"Peace"

The puzzle was simple enough, with some trial and error. The task was to form a check with the Queen by moving my Knight, in such a way that the Knight would check the King if it were to move. Clever, really.


Upon completing the piece, the side of the board popped out, revealing the key. No note, thankfully. I took the time to sleep, of course; once that was done, I unlocked the door, and placed the key into my pocket; I had four now. I walked back into the outside, and found myself on a rooftop, looking up at skyscrapers; they reached up to that dismal sky, as if trying to escape it. I looked up, and found myself returning to that... zone.


Perfect calm had returned to my heart once more. This place... I don't want to be anywhere else when I'm here. This place gives me a purpose of it's own.


But now that I am here... I feel something, like it is tugging at my mind. As if there was something that preyed on mind; I opened my eyes, and saw a door on that rooftop. A door that led nowhere.


This city is giving me drive. This city is giving me purpose. I will take that purpose, and I shall go. To the land beyond the door.

"Perfection"

Since my arrival in this chaotic space, I found my senses dulling themselves; my hearing was failing, I was losing my ability to see. I was losing my ability to balance; I did not hunger, thirst or feel tired. But I can now safely say that those feelings are gone. I feel hunger, thirst, tiredness... and pain. I can't forget the pain.

From my last post, I closed the laptop, picked it up and pursued the ghostly figure who I had seen from the corner of my eye. It did not take me long to find the first dead end I had encountered since I had entered the maze. The place had been a straight line; white walls and white floors, all moving forwards. Twisting around corners, yes, but never splitting into two.

I shrugged; likely, I'd missed a turning at some point or another. Nothing to be done about it. I turned around, and walked, face-first, into a wall. I stumbled for a moment, as if I'd suddenly taken a stiff drink of my favourite vodka. I shook my head, and looked around. Instead of the path being how it was (which is to say, a straight line from the last corner to where I was now), it had changed. The path to my behind no longer existed, but a path to my new left did.

I sighed, and shook my head. I walked down the new path that awaited me, until I came upon a flight of stairs. This place had elevation, at least; I went down them at a brisk pace, until I found myself in front of a door. Nothing special about this door, really; I attempted to push it open, and was surprised to find that it didn't budge a single inch when I did so. It was practically impassable; perhaps I'd taken another wrong turning?

Oh, no, no, no. It was a pull-door. My mistake.

I pulled it open, and stepped into the street; the temperature around me instantly went through the floor on it's way down. I felt as if I'd been teleported to the Antarctica, and that an iceberg was working it's way up my spine. As if attempting to defrost the iceberg, I took a step back; this time, with a caution that turned out to be unjustified. The door was there, but closed; I put a hand on the door. I pushed against a door that did not give away.

I looked down the door's side; it had become locked. I had not heard it lock, but I had been rather concerned with the matter of half the Arctic trying to work it's way down my trousers. I sighed, and looked around in the street; fog surrounded me, limiting my vision. I shivered, and attempted to find a place to get back into the mild climate that appeared to be the inside here, since the outside stood a considerably high chance of meeting the Abominable Snowman.

As I walked across the street (and that is what it was; I walked off a pavement, across two lines painted with yellow paint, and onto the road), I found a shape coming into focus; a tall building, perhaps an apartment block. But as it did so, I could see a dark marking; upon it, black paint sloshed into a circle. The same shade of paint used, for a single letter within the circle, it's points touching the circle. A.

A in a circle, huh? Is that not what an anarchy symbol is? I pondered on this for a moment, before stopping. I could hear something behind me.

I called: "Who's there?" I turned around, staring into the fog.

A reply: "Me." A corny reply, to be sure. What had a distinct lack of corn was the sudden rapidness that the footsteps gained; I turned my head to observe, just as I felt a distinct sense of pain, as I was tackled to the cold floor.

It is curious, is it not, that I'd be able to give such a recollection of a scene which, to be honest, went by far too quickly for me to really remember it. I am as surprised as you, let me assure you.

From the floor, I felt a foot rest on top of my head, as my attacker got to their feet. The foot lifted, and then it fell. Ouch.

I startled, then spoke: "who are you?"

The foot did not rest on my head again, as the voice spoke: "why, I am myself, and none other, as I said. Weren't you-" I felt a foot-stomp on my back. "Listening~?"

"I was... but that doesn't answer my question." Despite my aforementioned coldness, the temperature had stabilised again, While I was in a rather bad position to judge (what with being quite literally under someone's feet), I did not feel the icy chill that I once had; the mildness of the buildings had come over me. I could feel something warm on my face, but ignored it.

The figure sighed; I heard them crouching down, but couldn't see anything but their shadow. "Let me answer that question, then. I am the shadow that creeps from your feet; I am the little voice that says do it." A giggle from the figure, and then a return to a seriousness as chilly as the atmosphere had been. "The aspiration to greatness; the desire to be that person; the urge to consume all that there is because you can." And then I felt a fist hit the back of my head, driving my noise into the tarmac once more. Ouch. "I am human nature incarnate! The apex of what it means to be human!"

I felt the hand that had smashed my face down grab my hair, and drag my head backwards, until I was looking into a face. A face that looked older then it should be; greying hair, wrinkling features, on a face that could not exceed twenty-five. But in their eyes, I could see a spark of vitality and youth; but the spark was outweighed by the roaring fire of malice. "Some call me an Aspect; some categorise me; others still call me an Elemental. But some, some call me a Fear. I like that~!"

"My name is A, and I am the Fear of Humanity."

As they were largely the ravings of someone who was clearly a lunatic, I paid little heed to them; I was more concerned by the slightly-tasty liquid coming into my mouth. The warm liquid that had come across my face; unsurprisingly, I was bleeding. Well, it's unsurprising for me in one sense, but surprising in another; this was the first time I'd really felt alive since I entered this place. But that was an aside; I think the contorted face above me was concerned more for itself then for me.

"What? Has my beauty scared you shitless, little human~?"

I tried to gargle a reply, but was unable to; a spurt of blood come out. The figure looked at me with some combination of disgust and mortification. They released my head; I gratefully took the urge to lean forward, and, uh. Shall we say, "vomit"? That's a bit graphic, but it works. So, yes: I took the urge to lean forward and noisily vomit onto the floor.

I didn't hear or see them leave, and didn't particularly care to. I think I crawled away from the pile of my own... releases and over to where I had dropped the laptop, and fell asleep there, in the middle of the street.

I awoke only moments ago; I typed this post up as soon as I could. The apartment blocks with the anarchy symbol have vanished, as have the... releases. My body aches with pain; my nose is no longer running with blood, although I cannot imagine that my face is clean, based on what I can feel. None of the buildings on this street have an open door; I am going to try and stand now, and then find somewhere to sleep. If I find a single soft spot, I shall be very happy for it. I shall try the building I left yesterday first, but I hold little hopes that it has unlocked itself.

Something to eat, too, would not go amiss.

In which I walk through a door and find myself somewhere else

Hello. I'm still getting used to using this thing. It's not that different from my old Smith-Corona typewriter, except I don't need any correction fluid, I suppose.

I guess I better introduce myself: I am Sam Norton. Well, okay, "Samantha" is my full name, but I never go by it. I'll be twenty-eight this November and I am a writer by trade. And, well, I'm lost. Completely and utterly lost.

So, here's the scoop: as stories are my bread and butter (actually, I'm lucky if I can afford butter), I went out today to mail my latest yarn to Astounding Science-Fiction. Usually, I can only get one or two of my stories into Astounding in a year, so I also send my stuff to Weird Tales and Fantasy & Science Fiction. Anyway, I had my stories all bundled up and I walked into the post office and sent them all on their merry way.

Then I saw a side door. I mean, I had been to this post office lots of times, but I hadn't seen this door before. And I was curious about where it led. Did they just install it? So, my curiosity firmly peaked, I went over and inspected the door. There was no lock on it, nothing labeled "Employees Only", so I opened it.

It led to a fairly large room with completely blank walls. There was a bed on one side (very neat, the sheets all tucked in, you could bounce a quarter off of it) and in the center was a desk. It was a beautiful desk made of dark wood and in the center of the desk was this typewriter I'm using now. I mean, it looks kind of like a typewriter, but it's not; above the keys is a screen, like a television (not that I've owned one). The screen was turned to this page where I could enter these entries, like a diary. And there was a note next to the typewriter: Hider, this is your password: (password). If you hide, they shall seek.

Thinking that someone must have been staying here, I went back to the door and opened it to leave. Except where the post office used to be...wasn't. Like, while I was in the room, someone had just moved the entire post office away in wheels silently and now...now I am someplace different.

It doesn't look like any city I've been in. I keep looking out the windows, but the streets all look different, I can't keep track. I'm afraid of leaving this room now. I think it was meant for me. That's kind of crazy, isn't it?

I mean, I write stories about space aliens and flying saucers and robots and sometimes the occasional weird fantasy thing, but this...this is out of my wheelhouse. I kind of want to curl up and wish this whole thing away, but that ain't going to do anything.

This whole typewriter thing can be compressed. It can fit down so I can hold it in one hand. Maybe I should start walking? Start exploring? Can I find my way back? Man, Dorothy never had it this bad.

Sam Norton