Work Text:
The Station
Dripping echoed throughout the barren landscape, a place he had grown accustomed to as the months went on. Around him all he felt was cold, a small, light touch of a breeze that appeared to be coming from nowhere. The only living being in sight was him, though sometimes he heard scuttles, coming from somewhere within the walls that surrounded him.
The walls were made of a type of stone, older than he could count, the stone seemed to be unbreakable, knitting itself together if it was to ever break. The floor was the same, cold, though it came along with one of the few objects in the place, a small, wooden bench. The only other object here appeared to be a sort of screen, an odd one as well. It flickers constantly with a low buzz surrounding it, breaking through the silence and providing a low ambience to the place. The only times it actually seemed to work was when someone was thinking of him, or at least that’s what he’s found through his time here. The screen doesn’t show much now though. I guess I wasn’t very known when I was up there anyways. The station was what he called it, though he supposed it was obvious why. He had been down there for months on end, with little human, or ghost, contact. His clothes hadn’t changed either, staying the same vibrant yellow as when he had first come here, another one of the mysteries surrounding this place. He had chocolatey hair with small wisps coming from it, seemingly disappearing into thin air. His eyes were pure white, emitting a faint glow; he could still see out of them even though he didn’t appear to have pupils.
Slowly standing, he stretched, his limbs popping as he hadn’t moved in days. Once standing up, one could see that he never could fully rest his feet upon the floor, instead floating a couple inches off of it. After months of staying in the same place, he still hadn’t changed much. Hopefully he'll be out of here soon.
Resting his head against the wall, he sighed, running an almost invisible hand through his hair. He couldn’t stand this, the constant dripping echoing throughout the station, bouncing off the walls. It was really the only thing he could hear around this place, other than the buzzing of the screen. The dripping was only an annoyance in the first month he had been here, a low rumble in his consciousness, before slowly building into an earthquake, threatening to collapse onto him. The dripping echoed throughout his skull as he pulled out a small notebook opening it to a random page and started to draw it. He had never been one to draw or sketch his emotions, here it was different, allowing his hand to freely glide throughout the page, drawing a complex and abstract image. Dripping down the page, letting itself collect, and flowing into an ocean.
He’d been down here a while. Surely, he thinks, Someone will come to get me. He had heard of them being revived once, so they must be able to revive him too. He hoped they would get him soon; he remembers caring about someone greatly when he was up there. He knew he wasn’t known to many, but if he cared for that person so much, they must have cared for him. Maybe they’ll come to get him; he can’t remember who they were; or why he cared so much about them, but surely they will. The screen hasn’t shown much in a long time, but it’s just broken. I'll wait until they come to get me, because they will.
No one came, he didn't know what he was expecting; the screen couldn’t be broken. Nothing breaks down here; he had tried to break the bench to get some wood in hopes of using it to get out; it wouldn’t break. He just wants to get out, please ! He has to get out; he can’t stay down here any longer. Just let him out; he’ll do whatever it takes. Please , he desperately pleads to some unseen force. Just let me go. He doesn’t care what happens now; he just needs to leave this horrid place.
He thinks he’s standing up. He’s not sure anymore; nothing around him makes sense. The walls appear fuzzy, not fully coming into focus, not there. The floor beneath his feet is blank, not noticeable. Slowly he stumbles, a soft noise against the silence in his ears, and he gets back up. Letting his hand rest against the wall, he starts to walk. He doesn’t know for how long he walked, the only thing on his mind being escape. His vision seems unfocused, a vacant look in his eyes. As if he’s not fully there, he supposes he’s not. Where am I going, he seems to ask himself. He doesn’t answer. The walls are now a blinding white, an impossible brilliance of color, bursting through the air. Where am I ? He seems to ask himself. He doesn’t answer.
He continues walking, the air is now crisp, clear unlike the scent of the station. In the horizon, a castle, so large you may think it stretched above the clouds; maybe it does. The columns tower into the sky, flowing as if they were a swan's feather. The halls glisten, glowing a beautiful brilliant white, feeling brighter than the sun to him. He continues walking. Suddenly his body stops, seeing something, another person. The person stands there, seemingly shocked by how someone had come there. They’re wearing a robe made of purple and cyan shimmering sheets, flowing off of their form. Their skin, a pale, almost sickly tone, matching the walls beside them. The ghost reaches out, grabbing onto the person's hand, hopes rising. Is this the way out? He seems to ask himself. He doesn’t answer. Then suddenly, as quickly as it had happened, he’s jolted back. The blindingness of the castle walls is gone, replaced with a cold gray stone. The floors, once so shining, seeming as if they had been scrubbed a thousand times yet never stepped on, are now the same cold gray brick. He’s back.
The world seemed to pass by quicker, faster than normal. The shock of what had happened sitting in his head, stirring and muddling his thoughts. Where was he to go from here, could he get back? He isn’t quite sure. Was any of this worth it? Was there any chance of escape in the first place? Maybe he never even had a chance of escape; maybe the station had just been playing with him. In the current moment; he’s sitting on the bench he had seen so much of, the one that had been there since the beginning. He had his journal out and was sketching drawings of the castle, desperately trying to find some sort of clue on how to get back. Was there something he was forgetting? There must be, how else was he not seeing something? How had he gotten there; what steps had he taken? Was there anything he had touched? Yet no matter what he did, there was nothing. No sudden spark of realization, no missing details. He glanced up, heaving a sigh. There must be something, but what?
Suddenly he startled. What was that? A sudden flash of green showed in his peripheral vision before disappearing. It must have been a trick of the eyes; he had been staring at the journal for far too long. This continued for weeks though, a sudden flash of green, slowly becoming more and more decipherable. He became uneasy, flinching at any sudden noise, even the dripping or monotonous buzzing that had faded into the background after so long. One day though, the being revealed its full self to him. The green he had seen was a dark, obsidian cloak , covering a warped and misshapen body. It’s skin was a sickly green, with a circular, porcelain head floating above its neck. It had wings, seemingly thousands, coming out of its back. Its image warping and twisting at every movement. It seemed fake, impossible to exist, but it was here in front of him. Slowly taking one step back, then another, he turned around and bolted down the brick tiles. Shoes hitting the floor frantically as he attempted to get away from whatever beast that thing was. He knew the station went on forever, and he knew, even though he had only seen it once, that the beast could catch up to him. Slowly he started hearing something behind him, a sort of splashing sound, but that thing hadn’t looked like a liquid? Well, at this point, he couldn’t care. He needs to get away; he can’t let it catch him. Maybe the being was friendly? He hadn’t seen another living thing in the station before; maybe it could help him? He shook his head. No, that was a dumb idea. The thing obviously hadn’t been friendly.
A whirring sounded below him, he continued running, the whirring growing louder and louder before it stopped. Huh, what happened? He slowly opened his eyes to see the same castle he had seen before. The same glow that seemed to exude from it; this time he welcomed it. He was back! To caught up on the fact he was back, back in the place he had spent so long studying and looking for ways to find; he didn’t see the same person he had seen before. They had the same purple, cyan clothing, flowing off of them and whipping in the breeze. Coming out of his daze, the ghost glanced up; eyes widening in surprise at seeing the man. It was the same person as before. This time, he decided to approach more carefully, trying to not startle them. “He-” he tried to greet the man, but before he could fully say anything, they darted off. Running panickedly as they tried to get away from some unseen force. What were they running from? The ghost soon gave chase after they started running, attempting to get their attention.
This was the first person he had seen in years. They were a bit odd, with their regal clothing and weird palace, but at this point the ghost would take anyone. He chases them through many halls. Some filled with large, towering statues that depicted scenes of war; some filled with other statues that showed men in military uniforms standing proudly. Then there were halls filled with royal gardens, bountiful bright, and sweet smelling flowers and trees sprouting from expertly taken care of grass. The ghost tried to take in his surroundings as he ran, wanting to know the path back when he finally caught the other. What the other is doing, the ghost does not know.
Finally after what seemed like hours of chasing after the man, he caught up. Seeing them frantically trying to enter a portal. The portal had a black rim, the black like staring into a void, with a purple mist making up the inside of the portal; it made a curious wiring noise. They rushed up the gleaming steps leading to the portal, making sure to not trip on the polished steps, before pausing at the portal. The other had slipped into the portal soon before he was able to reach him. Should he follow, or should he attempt to explore this place? Making up his mind, he threw a hurried glance over his shoulder; making sure that the beast, the god, was not there. He had forgotten it in his panic and excitement. Maybe the man had been running from it as well. Then, he hopped into the portal, the purple surrounding him. He felt himself warp. His body feeling like it was ripped to pieces and put back together, before stumbling out into a whole new place.
This place seemed like the opposite of the white castle, a black brick making up most of it. There was a castle here as well, with lampposts leading the way to it. The place seemed darker, but at the same time safer than the other castle. He took one step forward, then another, letting himself walk through the lampposts, growing more elated as he got further. The wiring of the portal behind him grew distant, wait, it was just as loud as before, but he was walking away. Then just as it had last time, he opened his eyes to see the station.
He sighed, the elated feeling from earlier fading. For some reason, everything felt wetter than usual, the dripping sounding louder as well. He looked down at his feet, perplexed, before seeing the floor covered in water. The water danced at his feet, rolling wave after wave occasionally splashing him. It swirled with the colors of the rainbow, glimmering and glancing off the walls around him, providing a beautiful backdrop to where he was standing. Amused, he bent over, carding his fingers through the water and allowing it to twirl between his finger tips, passing through them as he was not fully solid. “ Where did this come from? ” he thinks. Despite the constant dripping, the station had never once seemed to feel more damp or had larger puddles of water before. The answer seems to appear sooner than he had thought it would, a low rumbling echoing through the halls. Startling at this, he stood up on the bench making sure to not touch the water. Up on the bench, he could see the water stretched the entire distance he could see with his eyes, and as the rumbling grew louder, the water grew more and more disturbed. Losing its beauty, it turned dark and gray, with a swirling foam replacing the shimmer.
The water rose quickly, before long he could see a large mass of water heading his direction. Scrambling off the bench, he attempted to run, sprinting and sending splashes of water with every step. This had no effect, only proving to make him more tired. Once it reached him, he felt himself be swept into the current, battering and thrashing him around as if he were a toy. He desperately fought against the foaming waves, trying to grab on to anything in sight as he was sent flying into different walls. This continued for a while, the desperate struggles becoming weaker and weaker, leaving him with only the strength to let himself ragdoll as he was pushed further and further along. The waves at this point had almost reached the ceiling with no hope of getting out. All he could think was, “ How did this happen? Were there any signs before he had disappeared; was there anything he could have done?” He was losing hope; he couldn’t fight anymore. He fought against the darkness pushing against his brain; he was falling unconscious. What happens when someone who has already died dies again. Would he disappear? As he began breathing in water, letting the cold and sharp liquid enter his lungs, he coughed, gagging as he fought for breath. Slowly, he let the darkness overtake his brain, fading out of consciousness and letting himself be enveloped by the cold gray waves. At his last moments of consciousness, he felt his back hit against one of the walls. Something giving out beneath it, and a falling sensation being the last thing he could feel.
When he woke up, all he could see was pitch blackness, a s if he had been shoved into a box. Panicking, he found himself scrambling to get up. He felt the same cold gray stone under him. So where was he? Allowing his eyes to get used to the lighting, he saw a small lamp not too far away. He slowly crawled towards it and turned it on, letting out a small gasp as he looked at the room around him. A small square room with the same cold gray brick surrounded him, on one side pushed directly in the middle a desk littered with various papers, each different sizes and colors. Suppressing the urge to grin, he stood up and made his way to the desk, sitting down in the chair before starting to look at the papers. They weren’t organized, so it took some time to sort through them all but in the end he found a few that sounded like they would reveal to him some things about this place. One was labeled, “The Ghost” and another, “The Time Traveler”. “The Ghost” sounds like it might have something to do with him. They both had soft leather covers, with the pages and spine looking very worn.
Slowly he turned the first tattered page of the document “The Time Traveler” reading over the lines of words inside it. “The Time Traveler, a man of many faults. He has the power in his hands to be capable of traversing time, though no control of when or where. He has a desperate urge to fix any problems he may find throughout these jumps, being told by me that he may be able to fix them. The Time Traveler has tried everything in his power to fix these issues, though the world quickly thwarts these efforts, making them in vain. He loses more and more memories with each passage, though his determination is high he will not last much longer.” This was the person he had seen in the castle! Then the other notebook must be for him. Quickly he rushed to open the notebook, only barely glancing at the cover.
In it it read, “The Ghost, a naive person and saddening sight. He was once a person of great power when he lived, someone who was able to raise entire nations and destroy them easily. Once dead, he was only a husk of his former self, a naive soul that wanted to fix what his former self had done, though he didn’t even remember what he had. In an attempt to fix some of these mistakes he helped people all around; this led to him being revived. Now, while his revived self roams the lands above, he is stuck.” This lines up he supposes, there was another page though titled “The Station” reading, “A place of torment, where The Ghost, (refer to page one) was put into. This station is merely a toybox for me , allowing myself entertainment as I await the next death. There is no escape, no matter how The Ghost may try; he will not be able to escape. There are certain events I have planned out for The Ghost. Ones that may bring him hope, only to fall further into despair. All is seen by me, and all is known.”
What? This can’t be. All of my attempts, the close calls, were planned and controlled. He stands up. No! I refuse to believe this, there may be gods, but they can’t surely know everything could they? Slowly he starts to trudge out of the room, scrambling out of the hole in the wall through a fevered haze. Letting his feet splash into the water below, he starts walking back to the bench. Why would they do this? What sort of being are they? That they would trap someone only to give small glimpses of escape and shut them in their face. Had they had this all planned from the start? Why!? He just can’t bring himself to understand. He’s getting closer, not paying attention to his surroundings, only focused on the things he had just seen. Was that planned by it as well? Could it see him now, a forlorn and lost soul, trailing throughout a cold and miserable hall.
He made his way closer, just spotting the bench in the distance; it hadn’t changed. He had been forgotten by the world above as well , he was all alone. He’d just reached the bench, sitting down onto it, slumping his head against the wall behind it. Where could he go from here? There was no chance of escape. Would the god even allow him to the place he had been before? He glanced around, the station hadn’t changed, the same broken and crumbling brick creating the walls, the floor the same. The same buzzing and wiring static screen hung from the ceiling, and the same unnaturally dry bench. He supposes he hadn’t changed either, the same dreary, pale ghost wearing the same bright clothing. The same physique, even though he hadn’t eaten in years. Everything was the same There was no change. All his efforts had been for naught, and so he sat upon the bench the same as when he had gotten there. Staring off into the distance, into the pitch black station, he closed his eyes and stayed.