Mortals

04: ATARA

I sit in my cell and watch the darkness. I don't trust it. The absence of light and substance plays on my mind, and starring into the dark abyss...things emerge. Memories play out in front of me, the figures blurry and shadowed, weak colours splashing about feebly. Imagined sounds permeate the buzzing silence, shouted words, whispered secrets, endless loops of nominal conversation. And then come the terrors, the nightmares that escape the realm my unconscious mind and augment my conscious reality: bodies hanging listlessly from the ceiling; a spidery creature that clacks across the walls, it's open mouth revealing a set of sharp, glistening teeth; a twisted face that rises up from dark corners and comes screaming towards me like a phantom.

But these are just baseless fiction, summoned up from the depths of my psyche. The real horror lurks in those phantoms which could be mistaken for real, phantoms that wear the faces of my peers, my friends, my enemies, my family; in those scenarios which play out so convincingly, that when they inevitably dissolve into horror, it feels as though someone has cut away a piece of my heart with a chainsaw.

The door opens and light pours inwards, a blinding flood. A figure follows, carrying a metal chair. They don't close the door behind them, so they remain a silhouette as they clunk the chair in the centre of the room and sit down, metal screeching shrilly.

I don't need to see their face, anyway. I know who it is.

"How are you, Atara?" Garen asks, sighing.

I turn my eyes away and stare at the adjacent wall, blinking hard. I know none of this is real. But after three weeks, it feels real.

"Sick of staring at nothing, I suppose." Fake-Garen has a manila folder in his hand, which he now flips open. He stares down at it for a minute, then brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Another sigh. "Shall I tell you about my day?"

This routine is getting old.

"I was expecting to make a real breakthrough today. I woke up, and I felt it. I thought, Today is the day. Do you ever get that? When you just know?" He waves a hand when I don't respond. "All my work the last few months seemed to be reaching a natural culmination. I had – or I thought I had – all the pieces of the puzzle. I thought I had it."

He shakes his head. "I know I should be easier on myself. The duties of Commander are taxing, and made worse now that the general is breathing down my neck, wanting an update every other minute – I have you to thank for that, by the way. Then I have the goddamn anomaly division – really, the most useless and irritating unit in this compound, and so negative, I don't know why they even exist – sending me report after report about all that's wrong with the world, as if I need the reminder. And to take on this project in addition... I really shouldn't have expected such grand results so soon."

I fix a stare on the dark oval of his face.

"You're wondering what this project is I've been talking to you about all these weeks," he says. I wasn't, but I don't correct him. There's no point – he's not even really here. "I'm afraid I can't share it with you, much as I would like to. You're an excellent listener, Atara, like your mother was. Quiet." He seems to consider this a moment. "I admit, it surprised me. You were so talkative during your briefing–" Is that what we're calling it now? A briefing? "–and now, not a peep."

I close my eyes. Open them. Wait for the waking-dream to end.

"I can tell you a story about her, if you'd like."

I would not like.

"You'll enjoy it, I promise."

I won't.