The House Named Claurece

One

          𝕬 long time ago, before the world decided to burn, there was a home. A home called Claurece. Now this home – Claurece – held something grand. It held several orphans. Not regular orphans, mind you, but orphans that were special. But before them, there were their parents; long dead. But who were their parents? That answer awaits in the past. Long before the world burned. But when the world burned, the orphans were there. When the ocean dried, the orphans were there. When trees fell and homes collapsed, the orphans were there. And that's why Hermes is here. To eradicate the past and bring the future that the children of this planet were meant to have. That's why they sent Paul.

         𝕻aul stepped into the half decimated room panicking. He had never been there before and was eager never to enter it again. What used to be a dome was now a porthole to the starry sky, the walls craggy and on the verge of collapsing. The cold night air made Paul shiver as he walked forward. What scared him most was sitting in the middle of the room. A table, not yet demolished by the world's fate, was sitting before him. Behind it were four people. Four people glaring at him. Paul wanted to turn and run. But if he did, he'd be dead.

          "Welcome, Paul," a man said. "We have a job for you,"

          "You will not fail us," said a woman.

          "It's not my fault that Runcorn never came back," Paul said. "It wasn't my fault he failed."

          "We think you can do better than Runcorn," said the first man, standing up. "We think you can come back."

           Paul shivered.

           "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

           "We want you to go back." said a shadowed figure before him. "We want you to do what Runcorn could not."

            Paul stiffened.

           "And what was that?"

           "We want you to go to Claurece." 

          

            "𝕹o. You're not leaving. Not after Runcorn."

            "I have to mom!"

            "I'm not losing someone else!"

            "I have to. I can't back out."

            "I'm not losing someone else!"

            "And I'm not backing out! If I do, I'll end up like Runcorn! Dead!"

            Paul and his mother were standing in the demolished kitchen, seething. Seeing that his mother had nothing else to say, Paul turned and stormed off. He didn't want to end up like Runcorn. No one would want to end up like Runcorn.

           Paul left his mother's demolished house in a foul mood. He felt like Runcorn, leaving the same way. I'm not like Runcorn. Paul reminded himself as he jumped over a rusted bicycle. I'm going to come back.

          𝖀ncertainty and terror filled Paul as he entered the once domed room. It was day time but a chill breeze wafted through the hollow room. No shadows lingered on the men and women in front of him. Their faces were bright in the sunlight. Did Runcorn stand here? Did he face these people like Paul was doing now? Paul was terrified. One of the men stood up.

          "You know who we are, Paul?"

           It was both a statement and a question. Paul nodded.

           "Then you know what we will do if you fail," the man said. "I don't think you want to turn out like Runcorn."

            Paul swallowed. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

           "Who are we, Paul?" the woman on the right asked.

           "You are high command," Paul intoned.

           "What makes us high command?" the woman asked again.

           "Work." Paul said sullenly.

           'Work' meant only one thing here. Work was a job that in the world before the burn would be called something to do with correcting past, present, and future. Runcorn had come here first, followed by Paul. Runcorn had been good at his job, that's why they chose him to go on this mission. Paul and his mother had expected him to come back.

          "Who are we really?" the woman asked, eyes locked on Paul's face.

         "You are Hermes." said Paul, keeping his face flat.

          The name Hermes was rarely used within work. It was mainly used outside work's ruined walls, in the decimated world outside. Paul blinked. The man who had spoken had sat down. No one was standing besides him.

         "Well, Paul," said the other man. "Are you ready to do what Runcorn could not?"

         Paul gulped. Are you ready to do what Runcorn could not? Paul blinked.

         "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am."

         "Good."

         They smiled. Paul shivered. What have I gotten myself into?

          𝕴m not Runcorn, thought Paul. I'll come back. I'll come back to mom. He felt high command's eyes on him as he stepped forward. The thing in front of him was the only object untouched by earth's fate. It was being built when the earth was destroyed and only recently finished. It was a porthole. A porthole Paul knew was for the past. He stopped, inches from the swirling light blue fog trapped in the metallic arch. Paul took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward. He felt like someone was rewinding his entire life. He opened his eyes and saw images flashing in front of him.

         There was high command in the dead of night, his mother's scared face when he was summoned to see them, a tall, muscular figure stalking away, stepping over a rusted bicycle. Paul blinked. He was no longer standing in the porthole room. The ground beneath his feet was covered in neon green grass. Paul looked around and breathed in the fresh, minty air. Where am I? He thought. And then it struck him. I'm in the past.