The Story Behind "Passageways & Portals"

The seed for Passageways & Portals was planted after reading Stephen King’s The Gunslinger in my junior year at University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee. Not one to be swayed by spoilers, I decided to look ahead to see how the series progressed. While I have yet to continue through The Dark Tower series, I was sufficiently impressed by the plotting to consider an epic multi-novel book idea of my own that I considered to be inspired by The Dark Tower but was an entity of its own. Around the same time I got into the comic series Preacher by Garth Ennis and Steven Dillon, which has had a little influence over the story itself as well as where this is going. More on that in a minute, though.

I don’t want to give too much away as I do intend to continue this concept. Rebirth is the subtitle for what I hope to be the first book in the series. As the subtitle and the posted sections of the book here suggest the first book deals with a man trying to determine where he came from, where he is, and where he’s going. As such the book would work as something of a mystery, unfolding how the main character came to be where he is. I wanted to play with the narrative a bit, so the reader would find out who the character is as he does.

This led to a little bit of a problem when I showed the first draft of this story to some of my writer friends (a group we refer to as “The Pensmiths’ Guild). With no name for the main character over the first four chapters of the book, they felt as though it was difficult to connect to the main character and his plight. The emotional connection wasn’t there. While I understood where they were coming from, I also didn’t want to change my view that I didn’t want to give the character’s name to the reader until he learned who he was. Another type of compromise was needed to make this work.

It was around this time that I started really getting into graphic novels. I’ve always been a fan of comics and graphic novels, but at this time I went on a graphic novel spree. I picked up some new Hellboy, Hellblazer, V for Vendetta, Atomic Robo, Batman: Venom, and the aforementioned Preacher. While talking to a fellow member of “The Pensmiths’ Guild” I learned that he was looking for a concept to turn into a graphic novel. At the same time I was thinking that if I could show the main character’s face, I wouldn’t have to reveal his name. As a result we decided to work together to turn this into a graphic novel.

So, I guess I should amend my earlier statement to say that this would work as part of the script for the first graphic novel. So don’t expect much more here from this novel idea, but hopefully you’ll get the opportunity to see it in another form at some point.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 11

He felt the wall as he hit it and no longer did he doubt whether it was in his mind or not. Tumbling down the side of the crater, he felt as though he hit every rock and pebble on his way back down to the bottom. When he reached the bottom, though, he wasn’t knocked out as he was before, nor did he black out.

When he came to rest he just laid there, looking at the blank blue sky. After a few moments, all pain subsided as though it had been a dream.

The old man appeared above him, “I told you I wasn’t worried.”

“You knew I wouldn’t make it?” the young man asked.

“Something like that. You’re not ready to see over the edge.”

The young man sat up and started to brush the dirt and dust off of himself. “And why is that.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not ready.”

The young man picked up a handful of dirt and rock and flung it at the old man. “Why don’t you say something useful for once, for chrissakes!”

“I won’t do anything for Christ’s sake, but for your sake I will recommend that you get some sleep.”

“It’s not even nighttime yet,” the young man said as he stood up.

“And it may never be, even if it gets dark. Sleep may bring understanding, though.”

“And a break from you,” the young man said under his breath. “Maybe you’re right. Come to think of it I do feel exhausted.” He laid back down on the sand, not noticing the old man stood still in the same place he had been since they arrived at the slope. Almost immediately he began to drift off. In his near sleep state without realizing what he was thinking or saying, he said, “I just wish I had a bed to sleep on,” and then everything went dark.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 10

The young man walked from one end of the pit to the other as the old man followed. The old man continued to talk as they walked, and the young man continued not to listen.

“The say the grass is always greener on the other side,” the old man said as they embarked on their journey, “but I always ask, ‘Where are the dogs shittin’?’”

Sighing, the young man didn’t care what this meant anymore. He felt blissful in his ignorance, freedom in his lack of emotional attachment to the words of this senile old fool. At the same time, knowing there was someone else alive in this desolate landscape did help him feel a little more comfortable. The only other living thing he had seen in this place had died on his chest, and despite his insane musings on the subject, the old man kept the young man sane. It felt as though the young man channeled his crazy into the older man. For that opportunity he was somewhat grateful.

They reached the other end of the crater. As he looked up the wall of the pit, the young man was surprised by the features he previously was unable to discern from the other side. This side of the crater was far less steep and much less rocky. He wished he had tried climbing this side first, but then he wouldn’t have met his current company.

“Maybe you should have tried climbing this side first,” the old man said, leaving the young man to question again whether being along would be a bad thing. He looked around. The air was still. The only time the air had stirred actually was after the sparrow had died, he recalled. He didn’t necessarily wish for it to return though. It’s presence, and the timing thereof, had creeped him out. Besides, while he might be trapped in a desert like landscape, it wasn’t hot like a desert. Nor was it frigid like a tundra. That was the one pleasant thing about this crater: the moderate environment.

That was no reason to stay though, and he was hoping that now he may actually be able to leave. He hadn’t forgotten about the invisible ceiling he had faced before, but he hoped it was more a manifestation of his imagination than a real thing. Or a supernatural thing. He didn’t think he believed in that kind of thing before, and if he had he didn’t now. It had to be psychosomatic. This time he assured himself that he would not succumb to it.

He looked back toward the other side of the valley. It stretched on for miles upon miles. How far he must have come seemed unfathomable to him to the point that it felt like a trick of the eyes. Still, he knew he had come a long way, he just hoped he had gone as far in mind as he had in body. He felt as though he had.

He turned back around to face his new challenge. “I think I’m ready to give it another go,” he said to the old man as he faced the rock wall.

“Are you sure?” the old man responded.

“Yeah, I think so,” he responded, looking back at the old man.

“Well, then Godspeed ya, son.”

“Hopefully, I won’t be back, but if I make it up and over and I find someone that can help, I’ll be sure to send ‘em back for ya.”

“I ain’t worried.”

The young man took a couple of deep breaths. What would his strategy be? Last time he had been climbing up rocks and couldn’t move very fast. Maybe speed had partly led to his failure before, perhaps if he moved faster he could avoid the mental block that had prevented him from making it up the wall before.

He would definitely be able to move faster up this wall though, so it seemed his strategy would be simple. With one more deep breath he sprinted up the side of the canyon wall. He felt as though he passed the altitude he had reached on the other side and the blue was the limit; then the great beyond slammed shut.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 9

“Huh?”

“I don’t feel a heartbeat. Why don’t I feel my heart beating?”

The old man looked at him puzzled. “Maybe it’s at home!” The old man laughed, a deep guttural bellow that the young man though was undeserved and inappropriate. It also went on for five minutes longer than it should have, even if the statement had been funny, as far as the young man was concerned.

Frustrated and dejected the young man began to walk away. Maybe the old man would continue to stand there and laugh himself to death. The young man would be perfectly fine with that. As he walked, he caught a faint whiff of decaying and rotting flesh. Did the old man already bite it? he thought knowing it to be untrue. Then he saw the sparrow again.

The little bird’s feathers had fallen off and rested around its corpse. Its body looked as though it had lain there for weeks undisturbed. Its skin had gone from pink to black and blue and was peeling back to reveal the organs within.

The young man felt a light breeze and the feathers were carried with it. They were carried on the wind up the rock wall and dispersed out of view. He turned his attention back to the body of the sparrow and watched as, from tail to beak and claw to wing, it dissolved into sand, no different from the sand that surrounded it.

A hand came down on his shoulder and the young man jumped. “Wha-“

“Angels or demons guard this pit. They either show mercy to its residents or mess with the heads of its denizens. Best not think about it too much, George, it’ll drive you insane.”

“Is that what…” he started to say, but then he looked at the face of the older man. He looked different than he had previously. The white beard still hung down his chest from his face, but now the face it hung from had less wrinkles and more understanding. It was as if he had grown younger by a few years. “You look different.”

“Do I?” the old man asked. “Have I changed, or did the way you look at me change?”

The young man looked at him for a minute, but he was tired of rhetorical questions and mysteries. He resolved to ignore the riddles and continue to find his way out of the crater. With that thought in mind he just walked away.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 8

When the young man woke up he found himself back at the edge of the valley wall that he had previously tried to climb. How he had landed he was not sure, but now he found himself curled in a fetal position. Everything had seemed so real but now the memories faded like fog in a steady rain. Even the headache that had pulled him out of his dream, which had felt like a bullet shredding his brain, had receded to a dull roar. Was it of this world or the one he just exited?

As his senses joined him in in the land of the living, he became faintly aware of something dancing on his arm. The weight of it was small, but he could feel two sets of tiny claws jumping around. He lifted his head, looked at his arm, and was surprised to see a sparrow looking down at him. The sparrow lacked any sign of fear at the man’s movement; on the contrary, when it noticed the man looking back at him it pecked at his shoulder as if it wanted to play. Slowly the man turned over, and the bird followed hopping from arm to chest until it was standing on his chest. They looked at each other curiously. The sparrow hopped a couple steps until it was almost standing on the man’s throat. The man laughed as the bird hopped back to its original position on his chest.

“You’re quite the friendly bird, aren’t you?” the man asked. The bird cocked its head to the side as if analyzing the man’s words for meaning. When the sparrow seemed to comprehend the words, it fell over on the man’s chest. 

He looked at the sparrow stunned. He reached out with his finger and prodded it, expecting it to wake up at any moment. The bird lay still on its side though, the only movement being the movement it made when he poked at it. Terrified by its sudden death he quickly flung it from his body and jumped to his feet brushing off his chest as if it left some visible evidence of its expiration. For a long moment all he could do was stare at the dead bird until a voice drew him out of his dark reverie.

“Nothing can live as long as it is dead in this world, son,” the old man opined. The young man had forgotten about his companion, and this sudden reminder of the old man’s presence startled him.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked.

“Death has visited you, and I daresay it’s not the first time,” the old man answered. “Nor shall it be the last, most likely.”

As was his experience prior to his ill-fated climb of the rock wall, the old man spoke in unintelligible riddles. While he previously found this talk to be extremely unhelpful, he now found it to be extremely irritating. He, however suppressed the urge to comment on his frustration. It was possible the old man was merely senile, but it was hard to determine if he was unstable as well. There was no use in waking his ire when there was no other living person in sight.

“So where did you go?” the old man asked.

“Huh?” The young man had to shift his perception from his experience with the sparrow to determine what the man was referencing. “Did I go somewhere?” he asked when understanding caught up to him.

“What do you consider you?”

“I am…” he started to say, but cut off his train of thought. This felt like another meaningless riddle, but there also seemed to be lucidity in the question. What makes me, me? he thought. It was a question he wondered if he had ever asked himself before. Is he merely the sum of the bones, muscles, tissue, and mass that comprise his body? Or is he the sum of all the experiences that had shaped him into who he is at this moment? At this time he didn’t recall those experiences though, nor did he know how those experiences affect who he is. At the moment all he knew was the physical world around him. “…me. This body is what makes me.”

“What is a home?” the old man responded. He jumped down off of the rock on which he sat and walked over to the young man.

 The young man didn’t know what to make of this, and with the old man walking toward him he lost the capacity to ponder his words. He turned to look toward the other side of the canyon and heaved an exasperated sigh.

“A home is where the heart is, is it not?” The old man finally said. “But what is the heart? Is it a piece of flesh that beats in your chest, or is it an essence? If you’re not at home where is your heart? It’s a duality problem isn’t it? It really depends which heart you speak of. If you’re away from home the flesh that beats in your chest cannot be home or it would stop beating.”

The young man had hardly been listening to the old man, but his words had drawn the young man’s hand up to his chest. He felt nothing. He looked up at the old man with a look of horror. “I don’t feel anything.”

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 7

He pictured all of this, not as if he had just seen in seconds before, but as if the memory of this place was burned into his brain. He opened his eyes and looked around. Everything was just as he had pictured it in his mind. That feeling of déjà vu came back stronger than before. The feeling of it consumed it and he found it hard to breath.

Quickly he walked through the room, reaching for the door on the opposite side of the dresser and making his way into the bathroom beyond. He didn’t need to look around, he went straight to the sink on the opposite end of the room.  Turning on the tap, he began to splash the water that came out of the stainless steel faucet on his face. Next to the sink was a towel rack with a hand towel on it, the man didn’t need to look to know it was there sense memory reminded him that it was there, so he picked it up and dried his face off.

He looked around the bathroom; it was like an inverted version of James and Ronald’s bathroom, but cleaner. There were no stray towels in this bathroom; they were neatly hung up on towel racks. The bathtub was built into the wall, not on metal legs like the other bathtub. This tub also had a shower and a maroon shower curtain pulled halfway around the tub concealing most of the tub. Otherwise, the bathroom was nearly identical to that of the boys.

The man walked back through the door into George and Dorothy’s room. As he had done in the boys’ room, he wanted to look through the window to get a glimpse of the outside. Unlike the window in the other room this window was closed. He crawled onto the bed, his knees on the pillows, and peered out the window.

Where the family was at quickly was answered, they were in the back of the house. In the middle of the decently sized backyard was George, James, and Ronald each of them were wearing baseball gloves and they were passing a baseball between them. A little closer to the house, Dorothy lay on a lawn chair in a bathing suit reading a book; it was a great day for a tan.

The man sat there feeling as though he had been here before, in this very moment. A sense of dread pressed down on his shoulders. The image below him was a happy moment, but he felt as though it wouldn’t be happy for too much longer. He wanted to shout out to them to leave, get out of here, but he knew that no one would understand that he was in their house. Somehow, he felt that he knew these people, but he didn’t know how. Would they recognize him if he cried out to them?

Before he could even contemplate that idea further, James looked up at the window. The man wanted to leave, wanted to bolt down the stairs and leave the house, but he was rooted to the spot. James squinted as he looked up at the window. He began to say something to George and Ronald, it was muffled through the window and the man couldn’t pick out exactly what he was saying. Both George and Ronald looked up at the window; Dorothy laid her book on her chest and did the same. James pointed up at the window.

Just then, a loud but distant boom caused the man and the family in the backyard to jump. They turned their attention from the upstairs window and began to look around, but the man was no longer paying attention to them. A great pain shot through his head, from his forehead to the back of his head as if he was splitting in two. He doubled over onto the bed, his eyes streaming tears. 

Shaking from the great pain in his head, he lifted his hand to his face and wiped away the tears. He forced himself back up to the window and looked out. It was hard to see through the pain, but he could tell the sky was lit up bright as a roman candle. The sight of it made his head hurt even worse, but he refused to turn away. A rumble could be heard, it seemed as though the window and the wall might muffle it but he could tell it was getting louder.

He chanced a look down where George, James, and Ronald were previously playing catch, but they were gone. He looked to the lawn chair where Dorothy had once sat but she too was gone. Where they could have gone he didn’t know, but he knew no one was safe. 

 Everything started to happen in slow motion. The ache in his head got worse as everything started to become intensely hot like the sun was bearing down on the house. A massive gust of wind rocked the house, threatening to knock it off its foundation, and blowing out every window in the house including the way he looked through. The man was sure that shards of the window and penetrated his skin, but he couldn’t feel any pain but the throbbing of his aching head. The trees behind the backyard had all been leveled and the man could see a wall of smoke coming at him. 

This was what he expected, this is what he knew was coming. In that moment, though, all he could do was hope that the aching in his head would stop. The pillar of smoke and debris couldn’t reach him soon enough, he felt as though it was taking its sweet time getting there. Then the walls of the house began to disintegrate and he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Everything accelerated and he was thankful. Soon the headache was gone, as was all feeling and thought.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 6

Ronald’s side of the room was much more orderly. Most of his “precious” belongings seemed to be confined to a couple shelves that hung above his Rolling Stone’s poster where a younger James probably couldn’t get to them without bringing the entire shelving units down. On the side wall, the man could see that there were quite a few comics kept in pristine condition still in their plastic covers with cardboard backs. A couple of hard cover books, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, Detective, stood on either side of the comics to keep them from falling over. Over the head of the bed, there was a .22 rifle with boxes of ammunition and air cartridges.

The entire room was almost perfectly split down the middle. Each boy had his own dresser that stood on the wall opposite the heads of the beds. In between the dressers there did stand a small table on which stood a transistor radio. Besides a few of James’ toys this was the only thing that stood in the neutral space of the room. 

Above the table with the radio there was a window that stood slightly open. The man could feel a slight breeze coming in from the outside and he closed his eyes as he took in the smell of freshly mown lawn and summer. He walked up to it and peered outside. A family on bicycles was riding past the house, and across the street a man was mowing his lawn; he waved to the bikers as they passed. It was a beautiful neighborhood: a place that he knew, or where he could say he belonged.

He turned away from the window and walked out of the room. Right next to the door leading into James and Ronnie’s room led another door, so he decided to see what was in there. He peered his head into that room and saw a bathroom and mild chaos. Immediately by the door stood a sink covered in washcloths and toothpaste. In between the sink and the mirror just above it, there was a metal tray screwed into the wall holding a nearly disintegrated bar of soap. 

In the middle of the bathroom floor sat a couple disheveled and still moderately wet towels. Next to the sink, right in front of the towels stood the toilet, the lid was closed and it looked to be fairly clean. At least they’re not complete savages, the man thought to himself with a chuckle.

Across the room was the bathtub, a porcelain tub on four metal feet. The brim of the tub was littered with GI Joe action figures and various other toys. He thought to himself that these were most likely the toys of James, if Ronald ever played with them it was most likely in private and he would never admit it in public. The thought of George or Dorothy walking in on him as he played with children’s toys made the man laugh as he pictured Ronald quickly tossing the toys with a horrified look. Teenage boys were above those sorts of games.

He walked out of the bathroom and across the hall to the next door. As he entered the door he knew he was in George and Dorothy’s room. To his right there was a king sized bed. The bed was perfectly made with an ornate maroon colored bed spread complete with elaborate designs in gold. Above the bed was a window with drapes matching the bedspread. As he stared at the bed he realized how tired he was and wanted to fall into it and curl up in the sheets. He figured that move would be imprudent though, he didn’t know how long he had before the family came home.

Where were they anyway? he asked himself. And why am I here? The answer to that last question didn’t come to him as readily as he had expected. Every so often the reason he was here seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, a feeling of déjà vu flittered around in the back of his mind, but it always seemed to go away like an apparition seen from the corner of the eye. 

He stood in the doorway of the room and closed his eyes. In his mind he could picture the exact layout of the room. He could picture the matching mahogany stands on either side of the bed down to the designs carved in the wood. He could see the wrought iron lamps that stood on either stand that matched those in the living room on the end tables. The old-fashioned chest that sat at the foot of the bed with the logo of the defunct British East India Trading Company branded into its lid was clear in his mind, as was the dresser that stood on the opposite wall. There on the other side of the dresser was the door leading to the adjoining bathroom, and across the room was the door leading to the walk in closet.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 5

As he walked up the stairs he saw more pictures of the children he saw in the picture frame on the hutch in frames of bronze lining the walls. Most of the pictures were staged in a studio depicting the kids at different ages as they grew up. A few other shots that lined the walls showed the kids at play in a yard or by a creak. Here there was a picture of one of the boys learning to ride a bicycle as the father held on to the back of the seat. There a picture hung showing the older kid posing in a middle school football uniform. 

The young man felt as though he should be able to recall the boys’ names, but nothing was coming to mind. A sense of nostalgia creeped over him as he walked through the house, but he couldn’t figure out where the sense came from. Everything seemed just where it should be as if he would have put it here if he lived here. Had he lived there?

He looked around the second floor of the house. Off to the left near the stairs and before the first bedroom stood a small cabinet with a couple of drawers. The young man walked up to the cabinet and opened up the top drawer. Inside he found various cards that celebrated various holidays and birthdays for the family members.

One of the cards read, “George, Dorothy, Ronny, and Jimmy, We hope you have a very merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years! Love Andrew and Wendy” From this card he determined that the patriarch of the family must be George, and his wife was Dorothy, the mother of the children who were Ronny and Jimmy. As he dug through the cards and looked at a few more his suspicions were confirmed with a few anniversary cards written from George to Dorothy and from Dorothy to George. Out of curiosity, he pulled all of the anniversary cards out of the drawer and made two stacks: one stack comprised solely of the cards addressed to George and another of the ones solely addressed to Dorothy. After he was sure he had all of the anniversary cards, he counted each stack. When he was done, each stack had fifteen cards in them, so he felt confident in saying that the couple had been married for fifteen years.

He pulled out the birthday cards for Ronny and Jimmy, some of which were addressed to Ronald and James, and isolated the ones that were signed, “Love Mom and Dad.” For their number of birthday cards he came up with nine for Ronny and two for Jimmy. He went through the drawer again, but realized that they probably didn’t get cards for the kids until they were old enough to appreciate them. Especially considering they both looked a bit older than nine and two.

He took all of the cards and placed them back in the drawer. For a moment, he thought about going further down the hall but he didn’t know exactly how long he had here so he decided to explore the upstairs a little more. 

Looking over the layout of the upstairs there were four doors leading to rooms, two on either wall to his left or right, and across the hall was a window that stood partially propped open. He came to the first door on his right and looked in. This was obviously the boys’ room.  Hanging from middle of the ceiling was a complete replica of the solar system. On the far wall just above the bed was a poster of the band The Beatles, and hanging over the bed closest to the door was a poster of the band The Rolling Stones. Above the head of each bed were the names of each boy carved in stained wood. James slept in the far bed while Ronald slept in the bed closest to the door.

From the look of the room, the young man assumed that James was the younger of the two. James’ side of the room was littered with toys that an older boy most likely wouldn’t be interested in from a Major Matt Mason doll and matching Jane Apollo to assorted GI Joes and the Batman and Robin who assisted them with their matchbox cars. The man questioned if the parents would scold young James when they saw the shape of his side of the room. The thought made the young man laugh a little to himself.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 4

Everything was only black for a second. When the young man came to, he was no longer in the crater. The old man was no longer standing next to him. Instead he now sat in a plush leather recliner in the living room of a house that seemed vaguely familiar to him. Why, though, he wasn’t sure.

The living room seemed fairly big. He looked around; next to his recliner was a matching plush leather sofa and love seat on the other side of that. On either side of the sofa stood end tables with coasters and lamps with wrought iron bases standing on them. A coffee table with tinted glass for its surface took up the center of the room. Across the room sat a large television with a wood paneled exterior. The TV sat in the middle of a bookshelf that seemed to double as an entertainment center. The bookshelf was expansive and filled with many leather bound books. The young man wondered if the owner could have actually read all of the books on the shelf. The floors were all dark hardwood. 

He went to stand up and found that his equilibrium was off balance again. He fell back into the chair feeling a little dizzy. Slowly he sat up placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The spinning of the room around him started to slow as a dull ache started to form in the center of his brain. As the spinning subsided, he tried to stand up once again while holding on to the arm of the recliner. The room wobbled but began to come back to a halt as he released his grip on the recliner.

For a moment he stood in a crouched position after releasing the recliner letting the room balance out. As the room evened out he walked over to the bookshelf and viewed some of the titles that sat there. Early editions and leather-bound copies of various types of literature sat on the shelves. He identified authors from JRR Tolkien to CS Lewis to Mark Twain and more. 

Just to the right of the bookshelf there was a hutch built into the wall of the living room. Behind glass doors on shelves at the top of the hutch stood various keepsakes and figurines, most likely the possessions of the lady of the house he considered. Just underneath these cabinets there were mirrors set into the wall leading down to a counter where family pictures stood. The pictures each portrayed an older couple, a man and a woman, and two boys. One of the boys appeared to be in his early teens and the other was around five or six. He picked up one of the pictures and stared at it for a moment; the picture sat in a wooden frame and showed the family sitting in an empty field. I think I know these people, he thought, but how?

He set the picture back down and looked up the stairs that ascended to the second floor of the house that stood to the right of the hutch. There was also another doorway that led to a dining room and a kitchen beyond that off to the right. The young man considered which route to take, even considering the possibility of walking out. The last option was quickly tossed from his mind. There had to be some reason why he was here and he was determined to figure it out.

With that logic he decided to move up the stairs instead of to the kitchen. He didn’t think he could learn anything from the kitchen, at least not as much as he could learn from the second floor of this massive house.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 3

“What kind of place is this?” The young man didn’t expect a lucid response, but he also didn’t want to be surrounded by silence and alone at the moment.

“This is a wonderful and terrible place,” the old man said. “Here we are everywhere and we are nowhere, all at the same time. We are nothing, yet we are everything. This is a truly splendid place indeed, son.”

The young man shivered at the words. There was something uncanny in the way the old man spoke that at first he could not shake, but he pushed the unsettling thoughts from his mind. “Have you climbed the wall of this crater?”

“No, no, no, that is not my lot my good man,” the old man said with a laugh. “I do not want to know what’s beyond the wall, I enjoy it fine down here, thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna make my way up there though, I can’t spend my life dawdling down here.” The young man began to pull and hoist himself up the rock wall.

“May wings ever find you in the midst of your climb, son! Let me know what’s on the other side when you get there!” the old man called out.

As the young man reached out looking for crevices in the rock wall, he wondered if this was something he had ever done before. It felt like a foreign venture to him. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t done it before though, maybe it had been much time since his last time as a climber. Maybe there was a time when he used to do this for fun, or maybe he had to do it as a job of some sort.

He slowly pulled himself up, pushing with his legs when he could find good footholds. He tried not to look up or down, he felt that if he knew his progress it would either give him false hope or discourage him. The moment he was in was the most important part of the climb. 

With each movement upward he felt a little more exhausted and aches spread through his body. His mouth became drier as well and he felt hungrier. The pace of his adventure was catching up to him. How much longer could he keep up? He risked a look up toward the top of the wall. It loomed high above him, as if he hadn’t moved at all. 

The time had felt as though it had been dragging, he felt as though he had been climbing that wall for hours. He tried hoisting himself up further, but felt almost as though a weight was pushing against him. It wasn’t just gravity, something else was working against him to keep him from moving any further up the wall. 

“Are you having trouble up there?” the old man called out.

“I can’t seem to get any higher,” the young man called back.

“Look down,” the old man said.

The young man dared to look down for a moment. He was disheartened by what he saw. At that moment he realized that he hadn’t really made any progress. He didn’t even think he made it as high as the old man was sitting when they met. Some great weight was bearing down on him, keeping him from moving up the wall any further. Should he continue trying to scale the wall, or should he just stop and find another attack point?

He leaned his head against the wall frustrated. Sure, he could continue to try to make his way up the wall, but if there was something preventing him from making it any higher what was the point? There had to be some way out of the crater, he just had to regroup and figure it out. 

He began to climb back down the wall, but his footing was unsure. He slid a little down the face of the wall; his hands kept him from falling any further. Trying to regain his footing, though, his hands began to slip. Sounds of the old man starting to climb up the wall to his aid reached his ears just as his fingers slipped from the rock he was holding onto. Almost as if in slow motion he watched the top of the wall move further away. He watched the old man pass him. Then everything went black.

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 2

“Why hello there!” a voice called out. 

            “What the…” The sound of another voice in this deserted place startled the young man as he tried to catch his breath, and he fell to the ground as he turned to look up. What he saw was a balding old man. Around the crown of his head along the back and sides grew long white hair, and he had a beard that trailed midway down his chest. His wrinkly face was twisted up in a huge grin, and the young man could see a couple teeth on an otherwise toothless gum line.

The old man made his way down the rock wall of the crater edge to meet the young man on the ground. He moved nimbly for his advanced age to the surprise of the young man. He was also naked. For the first time the young man looked down and realized that he too was naked, and he realized that he felt no shame. He also didn’t feel compelled to turn away from the old man’s nakedness. For some reason this felt odd to him, but he didn’t understand why.

“Good day to you, son,” the old man said as he landed on the ground, “how ye be?”

“I don’t know,” the young man replied as he stood back up, “I don’t know who or where I am.”

“Does it matter?”

“I think so… I guess I don’t know.”

“Well, then maybe it don’t matter all that much. I believe what I say and I say what I believe and I believe you are who you think you are and that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t know what to think though.”

“Think whatever you want to think, man, this is a free world! No one ought to tell you what to think or who you are, you should just be.”

“Be what? What’s your name old man?”

“Name? What’s in a name, my good man? I am who I say that I am and that’s all that I am unless you want to tell me different.”

“But I want to know my name! Maybe it’ll help me understand who I am.”

“I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.”

“What does that mean? I feel as though I’ve heard that before.”

“As well you should have.”

“Why should I have heard it before?”

“You tell me.”

“If I knew I would have already told you! Are you mad?”

“I don’t feel mad, do you think me mad?”

“I believe I do.” The young man was beginning to feel the pulse of a headache. He didn’t understand the riddles this man spoke in and he was beginning to feel wary of his company. As no one else was around, though, he didn’t beg him off. “How long have you been here?” the young man asked looking up the rock and sand face of the crater edge.

“Either a moment or an eternity, one can never tell in a place such as this.”

Passageways & Portals: Rebirth, Part 1

He opens his eyes.

            The bright sky of the foreign world surrounding him momentarily blinds him as he tries to wake up from his haze. The ground beneath him is hard and dusty. The world spins around as he shuts his eyes tightly until he finds his bearings. His eyes adjust to the daylight around him and his equilibrium evens out after his case of vertigo.

            He realizes that he’s lying on his side in the fetal position. A spasm runs through his lungs and he begins to cough; a whooping cough, signaling his return to the world of oxygen, that forces him onto his back. As the spasms subside, he looks at the sky.

            No clouds dot the sky. No sun shines. Yet the sky is bright and blue. He does not notice the lack of celestial beings, though; he just basks in the realization that it appears to be a beautiful day. He sits up and looks at the world around him. Nothing but desert surrounds him. He’s surprised at the coolness of the air caressing his skin.

            As he looks around, he realizes that he’s in something of a desert valley, rocks jut up to the sky in every which way he turns to look. The more he observes, though, he realizes he’s in the midst of a crater. In the very center of it. Looking this way and that he sees that in every direction the wall of dirt, sand, and boulders that surrounds him is evenly spaced from him in all directions. Directly to his left he sees a mountain climbing up into the sky. Where it ends he doesn’t know for it climbs beyond the sight of his eyes. The length, width, and circumference of the crater surrounding him escape his perception. At this moment, he’s curious as to how he came to be here.

            He stands up and looks around him. How does one come to be in a place like this? he asks himself. He tries to think of how he got there. Then he tries to think of how he could have gotten anywhere. Where was he before this? Where was he before that? Who was he?

            The questions swirl around in his mind and make him dizzy. He plops back down on the dusty ground. He looks to the sky. How can I be if I feel like I am not? he asks himself. He can’t even remember his name. While his name might not clue him in to who he is he feels that a little more knowledge into his past might.

            Maybe it’s just a temporary lapse of memory, he thinks to himself. Perhaps if I just go for a little walk I’ll begin to remember. He stands up and begins to walk aimlessly toward the edge of the crater. He strains to remember something of where he came from and how he came to be here.

            Eventually his mind forgets what he’s trying to remember and turns to the beautiful weather and what a great day it appears to be for a stroll. He looks up into the sky and notices the lack of clouds, but feels there’s still something else missing. His eyes turn to the edge of the crater and he questions what’s out there beyond it. Could he possibly scale the steep grade and make his way out of the crater?

He begins to think that his situation may be more dire than he had imagined at first. What if he can’t make it out of the crater? Would someone eventually find him there? He realizes just how much he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know when he is. He doesn’t know who he is. If someone doesn’t find him, or if he can’t crawl out of the crater, then he could die there of hunger or thirst. What would happen to him at night? He doesn’t know how the weather is at night, maybe it will become so cold at night that exposure will kill him. He doesn’t know where but he recalls something about how desert areas become extremely cold at night, and this does seem to be a desert like place.

            He begins to pick up his pace with each question until he finds himself sprinting for the edge of the crater. No thought is given to the physical exertion it causes him, nor does he think about the length of time it takes him to get to the end of the crater.

            When he reaches the edge of the crater he collapses against a boulder while he tries to catch his breath. His mouth feels parched and he realizes that he’s going to need water soon. He curses himself for his overexertion. After all, he still needs to scale the wall of the crater to get out. A pang of hunger hits him and a slight panic washes over him. He tries to calm himself. He knows he’ll never make it out of there if he begins to panic.

            At first he didn’t even notice the old man sitting on the boulder just above the spot where he rested.