Chapter 1

The woods began to show its evening's mourning as the overgrown grass lost it’s green and shadowed a forest upon itself. Mark was immortal, and he had felt evenings like this one countless times. He felt his mortality over and over at this time, but it never passed. It just teased at him, nightly.

Mark felt the bland of the evening coming yet again, as he took a seat in his recliner in his tiny home. After you live a certain amount of time, all the evenings seem to have that remoteness to it. Even when you’re not going to die, he decided, everything feels like death. The recliner creaked heartily. After taking a seat in his recliner, he leaned back, and closed his eyes. Soon the room began to evaporate before him, and he found himself falling into a tender sleep.

Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls. Mark’s house wasn’t exactly in the picture of health. There were walls, and they did stand up, but hardly. And if one were to squint his eyes, he might notice that each wall was just slightly not vertical. In fact, even the floor was not exactly on the level. One would have to wonder what was actually holding this monstrosity of shadows, rotted wood, and paint up. But those walls stood on their own free will. Maybe they had a bit of unnatural help, maybe they didn’t. But whatever the truth was about them, it wasn’t for Mark paying them any mind. He was completely ignorant to his situation, and his house was the perfect hiding place for his conformity. As long as they stood and held the roof up, he was fine with it. But all that was about to change.

Mark spent who knew how long in this house in front of this fire place. He was used to a little bit of wind. He was used to every nook and rot, even as it grew with time.

The problem was, he was not used to a lot of wind, and neither was his house. Mark had been living there for countless years, and if he had a better memory, he might have remembered that this had happened before…. Several times. But Mark had a selective memory, meaning he was able to remove anything that helped him become a better person. So in time, it stood still, just like his humanity. Considering Mark’s real age, he should have been an emotional genius by now. But because of his selective memory, he was still a child. So instead, for a split second, for the first time… in many times actually… he felt the warmth inside of his soul become sour for the first time… again. 

Come and get me if you must. I am ready. But he wasn't.  He opened his eyes as he lay in his lounge chair, and he stared at the ceiling. Mark’s stomach jittered and turned over.  He knew today was the time that he dreaded. It was his birthday, after all, and the anniversary of the last time this happened. 

If he could only remember why it happened, or what had happened during the time he was passed out, then maybe he could do it right this time. But thanks to his selective, stubborn, and ignorant memory, plus the fact that he didn’t really care anyway, he would have to do it the hard way, again. 

He would be ready this time. No, he wouldn’t. But he was scared, and he really wasn’t ready for the reality that awaited him, or the knowledge of the realities that he left behind him. And this time, he wouldn’t forget, he decided. This time it would be different. He wouldn’t let himself forget. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew he would find a way. 

A jolt flared up inside of him, and Mark grabbed his gut with both hands. He tried to ignore the pain. It’s only pain. I can control it, he thought. Soon, the pain grew further with time. I’ll just tell myself it was something I ate. Boy it must have been some hearty food that didn’t agree with me.

Over the past years, Mark had encountered many forms of pain, and he was forced to learn to endure them all. Now, Mark could deal with those forms of pain. But eventually, even with his ability to handle pain, his body slowly learned to overcome. And soon, he would have to face the realities behind the pains. The windows began to tremble as the wind thrust itself upon them. 

At first, Mark was in too much pain to notice. But the noise grew in intensity, and then a window pane shattered after a tree branch hit it. Papers frenzied themselves across the floor, and a glass fell to the ground off a nearby table, and shattered along the floor with spilt water.  This time would be different. This time I’ll remember whatever I kept forgetting before, he thought, possibly for the first time! 

The curtains began to bluster a rage. There was something different about those curtains. They were the same ones Mark always had, but now they were wet with rain, and blown with wind, and they seemed like they were foreign to him. He didn’t like them this new way. They always did what they were supposed to do, even now, aside from this new mess. But, now that they were wet and being blown, they let in what they were supposed to keep out. It was funny, he thought, what a wet set of curtains could ruin to a house.

Mark was running out of time. What could he do? There are some things, he knew, that a person just doesn’t have control over. He hated that, too. As soon as that glass broke, those curtains would have gotten wet regardless if he wanted them too. To run would be useless. And he was too lazy anyway, so he lay back in his recliner hoping that it would all pass him by. 

But that was not meant to happen this time. The water spread from the curtains to the floor. His wood floor would have been more ruined if it wasn’t for the fact that it was cleaner now. The dirt that had accumulated over the years had gotten washed off as the moisture that hit it ran off. His floor was so old that it was all basically subfloor, and each piece was rounded and smoothed at the edges from age and traffic. It had actually looked better with the rain hitting it. Strangely, the curtains did, too. They were cleaner. Originally they had both been dusty and dirty with neglect, but now you could see the beauty, and its original sturdy look though the wet mess. 

The sensation in Mark’s gut became worse, and began to spread to his chest and legs. Mark felt confused and lost, and soon he felt nauseated. His entire house was wet from the inside out from the storm, and so was he. He felt terribly uncomfortable, and even his recliner was wet through and through. 

But he was so stubborn, he didn’t bother to get a towel. He just reclined there, in his chair, waiting for a time when it all would pass… which it wouldn’t this time. He wasn’t sure what to do, but there was no way he was about to get up. He kept his head on straight and focused. He must make sure that he would remember everything. The quickest way for all this to end if he just didn’t forget, he decided. 

But he was wrong. Some things had already changed, and he had no decision in the matter. He looked around. He liked the comfortable way his house had become over time. He liked his lounger, he liked his dusty floor and curtains. It was all so homely and lived in. But now that there was practically a storm brewing inside it all, it looked cleaner and more structured than before the storm started. That said, he preferred it the way it was, and he couldn’t wait for all this messy change to just stop already so he could go on with his life.

Mark hammered his fist into his stomach, while at the same time, the entire window next to the first broken pane behind him came crashing in. But the jolts of acute jerks pulled at his stomach as if he had swallowed a jar of tacks and they were moving down his gut, sticking to his innards along the way. Broken curtains and paper whipped around his body. 

But Mark didn’t move. He refused to move.  He refused to change. The pain was too much for any human, he decided.  Soon, this will all be over. Soon. Soon. Just a little bit longer. But every time he said that to himself, the wind got stronger, and his gut hurt worse. He was sure his entire body would have been thrown from the lounger, the wind was so strong. It was so windy by now, his wet hair was practically being tossed from his head.

Just one more moment. One more moment. I mustn't pass out if I’m not going to forget. I must remember. He grabbed the parts of the recliner to the left of him and the right just trying to keep from flying off of it. He must keep still and remember. He was sure he would pass out soon, but the pain kept intensifying, and he wasn’t passing out. He could have been spinning around his room from this crazy storm, and the pain was so acute that he tried to remember the last time it was so horrible. But what was most important was he would remember this time.

What Mark didn’t understand, was that no amount of remembering was going to get him through this problem. He was missing something, and he needed to find it.

Mark saw a flash of light and heard thunder simultaneously and the lights above him burst as sparks shot out. He clawed at his gut, and cried out.  He thrust his body back into the recliner so forcefully that he could feel the wood construction below it crack and squeak, and he heard a crackle as the ceiling opened up above him. And then Mark felt wetness swell up in his eyes as he felt cold drops of rain fall across his face. 

A gust of wind tore a large splinter of wood from the roof and ripped it through his gut. And then he was somewhere else.