~ The Third Life ~

by

M. A. Street

This time when he woke in the darkness he was paralyzed, immobile, as if wrapped in a separate skin. His arms were folded at his chest, his knees curled toward it. He could wiggle his fingers and toes but little else. He managed to slowly turn his whole body with a shrug of his shoulders and faced again the immeasurable vastness of the darkness of death. The light floated as a distant halo upon some unknown horizon. Part of him longed for it, inexplicably and unconsciously, just as a part of him was deathly afraid.

Then across the endless black sky he caught a glimpse of motion. Tiny pinpricks of light were moving toward the far edge and disappearing beyond it. Thousands upon thousands floated like fireflies, so faint they were hardly noticeable, like distant stars that twinkled and were lost.

He strained to turn again but could not. It was not the same force as before, when the light had pushed him away. Rather, he was held in place as if truly defenseless.

“You have certainly made a mess of things,” came Cyrus’s disembodied voice.

“Only because I have tried to escape you.”

“And you have succeeded.”

“I am still a prisoner.”

“For the moment. When I release you, you will be adrift.”

Again, Wheeler looked outward. “Will I pass into the light?”

“No. Remember what happened before? The light knows, Wheeler. You are not ready.”

Panic rose and spread throughout, but in the end, the slow parade of resignation marched in. “Will I remember anything?”

“No. You will be dead. Just as you desire. You will see nothing, feel nothing—”

“Hear nothing,” Wheeler interjected.

“—It’s such a pity. You are closer to redemption than you know. You could still grasp the highest elements of your soul and move forward in peace.”

“I would rather sleep for all eternity than be in this nightmare.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“What I believe doesn’t matter. It never has.”

“Because you believe nothing.”

“If I had been left to my own devices I could have succeeded,” Wheeler protested.

“Being left to your own devices is what brought you here.”

“I need more time! I only want to work things out in my head.”

“You’ve had numerous opportunities to use your head. To make rational decisions. You have not.”

“You won’t leave me alone!” He fought to calm himself, his joints aching from twisting inside the web.

“You refused to learn.”

“What I learned is if I disagreed you were quick to put me in my place.”

“Cruelty has never been my intention.”

“It’s the only way you know.”

“Do you deny my experience is far greater than yours?”

“No, but you’ve been warped by it.”

“I have not.”

“You have. You just don’t see it.”

“Even before I was bound to common sense.”

Wheeler’s immobility frustrated him and made him mean.

“Before, you had no such power.”

“I had the power of logic. This was all I needed.”

“You deceive yourself. Power is all you ever wanted.”

“Not so.”

“What happened to you, Cyrus—were you bullied as a child?”

“I was not.”

“Did women find you talked too much?”

“Women adored me,” he responded, “but they were nothing more than recreation.”

“A teacher, then. Someone who tried to teach you there was more to life and took you down a peg?”

Annoyance cascaded into resentment. “I surpassed nearly all of them.”

“Who was it then?”

“No one.”

“Who hurt you, Cyrus?”

“No one!”

“Who stripped you bare until you struck back?”

“He deserved to die!” Cyrus blurted.

Wheeler paused, knowing what he did not want to know, because it would not save him. “And you killed him.”

Cyrus quickly reclaimed himself. “He was judged according to law and found guilty, and he was a far greater man than you.”

“No doubt.”

“And what I know has saved countless souls wanting to be saved.”

“But not me.”

“You are so quick to judge,” he grumbled. “You see nothing but flaw. You have never seen opportunity.”

“I see what there is to see,” he answered. “Which is little, trapped as I am.”