THE SAINT

PROSE BY LILLIE DIRKS

In the beginning, I woke slowly. My consciousness wandered in a forest of thick fog and dry howling, and the closer I looked, the more I realized my surroundings were strange, jaded. Mundane, ordinary sights shifted into the unrecognizable.

I was everywhere, everything, all at once.

I was the warped walls, directionless dimension, the simultaneous beating of a dozen hearts, the soft breath of fresh air in a sealed room, the dust on a locked box. I was the floor and the ceiling and the light and the shadow. I was the question that shrouded dark corners: Do you want it to be true?

But most of all, I was the nothingness that lay beyond.

“Hey, wake up!”

My lungs twinged in protest as I filled them with too much air too quickly. Before me was a young girl. It took me a few seconds to identify her features, wild blue hair, watery green eyes, and mottled dark skin.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” I asked, trying to dispel the echoes of madness from my mind. I tapped my thumb rhythmically against my fingers to ground myself.

Index, middle, ring, pinky. Index, middle, ring, pinky.

“Oh, thank god!” the girl started, “I was so scared. We were waiting for you to wake up, but it had been days and you wouldn’t, and then the room started collapsing, and you were seizing—”

“What? Wait, wait, slow down.”

She clamped her mouth shut and gestured wildly.

“We’re trapped here! Stuck! We’ve tried everything, but there’s no way out!”

“Just open the door. It’s not locked or anything.”

“There isn’t a door!”

“What do you mean? It’s right there.” I pointed toward my bedroom door, only…

It wasn’t there.

Come to think of it,

“This isn’t my room,” I gasped, “What the hell is this place?”

“We don’t know,” the girl sobbed, tears finally spilling down her cheeks, “But there’s no food or water. We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

I climbed to my feet, back aching from laying on the ground. I was surrounded by infinite pearly, empyrean shelves overflowing with pale books and geometric figures, gently illuminating the large space as they bobbed amicably in the air, never too close nor too far from the supporting panel below. Above, the air thickened into a heavenly white void that swirled and hummed with life.

A dozen people ambled about, their lungs poisoned by dejection and unease. They heard the commotion, but were busy watching the shelves with wary eyes.

“Who are these people?” I asked, shaking the pins and needles from my feet.

“I don’t know,” the girl replied, “but they don’t know where we are either.”

Strange, I thought, I could have sworn that this was my room. It felt brazenly, undeniably, uncomfortably familiar. The air was heavy with the humming, insistent call: you are home.

“It doesn’t look like my room, but it feels like it. No, it is. This is my space, my realm,” I muttered, my hand over my mouth. A radiating melody deep within my psyche pulsed in a language I understood, but couldn’t explain.

“What are you talking about?” the girl squeaked.

“You said something earlier? Seizing? The room was collapsing?”

“No, wait, yes? I—”

The energy resonated, oscillating, commanding my attention.

“Something pulled you here, all of you, where you shouldn’t be. I reacted to the transgression strongly, but something pushed me back, stabilized it.”

“I don’t understand—”

“But why? Why here? Oh, I see…”

“Wait!” the girl cried, “what are you—?”

I pushed past her, stepping toward the center of the space, my space. I took a deep breath and spoke the hymn within. The room darkened as the luminescence faded and I raised my hand to meet the thousands of glittering specks of energy raining from the void. They swirled and condensed together on the tip of my finger, pulsing with anticipation.

Around me, startled gasps and cries clashed with murmurs of awe and wonder. Those who had been ambling drew closer, pulled in by a palpable illusion of gravity.

The energy at my fingertip burst, blinding the flock. When they opened their eyes, they were met with a new sight.

The vast space had transformed into a smaller, more defined room lined with doorways. The floor was a pale carpet that wove in and out of itself, layering into small ledges and stairs that led down to lower planes.

“Hello. My name is Collin. Welcome to my realm.” My voice carried over the small crowd, amplified by the melody in my mind.

“Who are you?” an elderly woman cried.

“Are you some sort of god?” an old man shouted.

“Or the devil?” another retorted.

“I am not a god, and I’m certainly not a demon or anything of the sort,” I called, “I am who I always have been, and always will be.”

“A saint.” A chorus of murmurs surged through the gathering. “He must be.”

The pulsating melody surged, incanting in dry tones: Do you want it to be true?

“Why have you brought us here, Saint?”

“Have we been saved?”

“Is this heaven?”

“Paradise?”

“Nirvana?”

“Purgatory?”

“Hell?”

I hummed, and the floor snaked together beneath me, carrying me toward the void. Below, the blue-haired girl shivered.

“Calm down, please. This isn’t the afterlife, and you haven’t been saved. I did not call you here, I am simply your warden.” I surveyed the flock beneath me, how they trembled and whispered among themselves. “I know why you are here, though I don’t know who you are.

“Each door leads to a room for each of you. Get comfortable, because this is where you will be spending the rest of your lives. And no, there is no way for you to leave. Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

Hissing, the floor lowered to its original position and I stepped off. Pain flashed behind my temples and I felt dizzy, but the feeling barely lasted a moment. The girl stepped forward, pulling on her hair.

“So what now?” . . .

Months passed in relative peace as I toiled away, fulfilling requests from my adherents. While they feared and revered me, they had no qualms about working me to the bone.

Nonetheless, I wasn’t going to deny them their entertainment. Why would I? I felt sorry for them, being forced into such a fate. They deserved to finish their lives in peace and happiness.

So, I ignored my building exhaustion and the whispers of dissatisfaction and accusations of abandonment that traveled through my halls. The inmates had no idea what they would soon face, and were content to indulge in the luxuries I offered them.

None of them wondered whether or not they deserved any of it.

Not one.

Until, that is, they noticed—

“My hands!” Meredith wailed, “they’re ruined!” The door to the older woman’s chambers slammed open as she stomped out, her robe flapping merrily as she moved.

She halted in the center of the main room and turned her face to the void.

“Saint! Come down and help me!”

Groggily, I descended from my perch above. It was the best place to rest, as the masses bothered me least when I was out of their reach.

“What seems to be the problem?” I inquired, barely clinging to my last shred of politeness.

“Look! My fingers!” She waved her hands around, panic stricken, “They’ve turned—They’re not—Look!”

By this time, the other inmates were all watching, intrigued by the sudden commotion.

Meredith’s fingers had all turned white, down to the knuckle. I gently grasped them in my hands and found that they were hard, like stone. A fine layer of white dust soon covered my palms.

“So it has begun,” I said, nodding grimly. “I’ll do what I can.”

Gathering what strength I had left, I connected with the cacophonous chords and spoke their tongue. When it was done, the discoloration had retreated to the second digits of her fingers.

“Done. I apologize, but that is all I can do for you.” I turned and prepared to finish my nap.

“Excuse me? Where are you going?” she snapped, indignant. “My hands are still revolting.”

I took a deep breath. “As I said, that is all I can do. Excuse me, I need to rest.”

The crowd swarmed closer, drawn in.

“All that you can do? As if! You just don’t care to finish what you started. What a child! I bet if this was that little blue-haired Vee girl you would have put them back already without the ludicrous ‘tired’ act. You know, we all know that you have been planning to dispose of us, up on your high horse. This all but confirmed it.”

Do you want it to be true?

“Meredith, please, I really—”

A burst of white powder exploded near my chest, and the flock gasped.

“Really? Trying to assault your ‘Saint’ now? Is that truly how you feel you will win me over?” I glared, dusting myself off, “I’m sure that worked wonders for you in the past.”

Meredith stepped back, stumbling. “I didn’t—that wasn’t—”

A scream resounded through the hall, echoing through the petrified silence.

“Her hands!” Vee shrieked, “look at her hands!”

The older woman’s fingertips had shattered and were laying in chalky pieces on the floor. At the sight, Meredith crumpled, caught by the carpet stretching up to reach her.

I rubbed my temples and prepared myself for what was to come. I lifted myself into the air, hovering over the panic below. Within, the melody dipped into chaos, pounding in my ears. I hummed harmonies, stabilizing the energy that was condensing, sharp and ruthless.

“Quiet!”

The helpless turned their eyes toward me, pleading for answers.

“Your days of idle amusement are coming to an end. As you can see,” I gestured to the woman’s crumpled form, “your end is drawing near.”

The mass cried out in frantic dissonance, and the carpet began to burn, bleeding black patches and shadowy shapes.

“Are we dying?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why can’t you save us?”

“Have we been abandoned?”

“I won’t stay here any longer!”

“Let us out!”

The ache in my bones grew, spurred on by the discord below. Within my psyche, the chorus laughed, Do you, do you, do you?

“Enough!” I snarled, “Quit complaining! You have lived for months in luxury, blissfully and willfully ignorant of what was coming. You all were called here for a reason, and it’s simple. Your punishment has already been decided. Humans cannot survive in a realm that is not their own. You are all wasting away, and will continue to crumble, just like her.”

“Collin!” Vee cried, “How could you do this to us?”

Do you want it to be true?

“You truly have no shame!”

Do you want it to be true?

“He’s killing us!”

Do you want it to be true?

I took a deep breath, and unleashed the rising symphony that was roiling in my chest, releasing my last warning to the flock I had tended to so diligently. The mystical illumination evanesced as shadows invaded, but no one listened.

“He’s the devil himself!”

In a snap of my fingers, the pulsing halted, converged, and burst. What was once nothing returned to nothing.

Do you need it to be true?

Spiritual State

PAINTING BY PAUL SERNINE