WARNING: LOOOOOOONG.
Only took me three hours to write. Kudos if you can figure out the inspirational game here.
<spoiler=Purgatory>Liam sits there on a bench, in the middle of nowhere.
And when I say nowhere, that's exactly what I mean. There's a great white expanse surrounding him, continuing on as far as the eye can see. He stares off into the distance, lost to himself. There's nothing to see, but he seems to be looking for it anyway. If you were to ask him where he was, he'd honestly tell you that he didn't know. There are no people around to ask him, but he wishes there was. Someone to tell him what had happened. To talk to. To pour out his fears and frustrations. If you asked him how long he'd been there, he'd again say he didn't know. Probably forever.
But he knows that it couldn't be forever. He has memories, lovely memories. Memories of a family. His mother, father, two sisters, a baby brother. He can barely remember their names. The brother was named Jared. The elder sister was Amy. He can't remember the others. He can't even remember his brother being older than a baby. Why? Liam himself is twenty eight, his sister is, no, was twenty nine. He doesn't know how he remembers that, but he does. He often struggles to visualize his brother. It is always the same, an eight month old, or younger, with rolls of baby fat and an impetuous little smile that charmed through the coldest demeanor. Where is he now? Where is his family now?
Where is anyone?
The bench is a deep black, obsidian structure. It was incredibly well sculpted, with glimmering surfaces that one can swear they see shapes, faces specifically, until you try to focus on them, and they vanish. Its appearance and style is that of Gothic intricacies, impossibly complex in so many minute ways, to achieve such a basic effect. One odd feature of the bench is the seat itself. It has incredibly sharp edges, miniature cliffs within the seat such that if you sat on it, it could cut your backside easily. Liam sits on the bench gingerly, trying not to apply too much pressure to any of the sharp edges. He surveys both sides of the bench, trying to clear his head of the omnipresent muddle.
The bench isn't symmetrical, he notices. One side has a rough carving on it, which the other side doesn't. It stands out clearly and glaringly against the intricate carvings. He leans over carefully to examine it. It's a word, no, a name.
JASMINE
Every muscle clenches within him, and the sharp edge tears through his trousers, drawing blood. Liam launches upright onto his feet with a shriek. The back of his jeans are completely torn, half the fabric is missing. Through it, you can see many scars on his buttocks and thighs, almost parallel to each other. He moans in pain and stands there for an hour, wishing he hadn't seen the name. He stands there, thoughts empty, until the bleeding stops. He gingerly sits down, all thoughts of what just happened erased. Except for the name. Jasmine.
Unlike the names of his family, the name Jasmine rings through loud and true. She was his girlfriend - no, they were engaged to be married - no, they WERE married. They had personified perfect compatibility and love. She was a strangely silent girl, he had a bit of an issue with silence and talked a lot. She would always listen and respond, he knew that she could hear him, care about him. She suffered arrhythmia, and was always weak. He loved being depended on for a reason he couldn't explain, and he always felt... well, complete when he carried her. She loved him dearly and told him so often, he loved her back with a love that he felt sure could, and must have, far overflowed anything she felt.
It disturbs Liam that he can remember her so vividly when everyone else is faded. He can't imagine why.
In the distance, he can see a silhouette of someone walking towards him. He can't imagine who it would be. They walk with a limping gait, and even from here, he can see that they are in distress. He sits and stares.
He thinks of Jasmine as it approaches. The walk through the forest valley with her perched upon his back. She was laughing, asking him to run, to go faster. She never had moved so fast outside of a motorized vehicle. She could barely walk, let alone run. He felt so happy that day. She had, too. He was sure of it. She had waved a camera around as he ran, snapping photos. The expression on her face was so perfect, he was sure he'd never forget it.
The figure, still far off, has fallen. It struggles, and somehow stands up. It continues to limp - no, stagger - towards him. He continues to stare, and remember.
He remembers the day they had rushed to the hospital when she had a heart attack. She had recovered fully, and tenderly, timidly smiled at him from the hospital bed, where he had spent hours alternately crying and worrying. He had felt so many of his concerns just melt away. It was amazing the power a smile had on people.
He remembered the day she had arranged a surprise party for his twenty-fifth birthday. So many friends had been there when he got home from work, there was - there was - who was there? He saw many figures, about half masculine, half feminine, and all wearing incredibly similar clothes. All the men moved in sync, as did all the women. But in his mind, all of their faces were missing... it was a grotesque, surreal effect, and he felt a bit nauseous as he remembered it. Jasmine's face wasn't like that, she sat in the chair in the middle of the floor, smiling.
The figure is in front of him, suddenly - and Liam is stunned. It's Jasmine! She stands there, lips quivering, legs shaking! Her lips part, a musical voice floats past him.
"Liam..."
Liam runs toward her, hoping to scoop her up into his arms, to wipe away all the simultaneous emptiness and muddle that he feels. He longs to carry her. To tell her that everything is okay, to have her wrap her arms around his neck. His arms extend to her, and hers toward him. Like a mirror.
And then, out of nowhere, two cars have a head-on collision with Jasmine in between. It's a sight so surreal, so unexpected that Liam drops his arms and stops running. He can only stare in confusion and mounting horror.
Jasmine's eyes widen, and she dies. The cars caught her at the waist, so she flops over ungracefully forward between the small gap between the accordion car fronts.
Liam stares. Neither car's airbag has deployed, nor have their windshields been more than cracked, so he can see the drivers clearly. In one car, the driver is a woman in a red sweater, but her face is entirely blank. No eyes, ears, nose, mouth, or any distinguishing feature. It is difficult to tell, though, for her head won't stay still. If he attempts to focus on any one part of it, the head simply jerks out of the way. In his peripheral vision, he can see that it shakes in such a way and speed as to blur any features it may have, anyway.
As bizarre as the one visage is, the other catches his attention, and is that much more horrible. He blinks and tried to adjust his vision, hoping to reveal that the driver is simply hidden behind a piece of sheared, shiny metal. But there isn't any mistaking it, it isn't a reflection, it is himself! He screams a hopeless scream. The figure in the car does the same. Tears come spilling down his cheeks, tears spill down his doppelganger's as well. The grim scene leaps to his memory, he had been driving, and Jasmine had turned and said something - he had turned his head - he had stopped looking at the road - and he can't remember what had happened. So that was it. He is dead. He is in hell. It is his fate to experience this tragedy, probably over and over, and feel this twisting guilt for eternity. His inattentiveness had killed Jasmine, and the devil wants him to know it.
He turns to run. In only a few steps, he runs straight into the bench. It cuts deeply into his calves. He partly bounces, partly jumps back, and falls over. His breath was heavy. He doesn't believe what he has just witnessed. It can't be true. It very well might not be - the cars and corpse have vanished. But the memory won't go away. He begins to cry heavily, throwing his anger and shame to the nothingness around him. He cries for - for - he doesn't know how long. Probably days. Probably years.
He cries until he can't remember why he is crying.
He lies there for hours afterward, trying to remember who he is, where he is, or anything. His mind is in a muddle. He notices that the ground is quite hot beneath him, and he feels uncomfortable. He carefully stands up, noticing that his backside and calves hurt. He glances around, and there, a few feet away from him, is a bench. It is made of obsidian, and has intricate carvings all over it. He gingerly touches it. He notices that parts of it are very sharp, but cool. It must be better than the ground to sit on. He lowers himself onto it carefully. He sits there for days, not feeling anything.
Gradually, he begins to survey his surroundings.
There's a great white expanse surrounding him, continuing on as far as the eye can see. He stares off into the distance, lost to himself. There's nothing to see, but he seems to be looking for it anyway. If you were to ask him where he was, he'd honestly tell you that he didn't know. There are no people around to ask him, but he wishes there was. Someone to tell him what had happened. To talk to. To pour out his fears and frustrations. If you asked him how long he'd been there, he'd again say he didn't know. Probably forever.
***********************
Amy enters the hospital room. She talks to the doctor, inquiring anxiously about her brother's status. Her mother and father had already lost one child, and at such a young age! Was her brother doomed to the same fate? The news is happy, although he is still in a coma, even after two days, he is responding to medication. It's just a matter of time. He has a 98% chance of full recovery. Amy breathes a sigh of relief. She stands there, reminiscing of her best friend, her brother. She looks up, and asks about Jasmine. She's in a coma as well, but as long as the medicines don't wreck her poor heart, which was unlikely, she has an excellent chance of recovering as well. Possible as high as 95%. Amy crosses into the other room, and stares tenderly at the woman in the hospital bed. She is also in a coma, and looks incredibly weak and spent. Amy caresses her hair, utters a simple prayer over both of them, and leaves to bring the wonderful news to her parents.
***********************
Jasmine leans against a wall. She is sitting on a white chair, so clean and pure that she can barely see it against the pure white wall, the pure white floor, the pure white nothingness stretching for miles off in each direction. Her mind is muddled, and can barely hold coherent thoughts. In front of her is a beautiful, black obsidian wall with hundreds of intricate Gothic carvings engraved into it. She has been staring at it for - for - decades, it seems. She stares at it more, admiring the amazing architecture in front of her. Suddenly, she sees a piece of ugliness.
It's carved like the rest of it, but a word has been carved over what was behind it. She squints to see the word better.
LIAM
A horrible chill resonates through her body...
