Short Stories

5. Promotion

"You have been banned from existence"

Mark stared at the words.

Words printed in jet black ink on white paper in a white room.

Was it even a room?

He didn't know. All he could see was white. He assumed it was a room. What else could it be? He wasn't sure.

Was it a prank? He didn't know.

Was he really banned? It appeared so.

Why? No idea! 

The last thing he remembered was eating an apple in the kitchen. He was alone at home. Mum was out shopping and Luke had a football practice session before the Finals.

"This has got to be some sort of a mistake," Mark muttered as he looked around. All white. Had he gone colour blind? Just blind? Was he dead?

"Hello-oh!" Mark yelled. The sound boomed through...wherever he was, and faded away.

So there was air here. If he could hear, that meant air was present. Or he was under water. That was what was written in his 7th grade Science textbook anyway.

"You there."

Mark jumped and whirled around, his raven hair flying around his head as he did.

No one. It was still stark white all over the place.

"Who's there?" he called out. He wanted his voice to come out demanding, courageous, and not at all afraid. But what came out was an uncertain squeak of a twelve year old. It even shook. But really, he didn't have any idea why. Seriously. Mark was a grown-up. And grown-ups didn't cry. That would be ridiculous.

He wasn't going to cry.

He was a grown up. A twelve year old, but still a grown-up.

Not. Going. To. Cry.

Sniff.

Dust. Dust had gone into his nostrils. That's why he sniffed. No other reason.

Sniff sniff.

Maybe he had a cold? Yes. That was probably it. That was why the corner of his eyes were prickling too. That explained everything.

Not everything.

"You there, kid."

Mark squinted. The sound had come from someplace ahead of him.

"Who's there?" he repeated. This time, thankfully, it was steady. And strong too, if he said so himself.

"It's me," said the voice, "The Receptionist."

Receptionist?

"You are Dirk Magny Dooty?" asked The Receptionist, its voice dry and bored.

Despite the situation, Mark giggled.

"What's so funny? I just asked if you are Dirk Magny Dooty," The Receptionist grunted. It seemed angry.

"Um, no I am not Dirty Mangy Doodie," Mark squeaked, trying to supress his laughter.

"What's tha—oh," The Receptionist huffed in annoyance, "What's your name then?"

"Mark. Mark Ros," he informed.

"Mark Ros? Hmm...no...you were not on the list, as far as I remember. And I remember everything. Why are you here?" The Receptionist asked