Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER ELEVEN -

Leaving the world behind, there were no more days, no more nights, only light. Sailing away, the stars winked bright before Michael. Around him, a sinuosity of fire, fine threads of light connected the world to the stars of deepest space. Into the blackness, they weaved together as tributaries might join a river. Creating a web-like mass, they became a solid spiral, funnelling their energies into space as though draining away down a sinkhole. The deep, melodic fridge's buzz had resonated through his mind since the sparrows began to sing. Its reverberations grew deeper still, shaking Michael to his very core. Spinning faster and faster he watched the pillars of fire blaze about him. This, the unbroken connection to the spirit world was the sliver cord, the tunnel, the river, the spiral.

A fine pinpoint of white light appeared at its black hole center. The pillars curled towards it creating mandela patterns in its movement, curvature and depths. Michael felt the weight of his life falling away. Free, he was light as air. Lighter than air, gravity was behind him and he relished the brief moment. A new weight, a wet pressure like thick gelatin began pressing against him. Out of the pillars of fire, grey smoke poured into the funnel. The smoke blinded Michael. He felt only an extreme weight. He was confused. On this strangest of days, he had little disbelief left to hold onto and no memories to refer to.

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The fog receded and Michael was relieved to find himself in an outdoor rock garden bordered by large standing stone slabs. The stones, the flowers, the bushes, the fog that lay close to the ground, all was grey.

Far below the garden he saw fog wreathed plains and rolling grey tree-topped hills. The thick fog blanketing the lowlands reached even the highest hills. Michael realized they were looking down, not from a hill, but a mountain's peak. The land, though grey, was beautiful.

"What is this place?"

"This is the void, Michael. A middle ground between the Heavens and the Hells."

"Purgatory?"

"That's one name. It's an empty place away from all the others."

"Then, why is there a landscape?"

"That came after the first human souls arrived. They chose not to go anywhere else, deciding to wait until they could choose a destination. It's a waypoint between the worlds. They chose the décor, but it's only a pale reflection of their memories from life. Hence the grey."

"How many souls are here?"

"More than you can count."

Michael did not reply immediately, but looked down the mountain at the plains below. Searching for any sign of colour in the vast landscape, he considered the lonely grey mountain they stood on. He felt just as alone as it must. The only mountain in a land of mist and low rolling hills, it was out of place and out of time. "I can't see anyone." He said and began to walk to the steep path that wound its way down from the summit's garden.

Azrael shook her head, "Always with the walking." She called out after him, "Listen for them and you'll be drawn to them."

"I don't hear anything."

"That's because you're trying to use your ears."

Michael turned, indignant. "How else am I supposed to hear them?"

"Listen with your mind, listen to yourself. You're dead Michael, you don't have ears anymore. You only think you do."

Michael didn't know how else to respond, so he listened.