All Worlds

Al has just saved Molly from the Contamination Chamber. Kass finds Molly, lying on the floor staring at the empty chamber.

“Why?” says Molly. “Why’d he do it?”

Tapping her sandals on the floor next to Molly’s head, Kass lets out a sound, something between a hiss and a sigh. Molly looks up, and Kass offers her something.

“What’s this?”

“A letter.”

“I can see that.”

“Al wrote it to you ages ago, he just never sent it.”

“How do you know?”

“He carried it around on his trolley. I saw it one time and asked him about it.”

“Have you read it?”

“Of course.”

“Kassandra!”

“It’ll help.”

“But…”

“Look at it this way, I finally get to be a messenger.”

Dear Molly

I don’t think I’ll every have the nerve to give this to you, but I’ve been thinking about it for so long and Kass gave me an idea. (I know, I can’t believe I’m doing something Kass suggested but here it is.) 

She pointed out that Messengers, are writers at light. I know I’m not the best messenger and so will probably be a terrible scribe. But I have to say these things somewhere and maybe if I write them down then I can let them go.

Thirty-thousand years ago, I was slower than everyone else. I was the last to step down onto the emerald Form of Grass, the last to wander through the Edge of the Light and the last to understand the name of things.

My light was dim, that’s how I was made.

Wandering along the edge of the Always Orchard, I was feeling lonely when I saw you race across Grass. You soared, and twirled, and stepped and spun, you were the most beautiful thing I’d seen in all the time we’d been witnesses.

You shone, and my own dim light caught fire.

But then Lucie arrived, and your brightness, your warm glow was smoothed. I know Lucie was the first and perfect, but her light was cold, and only made my light feel weak by comparison. How could I possibly compare to her grace, and perfection?

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to tell you this at the time, or to stay and help you talk to Lucie. She told me to go away, and I went – but not really. Fading into the trees, I listened. I heard what she said. I heard the truth.

I know you were the First.

You’re the best of us, not because you demand we follow you and your way but because you encourage us to be the best versions of ourselves, to choose our own path.  Now you need to follow your own example.

Everyone knows you’re the most efficient postal worker, but that’s not all you can be. Ever since your argument with Lucie you’ve doubted yourself.

Don’t doubt yourself, you were made to shine brighter even than the Morning Star; one day you will.

I believe in you.

Your friend Alexander

Opening his eyes, Gabriel’s blinded by a white-light, like the reflection from snow. He closes his eyes and hears digging and a voice tutting at him.

“You’re lying in my peonies.”

“What?” says Gabriel squinting through his eyelids, but this time his vision’s filled with green stems and many coloured petals. After the empty grey of his dream, the colours are incandescent.   He drinks in the sight of them, until he feels the nudge of a pronged tool and moist soil seeping into his tailored tunic.  He really is lying in a flower bed.

“Urgh!” he says, jumping up and fixing his hair. “What happened?”

“You tried to cross the Chasm of Darkest Nothing…again,” says the same voice. “Did you expect a different result?”

“I..I…I don’t know,” says Gabriel looking round unsure. “How did I get here? Is this the Eternal Estate?”

A voice, that could both sooth and command, says with a chuckle, “No, you’re not nearly ripe enough. A girl saved you. There was a girl here last time; you seem to be beset with them.”

“The same girl? But Lucie fell,” says Gabriel. Spotting his bag, with an emergency mirror in it, he walks over to it.

“No, a different girl.”

None of the girls Gabriel knows would’ve left him, especially if they’d just saved him, they’d want recognition.  But then he remembered an incandescent light, brighter than any he’d seen before. Considering this, he grabs his bag and collects his staff. Then turning says, “And who are you?”

“Just the Gardener tending my flowers,” says the Gardener, collecting up a basket and turning away. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“But I need to know,” says Gabriel, stepping after the Gardener, his voice strained.

“Know what?” says the Gardener, turning back.

“The Truth.”

“About what?”

“Everything! About the First Message and Lucie and the Unmoved Master.”

“And you think the Truth is over there?” says the Gardener, nodding toward the Eternal Estate.

“The Unmoved Master knows everything.”

“The Truth is whatever you believe it is.”

“That doesn’t make any sense?” says Gabriel, rummaging through his bag. “Things either happen or they don’t; it doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“A plant grows. A plant is picked. Those are the facts. But is the picker a murderer? Is the gardener who weeds a destroyer?”

“But we can’t know what everyone thinks or feels.”

“How do you know if someone’s your friend?”

Gabriel shrugs.

“Exactly, you can’t. You just believe in them.”

“I believed Lucie was my friend,” says Gabriel staring into the mirror in his hand but for once he’s not seeing his outer reflection, instead he reflects on long buried memories. After a while, he continues, “She fell. Was I wrong to believe in her? Was I wrong to deliver the message?”

“Those seeds have been sown.”

“But all those mortals, the Red Ghosts. How can I fix it?”

“You believe it needs fixing? You believe you made the wrong choice?”

“Yes.”

“Then you better do something about it.”

I’m alone.

Lucie’s fallen, Mykal’s departed and Gabriel’s gone.

I’m alone in a never-ending office full of luminous immortals.

I can’t believe how quickly everything changed. One moment we were all friends, we were racing through the Light. I was dancing in the Garden of Forms.

I think I almost shone.

But Lucie said I’d never be a Star and then she went on a quest without me, and when they came back, things were different.

I don’t know why I care what Lucie thought, she was a liar, and after everything she’s now Fallen.  But I do. I care because she made me feel special, unique. She made me believe we were friends.

But if she was my friend the betrayal is all the greater.  Not hers, mine. I didn’t save her, couldn’t follow her onto Night-Stage.

My own fears held me back, but also her words, “You’ll never be a dancer.”

Words that first ignited anger, then sparked fear, now simmer at my core. I’m resigned to the reality of my existence.

I am not special.

I never was.

Lucie was right and when it came to it, when she needed me most, I let her down. I failed my best friend.

Lucie, Mykal and Gabriel were unique to me, but to them I was never unique, just one of many. They could never have felt about me the way I felt about them.  I’m a defective and deflated balloon, blown up only to be let go and streak pathetically round a room. The sound of a raspberry heralding my deflation. 

The only thing left for me to do is fulfil the orders of the First Message.

In a weird way, by helping, I still feel close to Gabriel.  Not that it matters anymore. The spark, that was there, is only a flicker now and will soon be extinguished, smothered by the knowledge that I am where I belong.

We’ve set up The Company. Of course, I wasn’t good enough to be Management. I wasn’t even good enough to be a Senior Analyst. I’m just a Decision Analyst. The Never-Ending Office is full of DAs. I’m one among many.

At least I have my own desk (more than I deserve). Here everything I have has a place and everything is kept in its place, especially my thoughts. 

Keeping busy, I bury any wandering memories about the beginning, about Lucie, Mykal or Gabriel.  Sometimes a stray recollection sneaks to the surface of my mind; the mirage of a smile, the ghost of a touch, the echo of a laugh. They are like moles popping up and leaving a heap of disturbed soil.

My mind is full of mole hills.

Keeping everything neat, tidy and in its place, I pat down the disturbed area and reseed the ground with efficient ideas.

Maybe as time passes, there’ll be fewer mole hills and one day there’ll be none. One day I’ll forget that anything ever changed in the Edge of the Light.

Two more stops before Al can stable his trolley. He’s spent the day being the unseen miracle-grow for many busy and important luminous immortals.  Making his deliveries, he’s gathered gossip like a shepherd gathers wool and reaped smiles with his happy nature. Now he nears the highlight of his day – leaving the office with Molly.

After seeing her Shine once, many years ago, Al hopes to see Molly shine again. Not a stark, blinding light but a warm glow that drew out his own strawberry gleam and made him feel part of everything in the Light.

Stopping at Molly’s desk, Al collects up her bound scrolls and Molly helps him find Kassandra’s that, as usual, are scattered haphazardly about her cubicle.  Once all papers are safely stored on his trolley, Al starts back toward the Record Keeper’s Office.

Walking beside Al, Molly says, “You got the wheel to stop squeaking.”

Smiling, because she remembered, Al explains, “Lesley in Printing oiled it.”

“I’ve never been in Printing,” says Molly, “It must be interesting, going around the Never-Ending Office.”

“Not as interesting as watching what happens in the Wild,” says Al, trying to dim his blazing light, after such a compliment. Taking a breath, he asks, “What did you see today?”

“The usual disorder and chaos,” says Molly shrugging. “Having feelings and freewill really makes a mess. There was this one immortal, a young man in love. But then he fell in love with someone else. It’s ridiculous.”

“There must be a reason,” says Al. “Something must have changed.”

“His feelings,” says Molly, “That was it. No thought. No reason.”

“We can’t choose our feelings,” says Al, sliding his eyes toward Molly’s profile.

“Mortals have freewill. They can choose to feel however they want. If they can’t, they still have a choice about what they do with those feelings.”

“Don’t you think we have feelings?”

“Not like mortals. We only have the desire to do what we were made to do.”

“You only want to be an Analyst?” Al was sure Molly was made for more. He’d seen her dance. Keeping stride with her, he could see and feel her warm glow, but it was nothing to the moment she shone.

“It’s what I was made to do.”

“I don’t think I was made to push a trolley round all day,” says Al, stopping outside the Record Keeper’s Officer and gathering up the bound scrolls.

“You were made to be happy, friendly and incredibly organised,” says Molly, placing a dropped scroll on top of the pile. “You’re the lynch pin of the whole operation.”

Al’s smile is lost behind the pile of scrolls.

Pushing through the door, he hurries to dump them on the Keeper’s desk fearing, that when the door swings shut behind him, Molly will leave.

But she doesn’t. She never has.

Wrenching the door open again, he expects to see an empty corridor, but as always, finds Molly waiting.

The friends walk out of the Never-Ending Office together.

In the beginning, knowing he was the best-looking luminous immortal ever made, Gabriel would stride among his adoring fans.   His tall stature, golden hair, and glorious façade would draw others to him and his warm voice, would hold them enthralled, like watching embers dance in a fire. The crowd would hang on his every word, everyone listened to him. Despite this influence Gabriel’s only desire was to be adored because the gleam of so many eyes on him made Gabriel glorious.

Even strong and silent Mykal loved him and the beautiful Morning Star Lucie could not outshine his voice. Instead she would whisper praise and adoration in his ear. Gabriel accepted the adulation as his due. So that when the Morning Star suggested they go on a quest to the Master’s Estate, Gabriel agreed without thinking and when she told him he was to be the First Messenger, he believed her implicitly.

Returning from that quest, Gabriel was held in awe because his voice was now the voice of the Unmoved Master. He spoke and the luminous population got to work.

His new status raised him high, to the top of a pedestal, to the heights of a mountain.  But being so elevated, removed Gabriel from his adoring fans, who were now busy doing everything he had instructed them to do. But the more he saw the more he feared his influence, and he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

Walking among the crowds, he still felt their gleaming awe but whereas before he had only desired it, now he needed their glow to fill the shadow at his centre.

He tried to speak to Lucie, but she was busy co-ordinating the Stars and he realised that away from others Lucie never listened to what he said. Mykal was a much better listener, but he wasn’t much of a talker and had stoically accepted his new role as Defender and was busy, organising troops.

Alone atop his mountain, Molly finds him.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“Helping establish the Never-Ending Office, as you instructed oh glorious one,” she says, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Have you made up with Lucie?” asks Gabriel.

“What?”

“She said you were mean to her. That’s why you didn’t come to help with the Red Tape.”

“And of course, you believed her,” says Molly, her light flaring with her voice. “You didn’t think to ask me?”

“She’s the Morning Star,” says Gabriel with a shrug. “And your best friend.”

“And you believed her about that,” says Molly, but this time her light narrows onto Gabriel. “I thought, just maybe, you’d see through her, that you were different. But you’re just like everyone else.” Her words illuminate the shadow at Gabriel’s centre, the ones he’s tried to ignore. Gabriel rises above Molly, saying “I’m not like everyone else,” and spreading his wings, declares. “I am Glorious,” and he flies off to the sanctuary of his adoring fans, away from Molly’s penetrating gaze.

Running away from Lucie’s hurtful words, Molly discovers the Master’s Garden of Forms, where grows everything that would exist or ever existed in the Wild. Angry, Molly’s light blazes with blue fire and her head echoes with Lucie’s voice, “Let’s face it, you weren’t made to dance.” “You’re just not good enough.” Seeing little of the Forms around her, the glasses and hairbrushes, the carts and the cogs, Molly plods on.  

With every stride, along the well-kept paths, Lucie’s words get louder and louder, until they fill up Molly’s head, like lava in a volcano ready to burst. Unleashing her fury, in a flurry of feathers, Molly shoots up, as high as she can go. Or at least until she’s high enough to see the base of the Black Mountain, where all the Luminous have congregated around Lucie the liar.

Molly could have flown up and on forever, but the sight of the crowd gathered around her so-called best friend causes her sink back to the ground. As she falls, she mutters a response to the echoes in her head; quippy remarks that would have overshadowed Lucie’s light if only she’d thought of them at the time.

Deflating, Molly now starts to doubt herself. She wonders if Lucie was right. Molly can’t dance like Lucie, but does that mean she wasn’t made to be a Star? All the other Stars can dance the way Lucie wants them to, only Molly can’t dance like them. Maybe the Unmoved Master didn’t make her to dance, but then what was she made for?

Passing a patch of mirrors, Molly sees her dark-hair, flying wild and framing her pale, unremarkable face. Just as dark lashes frame her blue eyes, her only striking feature. Compared to Lucie, with her strong nose, high cheek bones, full-lips and shining light, Molly shouldn’t even be called a Luminous Immortal. Of course, at this moment Molly’s pale-yellow glow looks dim in comparison to Lucie the Morning Star. But even at her best, Molly is only a spark next to a sun.

Collapsing into a convenient Form of chair, Molly looks around her for the first time and sees other chairs, intermingled with some tables. None of them are the same yet they are all called tables and chairs. Slabs of stone, smooth marble, wooden benches, they are all different but despite their differences they all have a place in the Garden of Forms. Maybe there’s room for her too.

She just needs to find her place with the other Luminous Immortals.  Leaping into the air, Molly flies towards the crowd gathered at the base of the Black Mountain. But then she sees Lucie, Mykal and Gabriel shining brilliant against the dark rocks further away. They have set off on an adventure without her.

They don’t need her after all.

Watching the three heroes walking away, Molly sinks into the branches of Redwood, the tallest tree in the Always-Orchard. Its branches cradle her like a parent’s arms, her first sanctuary.