Straight On Til' Mourning

VI.

When she awoke, she was in the desert.

It reminded her of summer vacations; coasting through two-dimensional space in the caramel-gold Mercedes. Knightley, hair a brilliant banner, leaning into the wind, purple-painted lips curved into a seductive smile. Kolleen, laying across the backseat; wearing silver jewelry and peering frantically up into the sky. Their mother, scarf pulled snug over her hair, manicured hands tight on the steering wheel. Their father, invisible and - maybe, possibly, but not likely - in heaven, a pressurized bubble of space that divided parent from child.

This was nothing like those days. The air-conditioning and flagging phone chargers, designer sneakers and glinting mirrors, were all missing.

Kirsten pressed her shoulders into ground that cracked and burned along her nerve endings. Her tongue was heavy, swollen. A breathlessness swarmed through her lungs. It was as if she had been squeezed into a tight, claustrophobic space and come through missing pieces.

She stood up to realize that she was not alone.

Thousands of crack perforated the desert sand, mapping into wide, veined lines that looked like connecting highways on an atlas. Every few feet the lines intersected, crossing over each other to form uncertain diamonds. And in these shapes, people stood.

To her left was a tattooed elder man. His knuckles and wrists and fingertips were covered in blocks of paragraph text, as if, at the time of his own Breathless Moment, he had been holding a newspaper and the pressure had transferred words to skin. To her left stood a girl dressed in Harajuka fashion: staggering platform boots that laced up to the knee; silver-spangled tights with knees and thighs ripped out; black plaid schoolgirl regalia - skirt, suspenders, and neck tie; a jacket covered in antique brooches; plastic jewelry dangling from her forearms and ears and neck; and black and silver streaked hair, pulled into four knotted buns atop her petite head.

Beyond these two were more bodies: a child in camouflage; a pregnant woman cradling empty arms; a businessman with his jacket ripped open and a crimson stain flowering from one ear to the other; a young pop star wearing men's clothing: houndstooth scarf, jeans, white shirt, suit coat, and boots; a middle-aged woman striking at dry, blank air; and hundreds more.

Fear clenched its fists and punched against Kirsten's breastbone.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask, "Where am I?" a voice spoke.

The tone was sober, deep. It didn't sound into the air but instead filled her eardrums, hollowed against the inside of her skull. She covered her face, opening her mouth to scream...

And almost missed the words:

Welcome to the Valley of the Shadow of Death. In the past you were given multiple paths and multiple choices; in this extension you will be given two: Life or Death.

Kirsten dropped her head back against the sand and stared into the sun until red blurred across her vision. Was this what she had wanted?