Monochrome

Abigail’s fury rose as the baby’s crying grew louder. She sensed her pulse in her ears and felt adrenaline shoot hot anger through her veins. She stared down at her red-faced child wanting to quiet her in any way she could—a pillow, maybe.

She reached towards her baby and thought about shaking her, hard, to make her stop crying, even for a second. Her insides burned. How could I think that? What is wrong with me? But even as rational thoughts forced their way through her anger, her hands shook with rage. She placed pillows in a circle on the floor around the screaming infant, periodically screaming into them when the crying flushed fury through her system.

Thinking the baby better off on the floor surrounded by pillows than near a mother who thought of shaking her, Abigail ran from her helpless baby into her bedroom and locked the door, wanting to block out the screaming and terrible thoughts. It didn’t work. She still heard Ruby’s cries, and now she couldn’t see if she was okay. What if she rolls over and cannot get back up? She will suffocate, while I sit in here unable to touch her.

Worry, fear and anger took turns running through Abigail’s system. She longed to release some of the raging emotions away from her baby. She would be better without me. Jason would take care of her. I shouldn’t be around her. I’ll hurt her. I don’t deserve to live, anyway, thinking of hurting a helpless baby. I should take some pills or drown myself. Neither would be too messy…

They’d be better off if I were dead.

Fear pricked at the edges of her brain. She wondered if dying hurt, and if Jason would be relieved to not have her around anymore. Ruby’s cries became more panicked and shrill. Abigail’s arms trembled like leaves in the wind. An ache settled upon her shoulders, seeping down to her fingertips. Her head swam in a confusing array of fury, fear and worry.

She screamed so loud her voice cracked and landed a clean punch through the drywall of her room. Her knuckles dripped scarlet from hitting a stud in the wall, but she didn’t feel the pain that normally accompanied bleeding. Thankfully, her anger subsided from the momentary release of rage. She paced the floor , trying to block Ruby’s screams from her mind, pushing them down to the place she always stored her frustration.

But that place must have been overfull from the trials of new motherhood, work, and life. The boiling emotions pierced her stomach. Her head swam and her eyes soon lost focus. Black rings rimmed her vision. She blinked her eyes, trying to clear the fuzzy, lightheaded feeling. Her arms pulsed with pins and needles, as if they’d fallen asleep. How strange, she thought as she massaged her arms and hands to wake them.

Suddenly, a heavy pain settled into her chest and doubled her over. Oh, shit! I’m having a heart attack! I’m going to die and Ruby will be all alone. Her breathing came hard and fast, her vision swimming in a cotton fog. A heavy weight pressed against her lungs, making her gasp in quick, uneven breaths. Her throat was closing in, unseen hands choking her. Nausea swept over her in a wave.

She dropped her hands to her knees. Trying not to vomit or pass out, she rubbed her palms against her eyes. Dark circles consumed her vision and she blinked to stop the darkness from taking over. This is it. This is how I am going to die. I know it. Take care of my baby, Lord. Oh, God, whatever happens to me, take care of her. She still heard the frantic screams of her baby as her vision went blank.

Another young one. A careful tenor voice murmured above her head. Abigail forced her eyes open, but her vision was still unfocused.

Waking up, are you? The voice belonged to a dark blur hovering over her body. It’s fine. The trip here does this to everyone. Take your time, the blur advised her.

She was able to rub her eyes with heavy, still tingling hands. She blinked leaden lids. Her eyes gradually focused on the dark blur forming into a man wearing a black wool hat and a charcoal peacoat with a large, impressive collar.

Panic bubbled like acid in her stomach. How did this man get into my house? Is my baby okay? Why can’t I hear her? With a start, Abigail tried to shoot up from the ground, only to bang her head against a hard, jagged object behind her.

Ow! What the… she started.

Slow down. It’s a rough trip, lady.

Abigail grasped around for something to defend herself with. Her fingernails scraped across what felt like Easter basket grass made of aluminum foil. Confusion overcame her fear. She held her hands up and found they were covered in a shimmering, powdery dust. She was not in her room, not at home, not in the city, in fact. Tall, navy colored trees, and silver-blue grass surrounded her and she heard water flowing somewhere in the distance.

He must have taken me to the woods. But where? I didn’t think there were woods anywhere near where we live. The nature around her was covered in a blue-tinted twilight. My eyes are playing tricks on me.. It was the mixture of her blurred vision and shock of waking in the woods at night that made everything look blue. It must be. She searched for the glowing moon in the sullen cerulean sky, but was unable to spot it. A mysterious silver light – coming from nowhere and everywhere – settled on the midnight scene.

Where am I? Why did you bring me here? Where’s my baby! Abigail shot questions at the dark stranger, who calmly took a seat on the trunk of a tall, thin, fallen tree.

The stranger fiddled around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Look, I’ll explain to you the situation as best as I can, but you have to promise not to freak out on me. I hate when they freak out. I mean, it’s part of the job, but it gets tiring.

He paused, watched her from under his wool hat, and lit a cigarette. Abigail was stunned into silence. What the hell is this guy talking about? He brought me here on a job? What kind of job? She shuddered, thinking of what this meant.

She stood and backed slowly away from the stranger, who noticed but made no move to stop her, except to say, Please don’t run. I’m here to help and it would be very counterproductive since there’s nowhere you can run where I can’t find you.

He inhaled deeply from his cigarette and looked askance at her. Shit. Sorry, lady. I guess that sounded like a threat. Smoke billowed out from between his lips as he spoke. It wasn’t.

He blew the remainder of the drag through his lips. You smoke? He lifted the pack of cigarettes towards Abigail in offering. She ignored the gesture and took a deep breath along with another step back, fighting the shock she felt. Think of Ruby. Just figure out where you are, so you can get back to her

She gathered her courage. I wouldn’t turn my back on you to run. Plus, she added, hoping her voice sounded firm even with fear racing through her veins, I’m not afraid of you. She was proud of herself. Her voice was icy and composed. If you come near me, I will kill you. She even managed to keep her hands from shaking by making fists.

The dark stranger removed his wool hat, ran his hand through shoulder-length, dark blonde hair and grunted in amusement. So…you don’t smoke? Hope you don’t mind if I do because I will regardless. He took another drag of his cigarette and tilted his head towards her. You can sit. I promise to give you no reason to kill me. He didn’t even try to veil his sarcasm,

She glared at him.

He shook his head and offered a tired smile. Look, I don’t want to rush you, but I assume you have questions and I thought perhaps you might want to know where you are and why you’re here…?

Abigail relaxed her fists. She didn’t know the man in front of her but somehow she understood he meant her no harm. His was the air of someone who went out of his way to do as little as possible. She moved closer to the stranger. I want to know my baby is okay. The rest can wait.

She leaned towards the dark stranger, hopeful.

Your baby? The man’s eyebrows drew down in confusion.

"Yes. My baby, asshole! The baby screaming in my house when you took me away." Her stomach twisted into knots, again.

Okay. The stranger held his hands up in front of him, one still holding a lit cigarette. "Let’s make a few things clear: First, I didn’t bring you here. You did. Abigail made to interrupt him but he continued, Second, your baby is where you left it. In the same state you left it. In the same time you left it."

Abigail raised an eyebrow, baffled. He didn’t give her the chance to ask another question. He calmly put his hat back on his head. I mean, your baby is fine as long as it was fine when you left it. Time moves more slowly here.

He took a drag from his cigarette and sat back in a relaxed position, as if he’d just answered everything. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt more confounded, but her anger subsided. She couldn’t be too angry with an insane person. Okay. Fine. I just want to know how to get back home to my baby, so if you have a car or directions or something… She sighed. You’re obviously not interested in hurting me. I don’t know why you brought me here or what… She hoped to reason with the lunatic who, for some reason, abducted her.

The stranger exhaled, interrupting her. Look, you’re not listening. You aren’t the first person I’ve led who thinks I’m crazy, he said, reading her tone correctly. And you won’t be the last. He took a final drag of his cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the butt under a black, buckled boot. "Again, I didn’t bring you here and ‘here’ is not the place you were before. This place is called Monochrome and you’re here because you didn’t want to be where you were."

Her tolerance quota was full and this man’s crazy talk was holding her up. She stalked toward him, grabbed his coat collar between clenched fists and shook him. Listen, asshole, tell me how to get home or, so help me God, I’ll make you wish you’d never met me. She didn’t raise her voice. She knew the rage distorting her face was proof enough to convince him to stop playing with her.

The stranger tilted his hat up and peered into her light green eyes with eyes the color of tar. No, not tar. Tar doesn’t glimmer. This man must’ve swallowed a universe full of stars, Abigail thought, so that it would sparkle in his eyes. His gaze unnerved her and made her dizzy. She dropped her hands from his collar, her arms shaking and her knees weak.

Thank you, he stated, unmoved, as he returned to his seat on the fallen tree. Stumbling as she backed away, Abigail tripped over the same hard rock she’d hit her head on upon first waking and fell backwards, landing on her side.

I hope you’re okay? The man asked, without a hint of sympathy.

Fine. Just a scrape on my hand and maybe a bruise on the side of my leg. But don’t get up… She sarcastically shot at the stranger, who went back to his relaxed position on the fallen tree and was now carelessly lighting another cigarette. His face was lit behind the flash of the match, a sulfur tang stinging the air. He’s handsome, for an asshole.

She sat up from her fall and examined the damage, only to stop short. She remembered putting on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt this morning. She brushed dust from her side and gasped. Instead of the coarse tightness of denim, her hands slid effortlessly across a length of cashmere-soft fabric.

She stood and patted her person, looking down in shock at the indigo velvet dress that fell from her hips. The dress bustled in the back. Black buttons dotted her from torso to neck, and black lace cuffs accented the paleness of her skin. The dress was more appropriate for a Victorian romance novel than the twenty-first century.

"Um, what am I wearing and where are my old clothes? Abigail started. Did you… she flushed, change me?"

The man guffawed, offended. Do I really look that creepy?

Well, I didn’t change myself and you’re the only one I see, she answered. And, yes, you are a bit creepy, so…

The stranger pursed his lips, amused. You’re funny. No, I didn’t change you.

He played with his cigarette to avoid her glare. "What you wear can reflect what you feel on the inside in this place, though most people here are cognizant enough to go through changes very often. You must feel…"

He scrutinized her dress with his black eyes. Abigail got the impression if he examined her closely with those eyes, he could see every dark secret she bore. She shivered. Caged. You feel caged. Lonely. Like I said, most people’s wardrobe doesn’t really change much, except for color. And it usually derives from something they owned or wore in their other life. But that dress says repressed.

She’d worn a dress like this to a tea party her friend put on. It was a rental. She almost forgot about that day.

Scoffing, she retorted, And you feel bored and apathetic.

She was referring to his black and grey tones, the careless, worn wool hat over slightly disheveled, mussed hair, the charcoal peacoat over torn jeans. Every piece of fabric, every leisurely gesture, gave the impression he tried very hard to look like he didn’t care about how others saw him.

He raised a quizzical eye. Not exactly. So, are you ready to hear about this place or not, lady?

Abigail. Abigail Benet, she insisted.

The man exhaled smoke from his cigarette and nodded in greeting. Ishmael Dubois.

She shook her head in astonishment. Perfect. Shall I call you Ishmael, then?

Ishmael rolled his eyes playfully. Yes. Call me Ishmael, and I’ve heard that before. Do you want to know why you’re here, Abby?

She bristled. "Abigail. I want to know why I am here, and when I can go home to my baby and husband."

Ishmael took another cigarette from his pack and winked at her. That’s the kind of attitude that’ll get you out of here fast, Abby.

Abigail moved to sit down on the other end of the fallen tree. She was still dizzy from her fainting spell. Her legs felt like cooked noodles. She placed her hands on the trunk and shivered at its cold, metallic texture. Weird. She shook her head to focus and laid her hands on her lap.

Don’t call me Abby. Only friends call me Abby.

Ishmael turned his head to blow smoke away from her and shrugged. I hope we can be friends.

She took a chance to examine Ishmael’s face, something she’d avoided because of the effect his strange eyes held on her. She was surprised to find herself staring at a young face, maybe younger than her own, with only dark circles under his black eyes and a few newly formed wrinkles at their corners to show the age of early trauma.

You can’t be any more than twenty-four, she stated with certainty. I’m twenty-four and you’re not older than me.

Ishmael flicked his cigarette away from him. You’re good at guessing. Twenty-two or twenty-three, I think.

She raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

Yeah, like I said, time moves more slowly here. I was twenty-one when I came, and I know it’s probably been a while…

Sadness tinged his voice, and his eyes momentarily lost their shine. He shook himself back to the present. "But we’re not here to figure out how old I am. We’re here to help you decide whether you want to return home or not."

Of course I want to return home. Now. If possible.

He nodded knowingly. That’s what I said too, but this place can overwhelm. its own kind of bleak appeal. His eyes scanned the blue nature around him. It accepts those Reality does not.

Abigail followed his gaze and noticed he was right. It was as if the place looked how she felt inside: Gloomy, drooping navy trees stretched across the midnight landscape and strange silver light frosting the tips of the blue grass. It reminded her of the beauty of the clear November day just after her father passed—lovely, but tauntingly so, like it knew that it should be as ugly as her broken heart, yet it defied her with its frosty brilliance.

Ishmael shook his head slowly. Anyway, I think you’re right to be so positive. Positive is the best way to get you out of here quickly, so keep it up if you can. I’ll try not to be a detriment, but I can’t help my attitude sometimes.

She nodded. She knew what he meant. She’d been unable to control her moods lately.

He glanced sideways at her nod and smirked. Okay. Here’s the deal, Abby. She ignored his impertinence and listened to every carefully pronounced word that followed.

You know my name, but you don’t know what I do. I’m a Guide. My job as a Guide is to help you figure your way out of Monochrome, if that’s what you end up wishing to do. If at any point you wish to stay, you just need to say so and I will leave you, letting you get by as you choose. Even helping you find employment, if needed.

Did others actually choose to stay? Just thinking about it gave her goose bumps.

Ishmael took off his wool hat and ran his fingers over it, nervously. The mysterious silver light made his dark blonde hair appear grey. As I said, you’re here because you desired to be.

She attempted to argue, but he held up a patient hand and met her hazel eyes with his black ones. She cringed, but didn’t look away. You must’ve been serious about wanting to die, or you wouldn’t be here.

Abigail noticed a change come over Ishmael’s eyes. The black irises expanded into the whites, creating reflective black pools. An image moved across the screen of his eyes. She jumped back.

It’s okay, Abby, keep looking… he urged.

She moved closer and peered into the mirror depths of his eyes and realized the image was of her, on the floor of her room, eyes clenched shut. She couldn’t hear the baby crying in the background or the words coming from her moving lips, but she remembered the desperate sound of her little one and what she thought: They’d be better off if I were dead.

She shivered from the recollection. Yes. I remember. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was thinking of killing myself.

You’ll find everyone here had the same thought. Which is why they’re here. He closed his eyes, sweeping the image away with long lashes.

Abigail’s eyes widened. Wait! Did I? I mean…I was sure I suffered some sort of attack or spell. I don’t remember trying to…Is this? She was unable finish her thought. A terrible fear paralyzed her words.

Ishmael understood. No, this isn’t hell. You didn’t kill yourself. Though I can see why you assume as much.

A bitter sentiment crinkled his forehead into a frown. It’s not hell but it’s no paradise either. When you choose to live here, you gradually become less human than when you first came. Monochrome is a place for the in-betweens, those who feel like they can’t be content in the living world but are not dead. Perhaps they think seriously of killing themselves, and even try.

Ishmael rubbed his wrist absentmindedly. But they are unsuccessful. He paused for a moment, flipped his hat in his hands and stared at his feet. "You’ll find that the longer you stay here, though, the less likely you are of feeling happy, of feeling like you could, someday, wish to live in the realm of existence. Staying here will confirm your inability to really live."

Abigail didn’t like the sound of Ishmael’s voice, so hopeless, but also uncaring, like it didn’t matter to him whether he lived or died in sadness.

She frowned. So, if I believe that, this is all real, she said, sweeping her arm around her. That is, if I didn’t actually go crazy and am really sitting in an insane asylum imagining all this and speaking to a bookshelf right now.

Ishmael looked up from under his hat, amusement in his eyes.

Then I need to follow you and you’ll show me a way out of this place? she confirmed.

He pulled another cigarette from his pack and lit it before answering. You sort of have it right. Not about the crazy thing, though others have compared me to a walking bookshelf for all the useless quotes and poems I have stored up here. He pointed to his head, then took a long drag from his cigarette and held it while he thought of what to say.

Smoke billowed from his lips as he explained. The thing is you have to truly believe going home will make you and those around you better off. Happy, I suppose, and you have to keep faith in that idea throughout our journey, until we reach the borders of Monochrome and Reality. Easier said than done, believe me.

He watched Abigail from the corner of his eyes to see if she understood his point. Reality is the best word we have for the world we, you, come from.

She studied the velvet buttons on her dress, thinking. So, how long will it take to get to the border?

Ishmael pursed his lips then answered. Like I said, time is weird here. There are no days. No sun, you see, so it’s difficult to tell. Though, it does manage to get darker when night falls. Also, you will encounter various, he paused and stared at the lit cigarette in his hand, tests along the way. They may or may not hinder our progress.

She frowned. What kind of tests?

It’s different for everybody. Monochrome uses your memories, your worst memories, to test your faith in the happiness waiting for you in Reality. I cannot help you when your tests come. It’s not a part of my job. I can only wait for you to make the decision to stay here or to believe in happiness outside of here.

His face took on a dark, tortured aspect. I’ve never guided someone across the border, Abby, so don’t get your hopes up.

Abigail’s hands shook a little, but she forced herself to be positive. Staying hopeful might be the only way she’d have a chance to see her baby and husband again.

Well, at least they’re not multiple choice. I’m terrible with multiple-choice tests. She forced her face into a positive mask. Mind games I can handle. High school teaches you to deal with those.

The torture on Ishmael’s face fell off into amused surprise. I see.

He stood, threw his cigarette down and stomped it out. Sounds like you’re ready to get started. But, all joking aside… He moved closer to her. These tests…they’re worse than mind games. They’re heart games. They’re made to break your heart, not your mind. I’m just as smart as when I came here, maybe even more so, but I’m far less… He searched for the word in the eerily silent nature around him. Feeling. I don’t feel much anymore.

Abigail noticed the slump to his shoulders as he admitted his personal defeat and it made her wonder what tests he failed. She didn’t ask. She felt a restless energy to get started while she was still positive she could beat this strange place and return home to her family. Can we start now?

Ishmael put his hat back on his head and, with a flourish of his arm, directed Abigail to a black pebbled walking path in front of them. She hadn’t seen it before and wondered if the trail only appeared when Ishmael was ready. An uneasy prospect, at best.

She didn’t know if she should trust a man the blue nature aided. He maintained control of their direction and movements at all times, and while she didn’t fear him, she was uncertain of his intentions. His story felt hollow, memorized rather than felt. What choice do I have? She stood and followed him down the glassy pebbled path.

They walked past hundreds of navy trees on the black rock path, but Ishmael hadn’t said another word to her, and she was so stunned by her current circumstances she allowed the silence in order to process what’d happened since she fainted.

Her mind swam with worry over her infant, lying at home, alone. Ishmael said time passed slowly in Monochrome compared to Reality, but still she wondered whether Ruby was safe, whether she was still crying, whether she was still frightened of Abigail’s outburst. She clung to the consolation that Jason would be home with their newborn soon.

She remembered staring at the clock back home, willing for him to walk through the door ten minutes earlier than he normally did just so she could get some rest and time away from the baby’s cries and needs. He was due home any minute. She felt guilty for her desperation now, and was relieved to experience the nurturing instinct rise up in her. She wasn’t broken, after all. She could feel normal, motherly affection and fear for her daughter, not just guilt and frustration, which was mostly what she’d felt up to this point.

In her fit of anger she thought that she might hurt Ruby, but knew that she was incapable of following through, even if the thoughts crossed her mind. There is something seriously wrong with me, though, she thought. Normal people don’t want to shake their babies.

She felt a tear run down her cheek. She wiped it away and peeked to make sure that Ishmael didn’t witness her weakness. She didn’t know this man and wasn’t comfortable letting him see her vulnerable.

He hadn’t even acknowledged her presence since they began their journey, and was still walking ahead, unaware of the confused, depressed woman behind him. They walked past metallic trees, glinting in silver light, in an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, he stopped walking and rummaged in his pockets for a cigarette.

Abigail waited patiently for him to light the cigarette so they could continue walking, making time for his consistent crutch, even if she didn’t care for cigarettes personally. She had her own bad habits. But, to her surprise, he lit the cigarette and faced her, his face haloed in the sulfur of fresh smoke.

We’ve been walking for a while now. We’re coming up on a bar I know in about a half hour. We’ll probably need to stop to rest and they have food and drinks. He exhaled smoke and raised a brow, waiting for a response.

She shrugged. Yeah, fine. You’re leading, so I’ll follow you. I’m not hungry, though. I just want to get home.

Ishmael shrugged. Suit yourself. But he didn’t turn around and walk ahead as she expected him to do. Instead, he groaned and stretched his arms.

We have a long ways to go before we get out of here. You might need food to keep going.

She shook her head.

Ishmael crinkled his nose in annoyance, and took a drag of his cigarette. Stubborn, huh?

Abigail was too overwhelmed to worry about food, so she didn’t answer him. She was consumed with the sound of Ruby’s wails when Abigail put down to keep from hurting her. The look in Ruby’s face, one of shock and helpless fear, broke her heart. Ishmael’s face contorted into an aspect of concentration.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, not to comfort her, she sensed. Just to touch her.

You’re still worried about your baby, huh? She’ll be fine. I told you, time’s different here. Don’t worry about her. It won’t do any good to worry. He took his hand from her shoulder. Abigail opened her mouth to answer, but was too surprised to talk.

Ishmael noticed her surprise and frowned. What? You told me you left your baby, and I assume she’s what you’re worried about.

She took a step away from him. Yes, but I didn’t tell you my baby was a girl. How did you know?

He threw his hands in the air. Lucky guess. He shook his head in exaggerated annoyance.

She folded her arms. I don’t believe you.

He stopped shaking his head and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it under his boot. You coming or not?

He stalked down the glassy rock path. She followed a few paces behind, being careful not to get too close. He was acting very strange, and she didn’t know him well enough to know if she should be worried.

As if reading her thoughts, Ishmael twisted around, walking backwards to address her. I’m being a jerk, aren’t I?

Abigail didn’t answer, but it was clear to him she agreed. "Sorry. Being a Guide, I just know things about my Leads."

She must’ve seemed perplexed because he clarified. A Lead is whoever I am taking through Monochrome. Anyway, I know that’s a lame answer, but I hope it suffices for now.

I think it has to do with your eyes.

An amused expression stole across his face. Why?

She quickened her pace so they were side by side. Because of what I saw before when I looked into them.

Ishmael fiddled in his pockets, but didn’t produce a cigarette. He fidgets when he’s nervous.

Uh, not really. Though, I can see why you’d think so. He observed her from the corner of his black eyes. My eyes reflect the amount of time I’ve been here and the good memories I’ve lost. The longer you’re in this place, the more of Reality you give up, the blacker they become.

Abigail shivered. That’s comforting.

Ishmael sighed. Yeah. Look, I’ll explain whatever you want me to explain when we get to the bar. It’s not much further. Alright?

She nodded in consent. Sounds lovely.

He grinned ruefully and walked by her side, kicking black pebbles once in a while. She made no attempt to fall behind. She may not trust him, but it was clear he was trying to make her comfortable in spite of his apathetic demeanor. The pebbles beneath her feet crunched loudly, echoing against the stark silence of the midnight scene.

She wanted to ask more questions and break the silence, but she was unsure if she wanted the answers. So far she’d chosen to treat her situation as an unpleasant nightmare, going along with it in hopes of waking soon. Unfortunately, the reality of this nightmare grew more certain every moment.

She laughed to herself.

I can’t imagine what you find funny, but please enlighten me.

She smirked. I was thinking about why this place is probably not a nightmare.

He lifted his brow, intrigued. And?

She walked next to him as she explained. Well, I normally don’t dream so lucidly, and my dreams don’t consist of metallic trees and a mopey blonde man with a pissy attitude. To her surprise, Ishmael laughed too.

Hey.