of leaves took its place alongside the wood, waiting for the marriage of the two.

Day three would see the gathering of string and sustenance, thus entailing a (perhaps) final journey to the beach that was second nature by now. The spear was especially sharpened for this day's task, the pointed end formed into a perfectly pointed triangular tip. His body was now tougher than ever, toned and muscular like it had been before, all the pieces working together like a natural machine as He walked down the beach. Seaweed was the word in the mouth and mind today, as it was tough enough to withstand the journey. He went further down the strand than usual, coming to a rocky patch where it was in abundance. The crabs and starfish in the rock pools kept him company as He searched amongst them for the best samples. When He had enough for His liking, the unbroken footsteps were His way back. 

A long, long line of them stretching into the golden beyond.

He followed them back all the way, slowly now, not going any faster than He ever wanted to. Now that what was needed had been done, the final task would be one of patience. The sun was just beginning to sink over the horizon by the time He reached The Dwelling. The sky was now a brilliant amber-orange, and the hammock beckoned Him not. Instead He was focused on the piles that lay outside, waiting to be used. Placing the collected fruits (juicy, ripe oranges, bananas and mangoes of the day) off to the side, he attacked the bamboo pile at once. 

Laying on the dry, dusty ground were the long sections of shaved bamboo. He lay them all out right against each other to form the raft's base. Then, taking some of the seaweed, he tied them together tightly, ending up with what resembled a thin blanket of wood. The next layer of bamboo went atop of that, yet the planks ran in the opposite direction, laying across. Performing the same procedure as before, he twined these together too. Then, using the final lengths of seaweed, he tied the both of them together so they would never break, yet He already knew the Sea of Destiny would not stoop to such a level. The seaweed was thick enough to not break, and the water was calm enough not to pose a threat. 

Better gather more seaweed just to make sure. 

Taking up His spear and retracing the steps from earlier, which remained fresh in the sand, He made His way to the beach, whose sands were a phantomly white and waters tranquil in the serene, softly glowing moonlight. 

Nothing to fear here, nor anywhere else. I'll miss this place even though I'm already in it. But this decision is mine to make. 

The unbroken steps in the sand lay ahead of Him, barely visible, if not for the tiniest shadows in the indents which gave them away. He gripped the spear, protection comforting Him. The moon reassured Him too; the light showed the way. Watching His feet along the long journey, He marveled at the surefootedness that the State had stolen in what seemed an entire age past. Making Him lose the way was one thing, yet the ability to push through was all but eradicated. Now things were different, and morphing still. The feet then stopped, and He looked up to see the arrival at the rocky patch. The wet rocks sparkled in the moonlight, appearing as great grey diamonds of one kind or another. 

No crabs at this time, and the starfish were likely asleep. If they even did. His feet stuck to the stone like plungers, making sure He would never fall. Not at this time, when so much was at stake. He collected just enough seaweed to keep anxieties at bay (quite literally) and turned to leave, when He saw something that caused Him a pause in His step. It was back, but at a time it never came before. The jet-black fin in the water, cutting through it like a knife in melting butter. The moonlight cast it in a strong light, making it stand out. His hand was hurting and He glanced down to notice a vice-like grip on the spear. Vice-like reminiscent of the State. 

This is not going to happen. This cannot ever happen. But here it is right before your eyes. Denial is the best option. A problem only exists if one makes it so. The sea is where the fin lives and where it should be. Leave it, leave it.

The steps continued to lead Him back. It was a longer walk than the events of the day. He kept a close corner eye on the waters, yet only a mixed jumble of colours constricted His vision. The spear felt weightless, yet this was not His grip and more likely relaxation. Muscles felt loose, and the steps were not thought out, naturally flowing in a way that only a man operating on pure instinct knew of. He was close now, close to The Dwelling where the fruits of his labour lay, a dream waiting to be dreamt. A small opening into the thick palm forest tantalized Him, yet thought popped into the head once more that night.

Time to turn and see, look for the fin. Despite its presence or not, the part in me which causes fear has not functioned, because that doesn't exist anymore. I need to check anyway...

His head spun around the neck slowly, craning towards something that would definitely be there. And it was, still slicing through the waves like a fleshy blade. But something about it did not averse Him in the slightest. A message from another time, another place that had no importance in this domain. The journey could and would indeed go ahead; from the beach to The Dwelling and then tomorrow, from The Dwelling to the Sea of Destiny. He watched the fin circle back and forth, swimming for nothing and existing for nothing too. Disappearance was its final performance, and this came true as the sky began blooming with the first heavenly stars. Dipping below the surf, the fin went back to wherever (or whenever) it came from, not to be seen again. 

Now the raft was finished with the last seaweed strands, bundled light a taut, strong package on delivery. He stood back and grinned from one ear to the other with pride in His work. Tomorrow would now taste times ten sweeter. Only now, the hammock beckoned to Him, all the strength suddenly rushing out of His body as He fell into it, into a deep sleep littered with the most gorgeous of dreams and musings of the mindfields. Fields ran forth gushing with green, with tall misty mountains and air made of nothing but gold. Transformation overtook Him completely, rinsing the body out of all its fears, worries, phobias and gnawing overthinking. When He awoke, the entire world was His for the taking.

Now the day has come, when the old world has finally washed away out of the last vestiges of the brain. A brain once wracked becomes a brain now reborn. He rises from the hammock and leaves The Dwelling, with His body of steel and iron will. Running a hand over the skin, it is smooth and perfectly healthy, as it once was and now always will be. He looks at the trees, the sky and hears the distant fizzling of seafoam. Freedom comes in all of these flavours.

Breakfast was sumptuous that day; grilled bananas roasted till brown and mushy. Fish caught fresh from the bay with no sign of the fin and then coconut water to wash it all down, lapping it up with a lubricated tongue like a puppy. After the meal He lay back on the ground and stared into the wide blue, meditating. Once meditation had activated the mind, He got up and walked down to the beach, for one last intake of paradise. Today was the day, and second thoughts had been long destroyed, swept away into the wind. He looked up and down the golden shores, the eyes drinking in every detail. Beauty is only true beauty when one completely remembers it in all its glory. That way, the mind can be nurtured and refed everytime it needs to be. A journey at sea of His length and undertaking would require such a thing. 

But the best things in life are the things that are not exploited or enjoyed too much, too often. Sometimes, one just has to leave for the next good thing. He realized that now. 

Later that day came the moment of truth. Quite literally too, yet failure flung far off into an imperceptible distance somewhere. He closed up The Dwelling, for memento's sake taking down the hammock and bringing it with Him. Its powers would never be left behind. The fruits came next, still fresh thanks to the cool, slightly humid night air before. Positioning the meager possessions atop the creation, He slid it gently a few centimetres.

Nothing grinding and nothing catching. So far, so good indeed. But still more was to come.

The sand passed under the raft smoothly and freely; there were no hitches. Like a seal, it moved gracefully into the water, but for a dangerous second it nearly toppled in the surf, the wood creaking like no one's business.

He froze.

But another second passed and soon, the raft righted itself. The old ear-to-ear smile returned to His face. Victory coursed through His veins, as he watched the bamboo beauty bounce atop the waves, waters holding it like mother and child finally united. The fin was nowhere to be seen. The palms all leaned forward, pointing Him in the exact right direction, their tops shaking in an invisible wind. Resting His vision within their ferns a moment, there was silence. Silence until flocks of seagulls burst out, scattering to the winds over the Sea of Destiny. They circled over Him in endless loops for what felt like an eternity, and perhaps it was, perhaps it was.

That was it. He decided to follow the seagulls. They knew what they had to do. And so did He. With a swift movement of the legs, He jumped onboard the bamboo vessel, taking a moment to allow things to settle. Water swirled and clashed amongst itself in broken motions. Then calm descended, both over it and Him. Now all that lay ahead was the journey. 

The journey to where? Only the Sea of Destiny would tell Him that along the way, moreso than He would tell Himself. Finding it carefully, He relaxed into a comfortable sitting position on the raft and watched as the shore slowly left Him, the tide pulled them gradually further apart. But this distance pained Him not, nor did the idea of not finding anything. This was entirely His decision, the freedom to feel and think whichever He wished, in a world free of all society or (as far as He knew) civilization. Looking to the horizon, that brilliant little blue line that bounded eternity, He couldn't help but calmly realize the implications ahead.

Now this is where things will get difficult, in a manageable way. The days will be long, of rowing to a place that seems nowhere and that yet I know which is always there, and when I arrive will always have been. But what if it is not? Not the place I want it to be?

The ever-distant shore drew His attention again, with yet more gulls flying about and swooping down to the water closer by. Nagging, the question hit Him again; what if it is not what I want it to be? 

This place was. Something of a home had been made there by Him, with The Dwelling and His daily routine giving Him security long needed after escaping the old reality. Now that was being thrown into the wind of time, maybe never to be picked back up, at least not until His newfound journey was over. The horizon held the rest until then. Best to keep advancing towards it, for that is what shall happen otherwise. The tide was pulling Him way out now, with the shore gradually turning into a thinner and thinner golden-yellow line dotted with unbroken greens on top. The raft's motions were almost insensible, as though they couldn't be felt. The water was lifeless but He knew it carried them softly towards oblivion. 

It went on like this for quite some time, with the water bringing Him out and Him retreating deeper into pure thought, and this time the ocean swirled along with them. He lay back and stretched Himself across the bamboo, making sure the sun kissed every area of His body. The heat didn't affect Him anymore, His hands told Him as they touched smooth, roughless skin with his eyes closed. He sank into a filling meditation for what seemed a timeless period, His eyes showing Him a black full of mysteries that were never meant to be figured out. His feet dangled loosely in the water, the coldness swirling between the toes. 

Now this is what most of it should be like. The floating, the thinking and the clean air. Nothing like this has ever happened before, and oftentimes the first time we experience something is the best. This will help me along the way. 

By nightfall, He was in the open waters. The raft had held Him all along the way thus far and His creation was stronger than He thought it could have ever been, and proving one thing above all, that the human body is one's greatest tool when applied correctly. The components making it up were at their very top condition, each tendon, hamstring and ventricle fully functioning like they were always supposed to, but never had before. He lay on His back, satisfied physically and emotionally, watching the other great ocean in the sky; the gleaming, glittering stars. 

Distant planets, other galaxies, all of them a lifetime away from here. But He was content with His lot, everything He owned in the world was right there with Him; the raft, the spear, the fresh fruits once in the basket and now in the stomach, the hammock laying over Him as a makeshift blanket, all of these things could only be attributed back to one man, a man who was His own at long last. That was all that mattered. His eyes traced far and way all across the night sky, searching through a galaxy beyond Him. 

I wonder how many of them are alive, if anyone on those little rocks way up there realizes what they're missing out on. Freedom here is something different up there, probably unheard of. An alien notion indeed, but then again so are theirs to me. The raft rocks, but I don't move. That's the way it should be. But how is it up there? Impossible to know, but safe to guess I think. Safe to guess. Just like my own fate, which may as well be somewhere in the stars too, in the unknown reaches. 

He adjusted under the hammock, the thick netting providing considerable warmth. Paradise may have been paradise yet there still remained some harsh realities; temperature being one of them, the other being that clothes still didn't exist, beyond thin layers of skin. Goosebumps the size of tiny pimples formed over Him, dotted here, there and everywhere. He rolled over and stared out into the sea, lit brilliantly by the lights in the sky. Only the shining spots on the surface indicated the water, otherwise one would have assumed an ocean of glass, vast beyond belief.

The moonlight danced on the water, kissing it with its whitish sheens. His eyes watched the show in all its glory, never tired and only attentive. Shadows changed every other instant in the murk, with waves and spots forming then going just as they arrived. A heaviness began to overtake His eyes, the lids drooping slowly like heavy water hitting a leaf, until they fully closed. He fell into a dreamless sleep, not needing anything comatose as He had everything whilst awake.

It was when He awoke again a few hours later that something was definitely not quite right. A wrongness pervaded His surroundings on all sides as He sat up, slowly readjusting to the night, which was still (to His best judgments) nearing its later stages. He reached down and checked for His spear, the handle finding exactly what He wanted it to. Balancing like the greatest of warriors, He gripped it and stood up straight, slowly, searching with His eyes.

Here we go again. No wonder it is here, for this is where it should be. Even paradise has its problems.

The fin was back again, circling Him intelligently, trapping Him atop His own creation, the moonlight following its patterned, almost deliberate movements. He stood posed to strike, fear filling Him but also a strange sort of eagerness, an excitement to face that which lay beneath. The jetblack fin spoke to Him through the deep, telling Him everything that was left behind in the past world, and leaking through to this new paradise. The fin was getting nearer now, the motions so smooth that any disturbances were rendered almost invisible to His (quite literally) naked eye. 

It was bulky, triangular and shining dangerously, slick with saltwater. Straining with all His might, He thought it possible to barely glimpse the hints of a submerged, shadowy mass attached to it. Raising His spear, the entire body tensed in sync, waiting for the beast of the past to surface and begin its deadly attack. The fin circled one last time before, without any warning, dipping beneath the surface, leaving His vision empty again, for the time being.

Tension taut like a wire. 

He refused to let His gaurd down, with the entire body being poised and completely prepared for the unexpected. So when the raft suddenly lurched to one side it was no surprise. Staying calm, the familiar old reassurance came back; the time had come but had now come again. 

The fin rose from the depths, finally catching His eye just as it sailed back out from underneath the raft. He jabbed with the spear, missing once and striking again, only to get the same result. Not now, not ever. I'll get it the next time. Just have to wait for it to return. 

Oh, wait, there it comes.

The fin was heading straight for the raft again. It sliced faster this time, the water nothing in its path. His body enflamed with the frenzied passions of war as it approached. The spear was raised again, the strike coming and coming soon. The fin stopped just short of Him as He lunged again, His feet planted firmly on the bamboo, preventing Him from toppling into the sea. No matter anyhow, for He missed yet again. 

"B*****d, go away! You rotten b*****d!"

These were words only found in the old world and now they contaminated His mouth, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue. The fin had slithered back beneath again, and He was sure that the next strike would likely be the most violent yet. Looking into the (now) deceptively tranquil waters, there arose the possibility of falling into the pitch black void, where it could attack anywhere, anytime. Vulnerability was the last thing on His mind and it was going to stay that way. He looked up at the sky; nearing the end now. Black was turning light orange, the distant change in colour growing closer with each passing minute.

The spear was starting to come loose in His hand and the unavoidable exhaustion was overcoming Him, as He scanned the ocean surface with eagle eyes. Everything was lifeless; the sky and ocean were frozen in real time. No more wind, not even anymore seagulls overhead. It was almost as though the fin's very presence sucked all life out of its immediate vicinity. He was the exception however, the only reason being that it was His job to destroy it once and for all. More waiting, more scanning. But all a grand nothing. Nonetheless, the spear remained firmly locked in His hands.

Then the stakes were to rise. It swam through the depths, cutting through forests of seaweed and shoals of marine life to that goal in the aquatic ceiling; a square raft with the prey. Not for long would the square raft exist anymore. Pushing itself and surging upward, the speck became a shape, which then was to become a reality. 

Now everything changes. 

The raft buckled underneath Him, bamboo pieces flying into the air and Him along with them. During His brief descent He caught sight of it chewing on the remains of the raft, an ugly sooty grey with teeth like razors. He saw the mass in the growing light, the oranges almost over them by now. He hit the water with a terrific crash, His body shuddering and stinging with the impact. Landing in the water, He opened His eyes right away, seeing only clear, dark blue on all sides. The rumblings of the underwater world played in His ears as He searched for what had come for Him. 

It had finished off the last of the raft and was now heading straight for Him, a shark bigger than anything He had ever seen. It was then He realized exactly why this had come from the old world and would only go away once He dealt with it; it was a living nightmare. A relic of the past, perhaps even the State itself come back to haunt Him. It had the bulk, the swiftness, the menace and most importantly the weapons to do so. Yet so did He, gripping the spear so tight that it was now almost an extension of Himself. Its pointed end was straight towards the enemy, which instead of rushing over was slowly circling as it had done before, taking all the time to be had in both worlds to reach Him. 

The phrase rang through again. Now the time had come, and would never come again. He readied the spear, watching the black mass. Above, the sky was hard to read but in the distance He felt that one could see the first thin shafts of sunlight poking through the murk. The black mass had stopped circling Him now and was swimming far back, readying for perhaps the final approach, the tail swishing back and forth gracefully.

Now was the time. The spear remained ready.

The mass couldn't be seen for a moment, until it emerged from the blue void, being exactly the monstrosity it was. His arms and feet kept up their movement, allowing Him to float in the open turquoise. The spear was the only truly solid thing in this strange world, the tip of it glowing in the deep. Light sheens danced around Him like lasers, forming a protective circle as the beast was now dangerously close, the black mass like a giant cloud about to swallow Him whole. And it might yet, quite literally.

Swish, swash, swish, a thwacking of a tail. Him floating in nothingness ready to pounce, along with all the rest of His very sanity. 

He looked into the beast's mouth, the eyes discernible along the snout, the only indications of the gaping maw being row upon row of menacing teeth. So many edges that signified death. Death that would be absolute, not just an entry into another life, but entrance into that all-too familiar void that lay beyond the dreamlands. Spear was the word of the mind today as the beast's mouth opened yet further, yet not to swallow. The beast made yet another circle around Him, drawing event out like a blade. 

Sheath.

Breaking like the shatterings of thin glass, the beast came at Him, this time wholly in its element. He lunged to the side and, simultaneously raising the spear, struck once, the blade piercing the thick flesh. A deep shaking came from somewhere, swirling the water into bubbly clouds that would block His view. Only swimming with all His might allowed the avoidance of them. the spear always poised outward, lest it met with the beast.

But where was it? Nowhere, yet everywhere. Ah, yes, there it lurked. In the nameless section of murk, heading straight back in for another one. The maw grew from miniscule to monstrous as it speeded to Him. As last time, He moved to the side and jabbed again, this time harder than before. Again, the blade pierced flesh, yet deeper, touching upon something more elemental and crucial. The beast roared silently, the liquid world shaking and surging like it had, with bubbles bigger and foaming violently. He swam forth out of the cloud, continuing to poke and thrust, even if only at emptiness.

Swish, swash, swish, a cry from the beast. 

The spear had found its prey again, cutting like one of its own teeth. Another surge, but not as violent. He felt the nothingness become even lighter, the ideas of temperature and endurance not passing His mind with any kind of awareness. Only the final fight mattered now, for it determined all that was paradise. He watched the black mass slinking back into the murk, hopefully knowing that it was now one of the Sea of Destiny's lesser components. It would of course be returning for the next strike, but He was readier than ever, with the spear containing enough strength to fully destroy all the past once and for all. It was coming for Him and soon too, as he danced in the now fully lighted underwater clearings. The sunrise was equivalent to the light switch turning on in a room, sequential and stunning in its reveal. The ocean floor filled out underneath Him, and so did its creatures begin to emerge from their habitats; fish, crustacean and jellyfish scattered to and fro. But none of them where what He wanted.

Then it happened. Another strike, but not with His readiness.

The beast engulfed Him in its maw, shutting out all brightness and magnificent vision. It was the same kind of black one would find in the dreamlands. The roaring was not distant here, for it was right at the very epicentre. He tried to feel for the spear, it was gone, gone into the black hole of all black holes. Finality rather than spear was now the word of the mind as he swam again, trying to escape the void which the beast held in its very stomach, or interior, He picked the poison for Himself. His hands, arms and legs were almost disconnected in his escape attempt. An almost invisible, miniscule source of light was straight ahead yet no matter His speed or exertion He could not quite reach it.

All the old world came back to Him in these moments, wanting to remind Him of all that the past still held despite the paradise's curings; Hell both in mind and body, the days blending into each other, the brutal, merciless yet routinized violence and torture. Sufferings that should not have existed in but yet did, all in the name of that word that had both built and destroyed His former world; society. Nauseous, icy and grey. An unholy trinity that was trying to re-infest His mind, but He would not let it. The light shaft remained tiny though, but only for the time being.

Panic is the easiest way out here, panic and then probably death. But I've fought too long and too hard to allow such things to happen. I'm surrounded by the darkness that leads into light, in a world that I once knew. But I know a better place now, and it's almost ready to invite me right back in. 

The spear is gone though? How can I fight? Fight the mind, God damn you, fight the mind!

The birdcage cells, the endless tunnel of a Block, the guards in their black beetle uniforms, the Warden announcements, The Man in the Moth Suit and then, the absolute worst of all; Her. Standing in the beast's mouth, looking right back at Him as he clawed and scrambled forth, wanting to escape a reality that did not ever want such a thing for Him. Reaching out with a hand, he expected something final and fatal. Gritting His teeth, they were nearly vanquished in the mouth.

Push! Push! I see the light now! Nearer and nearer it gets, and How beautiful the promises beyond shall be!

The hand still reached out though, forcing Him to acknowledge it. Absolute silence this entire time as the escape played out, with only the eeriest rumblings and familiar winds picked up with the light's gradual proximity. He tried brushing it away, but still the hand beckoned. His teeth were about to crack wide open, and the gums ready to burst with blood, meaning that the only of it shed today would be His. The hand knew that, and the hand certainly wanted that. She looked back at Him coolly, waiting for Him to fold.

Splitting, swelling and the darkness of this dwelling. She wanted it to end this way, with the only outlier left from the State being consumed to death by His own memories. Or what He believed to be memories. The flailing grew more and more frantic. 

Almost there. Almost there. My body is now freezing for the first time since I've felt paradise and my heart beats like a loud drum. I don't like to see it, but it is right there. The face that made me, and the face that broke me. But also the face that allowed me to be reborn, that guided me and led me down this path. Should I? Should I?

Yes, I should. Such an action as this is the only real way, whether it be their tricks or not. I reach out...

With one mighty heave, His hand rocketed forward and grabbed hold of the one before Him, making sure to keep the eyes level all the while. It wrapped its fingers around His, like vines twining themselves into skin and flesh. It felt like the hand He used to know and hoped to never know again. Her face and eyes never changed, set into a time and place that was unfamiliar. This void was like the ones before, but not entirely the same. The light up ahead was still close but the movement forward had ceased with this interaction, this contact between two beings from different planes.

He tried to move His hand, the silence not comforting but disturbing, and it would not budge in the slightest. He tugged again, nothing. This was the trap He had fallen into and She knew it, for the face now bore a sinister smile, more affecting than any of Her other ones before. The smile of a thousand words. 

So this is it. My journey's end. They finally caught up with me, all that remains is to allow this pipe dream to end once and for all. I must go, and know how to, but doing so will be entirely on my own terms. Action is the new mindword, and a better use for it has yet to be seen. And so...

Wrenching with every fiber of being, He pulled as hard as He could, feeling the vines unfurling themselves little by little, and Her fingers weakening. The face before Him was now frozen in an expression of sheer delight, Him looking up just in time to witness it, as He tore His hand free and the other one completely off a body that apparently didn't even exist. Viscous black ooze gushed out of the stump, running all over His body, causing Him to drop it. He spent a moment watching it fall into the abyss below, never to be seen again. He regained His composure and looked back up; the light was stronger now, and Her face finally eradicated. 

And so now my path is complete. This past doesn't matter and I can finally travel forward once more. I push, no thrashing about needed anymore. The light is not a shaft but rather a glittering line, and the bright sea is what calls me.

An almighty eruption. The very ends of all earths quivering and quaking as though a giant had lifted the globe and shaken it with all its might. Vision was an impossibility as His body jerked uncontrollably up and down, side to side and all over the place. The sense of place was not important so much as retaining it, in this struggle for balance. 

Lightning bolts in the cortexes, striking the very glands that glues one together. Stinging, searing pain.

A floodful of thought that exploded the brain and reconstructed it in equal measure. He grabbed His temples, trying to contain it all in, but no such luck. It all poured out of Him like acrid vomit, yet not from the mouth but ears and nose. He trusted the blackness only to wash it off, nothing more, nothing else. It poured for the longest time, for time still existed in this vessel. Eventually, it stopped. Although the taste lingered, the sensation did not, and the giant eventually went away to find better things.

The globe re-rights itself, waiting for His next judgment, the next movements. Such things decide the rest, and so He opens His eyes slowly.

Smiling Himself now, the tunnel of blackness slowly dissolved all around Him, to be replaced by the vastness of a Sea of Destiny, never to return. Two worlds were now truly two, with the one He found Himself in coming to be the only one worth existing in. Dropping Himself gently down through the water, He landed on the seabed, coming to rest aside great reefs of white and brown rock, where the crustaceans flourished. They zigzagged from side to side, snapping their claws in celebration. Fish travelled around them, adding to their joy. The spear lay broken in two close by, the pointed end now aimed directly at Him. The grin only stretched even further, and with that, He kicked upwards to the surface, the final fight now distant and paradise important.

He came upwards with a great splash, to see the wreckage of the raft floating discombobulated atop the water, the debris scattered over great distances. The sky was the most magical He ever saw, the sun at its highest and the seagulls from the shore not far off, their sounds ached, mournful, haunting, and confirming only one thing in His mind, being paradise was beckoning Him back, to only the future that held no past.

A future without a past is a dangerous thing, what had been even more dangerous, however, was His past that had no future. But all that was over, changed. Gone. Finished. The path had run for as long as it did and was no longer an unbroken yellow stream, but a clearing in the jungle, literally and literally again. Such a place is where He was, and in the emergings of the day overhead, He looked to the horizon and saw it right there before Him, paradise. Sheer, honest paradise.

Now and forevermore.

Author's Note

1) Is the conclusion satisfying? Is there an effective payoff?
2) Is the fight with the shark tense enough? How could I describe it better?