THE AFTERHOUR

IV. The Creature:

It was his sixth cycle here in the Tower. He used the term cycle because there was just no possible way to accurately keep track of time. He had previously tried to make a clock, he was able to make them and they were in all aspects and details, time measuring devices known as clocks, but none of them would function. Have you ever been in such strange, totally impossible situations for such a long time that certain things just start to make sense? Well, this was it, of course he wouldn't have been able to make a working clock. After having failed for the sixth time or so, he decided to just try his best at maintaining a normal routine: Wake up in the morning, have breakfast, go to the botanical garden he had been making for the last two days, take a long bath in his new tub. Then it was time for lunch, after that he would go back to making things again, dinner, then sleep. He had been using these cycles as somewhat of a time measuring unit. He was well aware that each cycle differed somewhat to the others in length and they weren't the same, but it was the best he could do.

This morning he had decided to have some waffles for breakfast, maybe a carafe of orange juice as well. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to picture what he wanted, optimizing all of his senses for an extra hearty breakfast: a golden- brown stack of waffles, mouth- watering scent of cinnamon. He imagined biting into it, a blend of crispiness and tenderness, sweet and buttery. Next to the plate, waiting patiently was a velvety pitcher of maple syrup, glistening like liquid gold. He also threw in a large carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice. The man opened his eyes, and just like that, breakfast was served. It was every bit as good as how he had imagined it to be.

After breakfast, he started working on routine. His botanical garden was almost finished, he couldn't very well remember different types of flowers past the simple ones like roses and tulips. He couldn't even pick out three different plants amongst a myriad of species in nature. He doubted it was a memory issue, but rather one of knowledge. He didn't need much of an excuse to make the garden, only that every crazy isolated person living by himself needed one. He shaped his garden with bushes and vines, guided them around in a perfect circle with twelve large Roman- style columns. He liked columns, seemed fitting for a garden. The air carried a scented perfume and earthly fragrances. Vibrant blooms, like in a finest tapestry, exploded like fireworks in a variety of colors: The fiery crimson complemented the cold icy blue, just as well as the warm golden yellow does nature's magnificent green. Most of these flowers in his garden probably didn't exist and would likely puzzle any botanist worth his money, it was due largely on the man's pitiable knowledge on flora. But who was there to judge him? No one. Because after all, as far as he knew, him, and him alone, was the only one here to enjoy this creation.

Rising tall from the ground was yet another white column. He wanted to build a white marble statue on top of that column, nestled at the very heart of the garden. He sat there for a long while, racking his brain over what the statue should be, just to decide on a simple white eagle. He would have made it in his image of course. But ironically, even with all his ability to shape reality as he saw fit and near- limitless creation, he didn't know what he looked like. A mirror was among the first things he thought of making on his second cycle here, right after his failed attempt at conjuring up an escape. It was as blank as those framed paintings and pictures in his bedroom. He even tried to trick it by creating a small lake to see his own reflection in, but it was futile. During the last few cycles, he had been testing the limits of his abilities. With time, he arrived at these conclusions:

Rule number one: He was not allowed to discover or change anything about himself: No changing his depressingly white outfit into something else. No finding out what he looked like,...

Rule number two: His creation abilities stopped at inanimate objects, which meant no birds, no puppies, no kitties. He had already tried.

Rule number three: No creating that directly compromised said stupid endless white space. He had earlier tried to change the ceiling into a blue sky just for the change of scenery. Didn't work.