Between Worlds

Athol ran through the streets, blood dripping from the bullet wound in his stomach as he tried in vain to staunch it with his hands. Obsidian was poorly lit, always was these days, and with the smog covering the steps he was almost running blind. Trash cans crashed as he tripped over them. The trip turned into a stumble which turned into a full-blown tumble. The pain in his gut was excruciating as he hit the ground. No energy no more. He pushed himself up, grunting through the pain, trying to use what little strength he had to lean against the remains of a building. He looked at his hand, covered in blood, and knew he wasn’t going to make it. He was all alone, trapped in a world he didn’t recognise anymore, one that, especially now, he wanted to escape.

Who had attacked him? What had he done? Athol had no answer to either of these questions. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was dying, and he’d probably never know the how and the why of it. Even if he had have known his attacker: what warranted such strong disdain toward him? Obsidian had become a broken place full of cracks and fissures and pockets of stale trapped air, it was run by a tyrannical ruler, who believed he owned everything within its walls. It never used to be this way – it was futuristic, a fun place to live, where people used to be free to roam wherever they pleased. It looked a bit like a children’s playground, lots of things to explore, places to go, things to see, but not now. Plants were growing, the structures were in good repair, unlike now where they’re rusted, the colours all muted and dull. Now it was empty, desolate, unstable, life had been extinguished.

As he lay dying, remembering happier times; he had visions of how life in Obsidian used to be, growing up with a crowd of very dear friends. All that had disappeared, he was seeing flashbacks. In the final moments of his mortal life, he shed a tear about this once wonderful place he loved so much.

His mortal being lay there, now lifeless, the blood having stopped pumping through his once strong body. When he was alive, Athol had heard that Obsidian had magical powers, although he never quite knew if that was true. If it did have magical powers, would they be used to transport his body somewhere else, away from the hell that was Obsidian? Were there unseen angels that existed that could somehow lift him to a higher plane of existence?

Even though his body had been drained of life, his spirit was still strong. Was there life after death? He wasn’t quite sure, but suddenly he found himself in another place, in another time, in another existence altogether. How could this happen? He was dead! Or at least he thought he was.

Wherever he was, he was not thinking properly, his ordeal, or whatever it was that he had just been through or experienced, had affected his mind. He tried his hardest to think straight, but he couldn’t. He had left Obsidian behind, and been transported to this other existence. Was this a dream? Was this real? He didn’t know, but he found himself locked between two worlds.

He kept having this recurring vision of someone or something. But the vision was blurred. He came to the conclusion that his mind was still playing tricks on him. There it was again, only this time, the vision was coming closer, he could see the outline of a face, but not much more. Every time he tried to blot it out, the vision came ever closer. He couldn’t see it clearly though because his perception was clouded.

Whoever it was that had lifted his spirit to this place may be the person in the vision…

Utopia looked perfect from where Athol was. It was the complete opposite of Obsidian, where life flourished with abundance and childlike innocence. Flowers were blossoming, birds singing, children were playing happily. It had quite a healthy population, all of whom looked happy and content living there.

Even though he was locked between the worlds of Obsidian and Utopia, Athol was happy. He didn’t know how he got here exactly, why he was here, or what would happen to him from now, and he didn’t care; he was free from all bounds and worries.

Another thing made him happy: his visions had started to become much clearer, and he could now make out what he saw with complete certainty. It was a young lady, she was very beautiful with piercing blue eyes, deep and striking, eyes that you could fall into, and long shoulder length brown hair. Her dress matched the colour of her hair, it looked like it was hand-made out of leaves. Her skin was the colour of alabaster. Surely now he knew it was a dream, as perfection like this angel who appeared before him didn’t exist? If it was, it was one he didn’t want to wake up from, he didn’t have many dreams since Obsidian was turned into what it is now, but he didn’t want to think about that. All he could think about was this gorgeous vision of perfection that he saw in his mind.

‘Who… who are you?’ Athol stammered. ‘

‘I am Rhiannon, something told me that you weren’t happy in Obsidian, so I lifted you up so you could see what Utopia looks like.’

‘But…’

She took the words right out of his mouth before he could say anything else.

‘I know your earthly body is dead, but your spirit is alive and well.’

‘I… I don’t understand. Why?’

He looked round, there was no-one there. There were so many questions, things he wanted to know, but he would never know the answers….