Iris

Chapter One

“But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion? What is the matter with the soft Darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?”

~James Thurber

***

The island had beaches so white they were like fine snow. It was warm, pleasant, with nothing to think about. Oblivion at its best.

I was a dark, dark beast against the bright sands. I picked up handful after handful of sand just to watch it slip through my fingers like sugar. My signet ring glimmered in the buttery light.

It was just a small island. Beyond was a cerulean ocean that stretched on forever and ever. Time was stopped. The sun didn't sink. It didn't rise. It didn't even seem to be there: just a white orb on a pale blue canvas that was stretched across the sky, like cornflowers scattered to the heavens.

The island had the white beaches, and there were white trees, tall sentries reaching towards the sky, long viney tresses hanging down and brushing my shoulders as I walked through the small scrap of land.

It was the perfect place. But it was completely horrible. Every day. Seven ghosts. Seven faces. Visiting over and over again, real and not real. I knew this place-this island-I knew it wasn't real. I was locked in some dream world. Something had put me here, something I didn't want to remember. It must have been pretty bad, so until I was healed, I wouldn't leave.

It was about the time that Mama would arrive. I had walked around the island, and ended up here, like always. I always seem to arrive in time to talk to them. My sisters. My mother.

I think I'm going crazy.

***

The next time that I looked over, Mama was there. She was dressed in dark fatigues, her battle fatigues, and her best cloak, the darkest blue you've ever seen, with the constellations sewn onto it. She taught me the wonders of the sky with the cloak.

"Hello Phoenyx." She reached out, and smoothed the hair out of my eyes. I broke my gaze from the horizon and looked over at her. Her eyes were blank. Not a spirit of the dead then. Just my own imagination vomitting up images to comfort myself in the spiraling pit of insanity.

She wasn't real.

She isn't real Phoenyx.

I know.

I reached out and took her hand anyway, kissing her ring, "Hello Mama."

"Oh, darling boy." Her hand was still combing through my hair, "I don't like it as short as this."

"It's easier to take care of." I answered quietly.

She sighed, sitting back, "It does show off your face more." A lock of her dark hair fell in her face, and she absentmindedly brushed it away, "So, what are you doing here, dear boy?"

"I don't know Mama."

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what this place is Mama. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Of course you do!”

“Why is that Mama?”

“Because this is your head! We’re inside your mind! How can you not even know yourself?”

“You’d be surprised Mama.” I said quietly, “It’s quite easy, after awhile.”

“Stop pouting.” She scolded, “What would your father think of you sitting here moping, instead of acting?”