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Back Again and Gone Nameless sits hunched in a bath, legs splayed, chin to chest: an unintended likeness of the Stickman's broken corpse. The bathroom is a frightful mess of shattered glass, porcelain, drywall and chrome. A pipe, twisted from its coupling, gouts water like a spring, spinning shards and splinters toward a crack in the floor. Nameless is oblivious to the damage he has done. His eyes are open, but trained within. Passing through again. As if he's turned himself inside-out, to find a world greater than the one he left behind. Underground, once more. Is there anywhere else? Home? No, not home. But the one place that seems familiar now. Has he come--can he?--by a simple act of will? His own or someone else's? Better not to wonder... He is here, nonetheless. In his element. Borne aloft on a current of his own imagination. The dark, a cold damp womb around him, giving birth to Death. That's what he is. So why fight it any longer? The sound of churchbells echoes past in a flood of clashing harmonies. Nameless, moving towards his prey, starts to sing: "The bells are ringing, For me and my gal..." But his laughter is brittle, echoing in tow. He's not the only one hunting today. There is something else here, a much darker force, closing in from every direction. Crushing with the weight of Metal Gods. He wants to cry out against them. An alien now, in his own world! They've tainted his dreams. Laid claim to his desires. Well, move right in, he thinks. I'll even help you myself. And once you're in, I'll show you what fear is all about. Trust me, it'll be fun. I'll make a catacomb of this fucking place... The tables turn upon a spit! Nameless grows beyond himself. He strides like a king. The tunnels wash by at a dizzying speed, while he slows to the pace of a giant. A few heavy steps bring him right back to the Girl. He fixes the image and makes it all stop-- Look at her, standing there. Lifeless as a mannequin. Painted and dressed in a rush, it appears. Unaware of Nameless as he circles round her... Time may be frozen but the Others still come. (Hurry, boy. There is one who can protect you.) Eye to eye with the girl, he waits. He lowers himself to watch her mouth. It wasn't her. Couldn't have been. He pushes himself through her. Another stands inside. Pretty, not painted. The girl who wears the victim's mask is the victim after all... And tearing her away, he comes to yet another. End of the game, he thinks. The box with nothing in it. A man. A saviour. Who watches him, feels him too. But the saviour cannot bear him and quickly pulls away. A policeman, of all things. Drayver is what he calls himself. "Drayver," Nameless says. The cop jerks back, but Nameless grabs him, holds him, reins him in. There's nothing else to cling to now. (They're almost here! They are!) Nameless draws the cop inside of him and closes both their eyes. The sudden sting of tears makes his throat burn shut. Words rise from somewhere deep, half-plea, half-whispered confindence: "Cop..." Drayver strains. "Tell me who you are." "I've been twisted out of true," he says. "And can't be seen for what I am." This page by Pitchbright |