Chapter 2 

Mark gagged and failed in an attempt to get his bearings. An unnatural smog oozed into his lungs, a paste filling in the gaps, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe.  His gut fought it in a spasm. Mark knew that he was falling, and he hated the feeling. Even though his head was in a haze and he was having a hard time remembering anything, he was sure he had never fallen before from any height. He would rather have his feet on the ground where they belonged. His head was spinning, and he wished that he could see something substantial. It was like vertigo, he decided. You just want everything to stay the same… everything to make enough sense straight ahead without shifting and spinning that you could think for five minutes, and know what to expect.

But all he could see were his hands in front of him. He flailed about, failed to find ‘up’, and felt the world disappear as it slowly began to come to a singular existence. All he could expect was green. He couldn’t even find a focus in front of him. The air was saturated with so much green, that he couldn’t see, and the only thing he could feel was that he was falling. Furthermore, the fall was making him nauseated. If he could just see something, something that made some sense, that would ground him. He wished he would just pass out.

But Mark managed not to pass out. I can do this. Just focus, and don’t panic. But who am I? His head was Swiss cheese. He knew who he was, but barely. Where am I? Mark felt the world closing in and he nearly passed out again. He fought to keep himself from vomiting, but he was about to loose the fight. The fall felt slow and intentional, like there was someone controlling his decent. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see anything. 

And it wasn’t a fun fall, the world wasn’t waiting for him, like a normal fall when using a parachute. His fall could have been the full speed of acceleration, or it could have been less than that, like falling in a nightmare. But whatever it was, he had no control over the fall, or how he felt about it. He just wanted it all to end, but he wondered if it ever would.

The feeling in his hands and feet appeared and disappeared at random through the green in the air. At times, he couldn’t even feel his lips. He was falling, literally, and figuratively, in that he had no control over his reality at all.

He gasped for air, but the green ooze was too thick to inhale. Mark choked and attempted to breathe again, but it was useless. 

There were several things around him that, he didn’t and couldn’t understand, and that weren’t there to show themselves to let themselves be understood. So he had to guess, constantly, while falling in the air, why he felt the way he did, and what was causing it. The more he thought about it, the more confused, sick, and lost he felt.

How had I gotten here, and in the air? Focus. I can do this. I am falling in a mass of unbreathable air. Mark felt a sickness in his gut as he began to fade away again, but he caught himself in time. 

The thick, musky scent of the of the mildew hacked at his body, and Mark felt the need to blink constantly as the haze glazed over his eyes. He felt the acceleration of the world around him and he heard it as it passed him bye as the wind of the passing world was the teapots shrill, and its screams became more and more intense and unstable. 

Mark began to feel a twist deep within his gut. He didn’t know why, but he knew that pain from someplace. At first, the sensation presented a tickle, and he immediately attempted to twist it off. He tried bouncing his feet left and right, and at first, for some reason, that seemed to help. But eventually, even that held no comfort. 

Maybe this new sensation was just an illusion or even a distortion of the first pain, he thought.  But soon, the twist wound into a knot, and then a constant yank, as if someone were trying to pull him from the inside out with his gut. He had no choice. He had to breathe. 

Mark heaved with all of the energy his lungs would allow, and the pasty air entered his body. He felt a gentle stimulation on his back, as if something was reminding him he was really there. He didn’t like the feeling. He wanted to go back to where he was before he started falling, wherever that was. But he knew you can’t undo a fall.

Mark felt his body wrench, and expel the waste through his mouth. He tore at his chest with his fingers, trying to rip it open, but instead, he took a deep breath, letting in the ooze. Mark’s eyes glazed over. He was sure that he was going to die if he didn’t make some changes soon. 

He began to hyperventilate, when immediately, the air around him cleared and he found himself only feet from a nearly vertical, muddy hill. It wasn’t a dangerous hill. He kind of liked it, actually. It felt pleasant and familiar. He wanted to be closer to it, and even touch it. But it kept passing him bye, he was having a hard time controlling his descent. He felt like he knew that hill. But he knew he didn’t. He had never been here, and he had certainly never fallen before. Yet, even with all this falling, that hill felt like his savior. He needed to be closer to it. He knew he would have to use it to live in the end. He would just have to use it in a way that helped him instead of watch it pass him bye.

Mark tried to roll into a ball, but it was too late, and impossible without something to shove off of, for that matter. The hill crept toward him as he fell. He slammed into the hill, knocking the rest of the green ooze from his lungs, and he slid down the nearly vertical muddy expanse. He remembered a lounge chair. He wasn’t sure where from, but he longed for the continuity of sitting in it.

Mark gasped, and then breathed in the new air. His head went first and downward, and he heard his neck crick. Mark wanted to stop the forward momentum, but the hill was too steep, and he had nothing to grab onto other than slimy mud. The hill below him reached on for a distance further than he could see. Still, the air was too green further than a few feet. The current hill may have been comforting, but it didn’t tell him what was coming in his near future. For the first time he could see what was in store for his future fall. He hated it.

In moments, the vertical hill would curve, slowly but surely, to a horizontal change, like a giant curve. At least he would live, but still he decided he could have done without the whole thing.

Mark was no longer thinking about his descent.  He took a deep breath, and the colors of the world slowly came back to reality, even if still mostly a musky, pale green. He could breathe. Mark was going to live, after all, and this made him feel slightly comforted, even if only for the moment. He decided he would consider it a success. It was his first success in this strange place. Mark noted that this change was helping him as much as annoying him. He had a newfound desire to do something about his predicament. He hated that. He knew exactly what he needed to do next.

He was faced down, and faced forward toward the hill, and he wasn’t enjoying being pelted with mud in the face. Now, all I need to do is turn over and turn around. That’s all? Sheesh. This was something that Mark found to be harder than he had originally thought. He pressed his right hand and arm against the passing mud, but his hands slipped into it instead of pushing himself away. 

He still couldn’t see the ground at the end of this mostly vertical expanse, slowly becoming horizontal, but he knew when he got there, at the ground, that he wouldn’t want to be faced down, or faced forward. The mud kept pelting at his face, and every time Mark brushed it off, more would splatter on to his face. 

Mark stuck his right hand and arm out as far as it would go, and dipped it into the oncoming sludge. He immediately spun around sideways and then upward, as if doing a spin on his stomach in the mud if it were horizontal. He found this wall of sludge to be annoying, but it reminded him that he was still alive, so he kept working to get his predicament right. He was still there, and that was what was important. If he just used his head, he would get through this mess he was leaving behind.

Mark felt the mud thud against his feet and legs. He took a deep breath and immediately wedged his legs and feet into the mud. 

He flipped his whole body. Now he was upside-down again, but facing the other way. He reached his right hand behind himself again into the mud, and his body turned around. Now he was feet first, and facing away from the hill.  That’s better, he thought.

Mark felt his cheeks warm as he exhaled. 

Mark looked down. He felt the warmth leave his face. There was no time to make any more changes. The vertical expanse slowly changed its angle of ascent, and Mark found himself hydroplaning, horizontally over a partly slimy surface. There was dirt, and then tree stumps, that nearly hit him as he passed them bye, and then grassy areas, and other areas. He went from loving his vertical fall to despising this ridiculous ground. He hated everything about it. It was full of changing textures and objects. Snags of trees and stumps lie around, and there were large muddy and dry areas of dirt, like in bogs that scuffed his body as he passed over them, and then there was old dying vegetation. He had no idea what to expect. He didn’t like that feeling. He was at a complete loss for words. Even though he wasn’t too keen on the falling, he wished he could be falling by that hill again. At least he knew what to expect. Several hundred feet later he came to a halt.

Mark found his Seersucker pants and shirt battered, possibly from the fall, but he wasn’t sure if they weren’t always battered, or if he even ever wore Seersucker pants. He was also completely covered in sludge from the fall and bog. 

I don’t remember owning Seersucker pants, he thought, incredulously. Why am I wearing Seersucker pants, anyway? I am not a seersucker person. Am I? Mark may have had a Swiss cheese brain right now, but he was sure he never played golf. Seersucker pants were for golf, he decided. Why would I wear these ridiculous pants, anyway?

Mark was surprised to hear himself say such a thing since he couldn’t really remember what type of clothing he wore anyway. But he was happy to remember anything at all. Mark wavered, flailed, and found himself back in the mud again. This muck was a confusing place to Mark. He couldn’t figure out if or how he was supposed to get this stuff off of him, and even if he could, it would just end up right back on him, anyway. This mud was like a magnet to his clothing. He had no choice as to whether or not he should have it on him. He would be covered in mud whether he liked it or not. 

Then there were the snags and stumps that rose up off of the muddy expanse like an exclamation mark, along with the solid areas, reminding Mark that whatever he thought of his predicament in this place, he was wrong. He would have to get used to, not only the mud, but the dangerous solid areas that could make a painful experience out of his life if he wasn’t careful. He could get bumps and bruises and scars and cuts. This was the first time in ages that he had to watch out for himself. He was not invincible anymore. Aside from that, but it was a reminder that he was no longer in control over himself anymore. There was nobody to blame, nothing to change. He would have to deal with the fact that this was the would he was given.

What’s with my legs? He peered down at his blood and mud stained legs. "Bony little things, aren’t they?" Mark found that he could barely stand, no less walk. He was like a child, learning to stand for the first time. Bloody cuts lay across and up them from his slide across the changing ground. He was glad he didn’t hit a stump or a snag. That would not have been pleasant, he decided.

“You just spent who knows how long-maybe forever for all you know-falling through the sky,” strained a quivering voice, “and not one question about the absence of wings? And now you’re complaining about your legs?”

Mark dragged his body backward through the mud away from the voice. He was sure that the tiny man in front of him wasn’t there just a moment ago. In fact, the more he looked at him, the more he confused the little man with a small bush, and he wondered if the man was there the whole time, and he just didn’t see him. 

Mark grimaced as he found the knot in his gut tightening even further. He grabbed at his stomach as he tried to pull the pain out of his gut, but it was useless. The pain was not coming from his stomach. 

Mark tried to focus, and shook it off the best he could. Mark couldn’t stand any longer. He fell backward. Half of his body lay under mud and water, and his legs felt uncomfortable, so he tried to lift them above the water.  He strained his neck to gaze beyond his feet. Just in front of Mark’s feet sat a tiny man on a stump. He held an arched stick pipe, and it was quite hard for Mark to see where the pipe ended and where this man’s arm began. His pipe was as thin as a straw, and almost as long as his branch-like arm. No puffs of smoke came from it, but that didn’t deter Mark from seeing the Illusion that the strange man was smoking something. Mark wondered how the man’s arms didn’t snap from their lack of thickness. “Huh?”

The little man inhaled the pipe’s essence through its stick end, and his cheeks puffed up like there were  balls in them that were exactly round in shape. This stranger was structured perfectly, including those balls of whatever he created in his cheeks, and what was so strange about that was he didn’t look human, or like anything Mark had ever seen. This manling’s demeanor was a fixed place in this awkward reality. 

This creature closed his eyes. Mark watched the little creature grin passively, as the little man's cheeks each balled up symmetrically on both sides again. The little man opened his eyes, and exhaled. Strangely, a puff of smoke came from the creature’s mouth. He wasn’t actually puffing anything, but the puffs seemed that they were supposed to be there, so they were. He gazed at Mark with a backward tilt of his head, and leaned to the left. This manling looked like he was nearly going to fall off of his seat, which was a stump, but he didn’t. He just hung there like he controlled the air around him. He was obviously in control, and Mark wanted that control for himself, too, so Mark was suddenly enamored with this stick man.

The stump was old and rotting and it fit the ambiance perfectly. There were hundreds of bugs crawling on and through the stump, but that didn’t seem to bother this odd stick man. His butt also pushed them off the stump as if he controlled the bugs just by sitting on them.

The strange tiny stick man balanced himself, and then he grinned. Something about him looked off, yet just as it should be, yet he seemed excited to see Mark. “Well, I’ve been wondering when I might be meeting you.” He leaned forward, and grinned again, his cheeks balling up, “Many great adventures are in store for you, I do say, uh-huh,” He pointed with his pipe lip at Mark. “good things… assuming you don’t get caught up in the bad things. I mean goodness is as goodness is, right?” He leaned back on the stump an laughed boldly. He brushed his hands at Mark. “We try to avoid the bad things, don’t we?”  

Mark wasn’t sure if this man was a man at all, but he wasn’t about to ask either.  Mark looked down at his own body. He realized how young his body looked, and that he couldn’t be more than fourteen years old, maybe younger. This was peculiar to him, too, because he couldn’t remember being thirteen or any other age. I don’t feel fourteen, he thought. The dense air constricted his vision, and Mark couldn't see much farther than the odd little creature. Everything was so muddled and lost. He could hear cricket sounds in the woods, along with other strange sounding creatures. He wondered where they were, and hoped they stayed there.  

“Well? Child, you gunna sit there in the mud like a crazy person, or you gunna sit here, with me, by the fire?” The little man patted his tiny fingers on the stump, beside himself. When he tapped on it, it crumpled a bit. It looked worse off than the stump that the tiny man sat on, himself. “After all, time is short. Time is short. We don’t have all the time in the world in life, do we… indeed. Come, come. Don’t dawdle.”

Mark squinted. He couldn’t see a fire anywhere. Who is this odd man anyway? Mark shivered and wrapped his hands around his own body. Drying mud coated him everywhere on the parts of his body above the dirty water, and he wanted to remove it, but he didn't know how. He couldn’t see a fire, but if there was one, he wanted, more than anything, to be in front of it. He was cold. This place was cold, and he wanted out.

There was also a constant draft, one that did not help Mark’s pain one little bit. In fact, it made him feel more uncomfortable. The insides of Mark’s gut felt like there were tacks slowly moving down inside of it. He noticed that shaking his feet seemed to help at first, but then it only added to how tired he always seemed to feel, aside of how much of an idiot it must have made him look. He staggered to his feet, and tottered out of the mire, still extremely uncomfortable. He walked, hunched over, still wrapping his arms around his gut, toward the odd little man. 

“That’s it, none of that lying around. I should say, what a mess you’ve made of yourself. Look at yourself. What a jerk. What an idiot. I think you might be more comfortable here, yes, I do believe... Here is certainly more comfortable than there.”

Mark swayed toward the decaying log. That’s odd, he thought, I can’t remember anything. Mark tried to remember something about his past. But he found that the harder he thought, the more he realized he didn’t know. He knew some of his past, but there huge parts missing. E needed to remember them, he decided. In fact, the more he tried to remember his past, the hazier and soupier his mind, and strangely, the world around him, became. 

The more he tried to think and make sense of things, the more Mark was sure he felt even more confused than he did moments ago. 

Mark decided to forget about the past and just to think about the present. He decided that there was too much in front of him to worry about to worry about what could be, too. At that point, once his head cleared up, the world was still strange, but now it had, at least, cleared up to the point Mark could see. It was, at this point, that Mark noticed the connection between this world around him, and what was going on in his head. This wasn’t just a place, it was somehow tied to his mind. Regardless if it was his mind or not, it acted as if he was in it.

Mark was hungry. He decided that, maybe, if he thought about a pizza, one would materialize in front of him. He concentrated on a pizza. It didn’t materialize. There was something else going on other than his location being his mind. He may have had control over his mind, but there was a catch to controlling this place. Furthermore, he wanted that control. He always wants it, so why should this place be any different? If he could control it, then maybe he could be happier.

Mark glanced at the tiny man, and then at the stump. It was crawling with tiny larva. They looked almost happy to greet him, as they squiggled with self-satisfaction, and Mark decided that this was probably fitting for the surroundings. Larva would fit in perfectly here. He wondered to himself, would he be the type of person who would sit on larva wherever he came from? He sat down. Some of the stump crumbled as he twisted into the rotting wood. It was so old, that there were no splinters, only rot. Mark kicked muddy ground, as his heels hung from the stump.

The little man stuck out his bottom lip and smiled in such an unsettling way, that Mark had to hold his hands together to keep from pushing the lip back in. The little man frowned, and looked as if he had left something on the ground because he began bobbing his head left and right, as his tiny eyes probed the surface. “Shh!”

“But I didn’t-”

“Shh!” The little man crept his hand forward, and gazed at the soil below. “You’ve got to out sneak them, you know.”

Mark didn’t say anything, but he began to wonder what this ‘them’ was, and he turned to the surface to help in the search.

The tiny man smacked his lips. They were so long and loose that Mark began to wonder if they were his lips, after all, or if they were some kind of growth. The man injected his hand into the ground, and snapped out something. “Got it!” He pinched it between his fingers. “It’s a Brume Bug. Ya see?” A small, black bug, less than an inch long, tried desperately to flee, but couldn’t get a grip on anything. 

Mark cringed. “And you’re going to eat that for a snack.”

The little man returned the cringe. “I’d rather eat my feet.” The man’s lips curved upward. It wasn’t actually a smile. It was more of a ‘stink’ look. He nodded. Mark tried to relax his body and ignorantly returned the look. Maybe there was, after all, sanity in this place. Then the little man squished the bug between his fingers, and pressed it into his pipe.

Mark swallowed hard. He noticed that there was no flame to light the man’s arched pipe. “So how are you going to-“

The man held up his other hand, which was originally holding the stick pipe (he had put the tip in his mouth by now), and snapped his fingers. A small blue, almost clear, flame caressed the haze. The tiny man crossed his legs and triumphantly lit his pipe.

Mark put his hand to his forehead. He rubbed it. Why was this strange man waiting here? “Who are you?”

The little man glanced at his pipe. “I am nobody. I am here to see that whoever falls from that hill is put on the right path. I am speaking specifically of you. And soon, by the way. …before she gets here.”

“She who?” Said Mark.

“What? You want a date? She’s not right for you.”

“Huh?”

He waved his hand at Mark. “She’s too tall for you.” He puffed on his pipe. No smoke came out of his mouth or the pipe.

Mark decided to change the subject. “You’ve been sitting here all of this time?” Mark imagined someone sitting here for years on end. “You put people on the right path? What path?”

“Patience.  What is it with this job? Why can’t humans have the slightest bit of patience? You just got here, and-kazam! You need to know. Poof! You need to know. Poof! You need to know. We’ll get there. What am I? An encyclopedia?”

Mark's head ached. Mark curled over, and he found that the pain was increasing, if that was possible.

“Just because I was here before you, doesn’t mean I was always here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someday, you will die, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“What will happen then?”

“Nobody knows.”

“But you are asking yourself the wrong question, aren’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well of course you don’t. I haven’t brought up the real question, have I?”

“Well then, what is the real question?”

“The real question is this; Where were you before you were born? How does it relate to after you die? This is the real question you should be asking yourself.”

“Can we stop talking about this? It is depressing.”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you aren’t going to find the back exit door to this place. You need to figure yourself out. You never did that. That is why you are here in the first place. I’m here because you need to be put on the right path at first. You showed that a minute ago when you were thinking of climbing that ridiculous hill to get out. You can’t go out the in. You go in the in, and out the out.”

Mark was getting a headache. “If you shut up, I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Stick your finger in your ear, and turn it to the left.”

Mark did so.

“Idiot.” The little man shifted his weight on the stump. More rot fell from it. “Do you really think I have all the answers? Use your brain. Better yet, don’t. Obviously, it’s full of crap.”

Mark had no idea that he would have to deal with the paranoia that would befall him y having to live with this kooky creature when he got here. Mark tried to justify his being here. Why was he here? What is the point of all of this, and why did the environment change when he did? Mark decided that maybe if he made this whatever this creature was his friend, maybe e things would make more sense. “Maybe we should start with friendly introductions. What might your name be?” Said Mark.

“A name?” mimicked the little man.

“Uh, yes.” Said Mark.

“Well then, what’s yours?”

“I’m not sure. Mark, I think.” He said, flustered.

The little man held up his finger, “Aha! Well, I tell you what, if you tell me yours for sure, then I’ll tell you mine. It’s only fair. -Or maybe it isn’t, I’m not sure.”

Mark felt confused. “I just can’t remember mine for sure, but I keep thinking it’s Mark. That’s a name. But in your case, you just won’t tell me. That’s not really the same, is it? Give me one, even if you’re not sure… then we’ll be even. But if you don’t have a name, that would be different.” Mark squirmed, looking chagrin. Mark held out his hand to shake. For a moment the little man looked as if he didn’t know if he should kiss the hand, step on it, or just smell it. Mark put his hand down. “How long have you been here?”

“Do you remember the time you wet your diaper?”

“No. Oh. Alright then, I get the point. So a long time, then. And you have had no name all that time?” Mark wondered if he had ever met someone like this man before. “You know, I can’t keep talking to someone who doesn’t have a name. You need a name.”

“I’m perfectly satisfied with who I am. I do not need a name. I haven’t had one for eons, so I don’t see why I should have one now! ” The tiny man crossed his arms. He began to resemble a pretzel. “I’ve been who I am for as long as I can remember. I am perfectly happy the way I am.” He grunted, which sounded more like a squeal. “Nobody will ever make me change my mind. I am who I am, and I will hear nothing more of it. Do you understand me?” He held up a bony fist. “I’ll never change! Never!”

Mark grinned and tried not to laugh. What an odd creature. “I think I will call you Figment since that is what you must be.”

Figment glared for a moment, and then smiled, ear to ear, lips poofing like slugs. “Oh yes. That does have a nice ring. That’s nice. Figment.” Figment grabbed his pipe, removed it from his mouth, shoved another Brume bug he just dug up with his hand, and shoved it in the pipe again. He then smiled excitedly while taking another puff of his pipe after lighting it again. 

Mark spotted a small plant with hard fruit growing on it. He remembered that he hadn’t had tea yet. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered how he knew what tea was, anyway. He was happy that he could remember tea. He plucked several berries off, and nearly placed them into his mouth.

“I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.” Figment said, nonchalantly.

“Why not?” 

“Depressants. You know, downers.” He chewed on his pipe. 

“Oh. Well, then I won’t ask you if you would like any.”

“They’re not downers to me. Bad for you. Good for me....” Figment looked at his pipe, and rubbed it. 

“But they are bad to me.” Commented Mark.

“Yes.”

Mark spit out the berries he put in his mouth. He rubbed a berry, trying to figure out what Figment meant.

Apparently, Figment must have read Mark’s facial expression. “You ever seen a black hole,-how it sucks in all the light, and the light can’t escape?” Said Figment.

“Yes? Well, no.”

“That’s what the berry does to one of us when one of us takes it. With it’s help, we’d just suck you on in. But not you. As for you, you’d just burn out. We suck, you burn.”

Us? He thought. There are more of him? Mark was beginning to get frustrated with this creature. He was confused, and tired. He wanted to leave, but he wasn't sure where to go. Maybe Figment could help through more communicating. “Suck me in where? What do you mean burn out? There’s more than one of you?”

“Well aren’t you the inquisitive one. Yes. Well, no. Well, kind of. There are more of me, but there is only one of me in many places. We’re kind of like one of those trees that looks like many trees but has one root system making all of this trees actually one tree. And all of us are part of you, too.”

“Why am I special?” Mark said, confused. Talking to Figment was like speaking the same language, but saying things that made no sense, kind of like visiting a town that spoke the same language in a different country, but in a different millennia. The words were right, but, somehow, nothing made sense. Then Mark flicked a berry. Depression, huh… what do you know?

“Why, we are the black hole and you are the light. See?”

“No.”

“What effects us does not effect you in the same way. What makes us stronger may come from you, or vise-versa. To you, this world is only as strong as you are to it. You are affected by us just as much as we are affected by you. Look. We should really be leaving now, Assuming you prefer being living to being dead.”  

Mark placed the rest of the berries near the stump. He was still hungry. He grabbed at his stomach. He wasn’t sure where the pains were coming from, but they appeared to be getting worse. He wanted to eat, but eating would mean more pain, and apparently depression. He would have to make a decision… depression, pain, and living, or dying. Even when the gut pains were getting better, they seemed to be getting worse. How can that be possible, he thought. 

How do I get out of here, Mark thought. Mark looked to the forest. I’ll never get through there. He looked to the hill. That’s got to be the best way out. It’s much closer. Mark’s stomach was, at this time, tearing at him. He was in pain like he had never felt, and he was hungrier than he had ever been before. He was sure he must have been loosing weight just in the short time he had been here. His stomach was making noises that he had never heard before. He didn’t know where he wanted to go, but he knew he wanted to get away from the pain, and the sooner, the better. He stood up and headed for the muddy hill, when he heard a voice which resembled Figment’s but slower, deeper, and much more sincere. He spun around and saw him. Figment’s hand was pointing towards the woods. He didn’t look like the Figment Mark knew anymore. He wasn’t weird or goofy. He was dead serious.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Figment droned a whiny screech in a way that seemed like Figment had no  control over his voice , “There is only one way out.” Figment’s cynical voice became whiny and deep in tone, his eyes wide. He was standing, and it appeared he had lost control of everything that had made him Figment, moments ago. Mark remembered what Figment had already told him. You can’t go out the in. That said, He really wanted to undo what had been done. He wasn’t here, then he was, and someday, he won’t be again. The times before and after are infinite. The time between is finite. I have a finite amount of time to understand and possibly, an infinite amount of knowledge. Without this time, nothing is relevant. Time is knowledge, and the unknown.

All Mark knew is he didn’t want to think about this anymore. He was starting to get a headache with all this thinking. He wanted to have unthinking about this, and that meant crawling back up that hill. He wanted food, his recliner, and most of all, a painless sleep.

Well, actually, he decided, maybe there really is a relationship between not knowing, and that hill. How do I know I can trust this strange creature? Mark dragged his way through the bog, and onto the hill. He began to tear and climb at the muddy wall, but every time he climbed a foot higher, he slid back down. You can’t un-know something, he decided. Something is wrong here, he thought. You can’t undo what was never done, or what was already done. This means passing time is knowledge, regardless of what happens, even nothing.  

Figment’s voice dragged on. Mark glanced over his shoulder, and found Figment still holding his place like a small bush with only one branch, pointing away from Mark.

Then, as quickly as it all started, all the droning ceased. Mark turned around completely, partly because he was nearly out of breath, but mainly because he was curious to find out why Figment had stopped his ranting. 

Five tall, gangly people were standing in a row, next to each other. All of them were standing behind Figment in long white, and especially clean coats which contrasted with the terribly dirty ground, and facing Mark. 

But what was peculiar about them was that they were smiling. But they weren’t just smiling, they were really smiling. It was the kind of smile that only a mother could love, and even that would probably have been pushing it. The cracks of the lips at the edges of the smiles curved, nearly, all the way to their ears, and their teeth, all of which shown, glowed so brightly, that Mark was sure that they could be used to ward off ships. Mark noticed the small medical bags in their hands. They must be Doctors, he thought. 

Then Mark noticed something else. Hooks latched into the corners of their lips, and various body parts. The location where the hooks latched to the bodies looked terribly uncomfortable, and possibly cracking and infected. Something resembling fishing twine was attached to the hooks, which arced over the shoulders of the men. But why? Mark thought.

It wasn’t long before Mark’s questions were answered. A black top hat, similar to one that popped into Mark’s mind that Abraham Lincoln would have worn, rose from behind one, and then all the smiling Doctors. An extremely tiny, but slightly portly man rose from behind one of the Doctors. 

At first, Mark thought it was an illusion, since he saw no feet on the ground. But then he realized that these people were tiny, and standing on the backs of the doctors. The little men in hats appeared to be using the hooks and twine to hold themselves up. The doctors, although smiling, didn’t appear happy at all. A moment later, it became obvious that each of these doctors had one of these little men on their backs, and were being controlled, completely.

Mark had nearly forgotten about Figment, who was just outside the bog, and still pointing away from the hill. Figment was shaking, and his pipe had fallen on the ground. He looked like his mind was fighting his body for control, and loosing the fight. “H-hey you,” Figment’s body was frozen, but he seemed to be fighting himself and trying to keep his composure and anger to himself. He whispered, loudly and slowly, as if no one would hear him other than Mark...and inadvertently everyone else in a five hundred foot radius. He worded, “Slowly, if you care for anything that you hold dear, you’ll get yourself away from that smelly bog, and follow me.”

“Why should I?” Mark spoke in a normal tone, which apparently irritated Figment immensely by the looks of his face. 

Figment flinched. “Do you see, do you fathom, do you even notice those guys over there?” He began speaking even more slowly, and enunciating as if speaking to a child, which Mark emotionally was, anyway, “They are very, very bad.”

Mark noticed a couple of important things at this moment. First, Figment had always acted as if he were invincible up to this point, and now, he appeared to be falling apart. Second, Figment wasn’t going anywhere unless Mark came too, and Figment really wanted to go.

“Are we going-are we leaving, or not? I’ve got a shovel. Would you like me to dig us a grave? Why don’t I pop off and dig us a grave, why don’t I?” Figment threw his voice as hard as he could in a non-whisper-whisper.

“We can’t go now. They’ve brought tea.” Mark held his arms in the air in delight, and grinned. Mark was over-hungry and thirsty. The Doctors were already smiling, so they just stood there, one with the tea set in his hands. That one of them, gestured to it with the other.

“Tea? Are you nuts?” But when Figment turned, he found that, indeed, one of the five doctors was carrying a tea set. 

Mark thought the set was exquisite. He decided he loved tea time. In fact, he was sure he had seen that particular set somewhere else. “It would be improper to turn down a tea at tea time, even if you don’t like your company.” Mark removed himself from the muddy bog, and began to clean himself off with some water from a puddle on the ground. 

The Doctors turned over a nearby tree. The tree was dead and laying on the ground. It must have been three feet in diameter, but together, even though it was heavy, they managed to move it. They slid it over, smiling all the way. The small men in black suits with top hats that looked similar to Lincoln’s hat remained on their backs.

“Did you notice the pushing of the tree?” Figment blubbered, “These guys are really bad, bad! bad! And really strong. And we are really insane.”

The doctors dragged the tree next to the stump, and headed out for another.

“See, they’re just making all of us a place to sit. Isn’t that nice?” Mark really wasn’t worried. Why was Figment worried, anyway? They seemed nice enough.

Figment slapped his hand onto his face. “But that’s not the point!” he groaned, “These guys are bad, you know? These guys are going to do everything they can to stop you from succeeding in your goal. And we really gotta go. And besides, she’s going to be here at any moment!” He stomped his feet and danced and circles. “I want to go now. These guys are really bad.” By this time, Figment was having, what looked like, a full fledged temper tantrum. He was bouncing around, and then sitting on the mud, and scooting his butt on it around from left to right. “Idiot! Moron!”

Mark held his breath for a moment, and turned. Figment suddenly looked as if he just realized he had said something he really didn’t want to say. Then Mark said, “What goal?”

Figment looked as if he were trying, miserably, and failing, to think. “Let’s just have tea.”

They all sat around the rotten stump. Figment sat, and this was obvious, as far, on the grounded log, from the doctors as he could. He looked, very nearly, like he was having a different tea party by himself. Furthermore, he was sulking. His hands were crossed and his lower lip was drooping. It was obvious he did not like being in this situation one bit. Furthermore, it was obvious he did not like being in a controlled situation like this one, where he had no choice. 

Figment kept flinching, and talking to himself. The Doctor with the tea set placed the set on the stump and began to pour. A plume of steam rose from the spout as the dark liquid arced into each glass, one at a time. Each time, a plume of steam rose into the air. He graced a smile at Mark and waved his bony hand, palm up, at the sugar cubes. Mark decided that this man must be a mute, and he acknowledged him with a grin and hand gesture. “One, please.” 

The Doctor then turned toward Figment who had his hands crossed. Figment, still looking like a child who was just told to do something right after being punished, copied the Dr’s hand, and made a raspberry sound as he stuck his tongue out. He said something like ‘one’ to the doctor, but it came out like, ’nya’ . He cringed his face. The Doctor smiled (he never actually stopped) 

Mark was sure that he felt the ground shake just slightly, but then he wasn’t. He looked around, and decided to ignore it. Mark remembered that the only thing that was keeping Figment from running in terror was Mark, himself. But Mark couldn’t figure out why. What made him so special? Why would someone feeling terror stay with a feared foe? 

While Mark pondered, the world began to change. Mark twisted his head around in an attempt to hear something, but all he could hear was the scuffling of the tiny people on the doctor’s backs. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time, since he first fell from the sky, that it was so quiet. Even the Brume bugs in the ground, and the crickets appeared to have scuttled someplace other than there.

Mark looked at the awkward beings. Should I be worried about these guys? No. they’ve been ok so far, and tea time is tea time, he decided. They seem to be pleasant. You don’t go slapping someone in the face when they hold their hand out to shake your hand.  After all, every honorable, self respecting person follows the ethics of teatime.  So, Mark relaxed into the wood below him. Mark felt tremors run across the ground again. This time, he was sure they were real.

Mark wasn’t the only one who noticed the earth moving. All five of the doctors looked to the woods, and immediately attempted to stand up, but Mark instantly noticed twine pulling at their skin. The doctors knew what was causing those tremors, and they didn’t like whatever it was, but the little people on their backs didn’t seem to be bothered by it. 

  As Mark held up the cup of tea for the doctor, there was a great tremor, and his hand trembled shaking the teacup to one side. Mark moved his arm to the left to counteract the tremble, but, he couldn’t control his hand. He flung the steaming tea, cup and all, onto the Doctor who was sitting across from him. The Doctor immediately stood. His eyes were bulging, but he was still smiling. But then there was another tremor in the distance. This time, everyone’s bodies shook. The burnt doctor tumbled backwards over the tree he was just sitting on.  The little man who was on the doctor’s back shot into the air. Hooks and fishing line swept in arcs through the green haze. The little man fell through the air, and tumbled, head first onto a large boulder, crushing the back of his scull, allowing blood to dribble along the rather large rock. The doctor lay, sprawled on the surface, appearing stunned.

The freed doctor appeared shocked, and Mark noticed that this Doctor wasn’t smiling anymore. What was even more surprising to Mark was that Figment looked even more shocked than the Doctor.

Crash! The ground undulated and shook the world.

“What is that?!” Cried Mark.

“I told you she was coming! She’s nearly here now!” By now, Mark could hear trees moaning in the distance, as sounds of branches being bent and obliterated could be heard crashing on to the ground.

“I thought you were speaking in a social manner when you spoke about her being too tall for me.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want her anyway.” Said Figment.  

The other four doctors immediately stood on their feet and held out their hands and their bags. But something was wrong. They wanted to move, but the fishing twine was pulling at the hooks, which had dug deep into their flesh. Every time they tried to move forward, the little men would wrench the twine even further away from their fallen comrade.

The four doctors looked shocked. The little men on their backs looked shocked. Even Figment looked as if he was surprised. 

Mark spoke quietly to Figment, “Figment, how long until we are in grave danger?”

Figment returned Mark’s whisper and gave him a funny look. “Mark, we are in grave danger, and have been for quite a while. But in a few moments, if we don’t run very very fast, we will surely be dead. OK? Can we go now?”

The ground shook even louder. All of them, including the Doctors who were still standing nearly fell. Someone was walking in great strides.

Mark had to do something. He couldn’t let that man lay there and die. He turned his head toward the Doctors, and unconsciously raised his voice. “Well? Aren’t you going to do something?” They are doctors, aren’t they? “They could be hurt. That little guy could be dead for god’s sake!” The doctors attempted to move forward, but were immediately jolted backward by the little men and their hooks. Their smiles expanded until you could clearly see every tooth, and even some bone. “What’s the matter with you?” Mark snatched the medical bag from the ground and headed for the little bleeding man. He made it about half way there when he heard a whirling sound from behind. He turned around and saw a half smile on one of the doctors, and a strand of twine arcing through the air. It hooked the bag, but Mark yanked at the bag, and saw the little guy buck a few inches into the air. The little guy held out his hand and gave a hard tug on the line. He was stronger then Mark had expected, but his strength was his undoing. The hook tore through the bag, and landed on the ground.

Crash! Trees fell in the distance, and Mark knew he was nearly out of time. 

Mark headed for the little guy on the rock, and opened the bag. He was shocked to find that the only thing within the bag was a white cube, just over one inch by one inch. He closed the bag. He felt for a pulse on the little guy, but realized immediately that he was dead. 

Mark headed for the fallen doctor. As he approached him, the other doctors slowly backed off. They were still smiling, but they looked more frightened then happy.

Mark opened the bag, snapped off a corner of the cube, and fed it to the sick man. He opened his eyes and gazed, distantly, at Mark. “I think that whatever that cube is, it’s going to help you get better.” Mark explained.

Mark began to notice the silence again. He couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the woods. Even the bugs were not making any noise. The other doctors had frozen in their place, their eyes bulging. The doctor slowly sat up, and once again gazed at him, this time, focusing. The doctor didn’t smile. But somehow, Mark knew that the doctor was happy, maybe for the first time in a very long time.

Figment cleared his throat. “It’s time…go time...” Figment danced over to Mark, and began pulling at his arm. “We gotta to go, now, before it’s –“ 

But it was too late. Mark stood up and found that the remaining four doctors were standing side by side with their arms out, and their forefingers pointing toward the hill. They were still smiling, but their movements were erratic, like a speeding car with the tires completely out of alignment. Mark glanced at Figment. Figment still looked as if he didn't know what to think. Mark could piece together the fact that the doctors with the little men on them where trying to nudge him back towards the hill. But what he couldn’t figure out was that Figment wasn’t looking at the Doctors. He was looking at something directly behind Mark.

Mark spun around. Directly behind him stood the newly healed doctor, standing with his arm directly out, pointing in exactly the opposite direction as the other doctors, in the same direction Figment was pointing moments ago.  

The healed doctor’s eyes bulged and dug into Mark’s eyeballs as if he were trying desperately, but failing, to say something. His face began to burn red, and Mark was sure that the man’s face would explode if he didn’t let out whatever it was that was so important. Mark wondered if the newly healed doctor had been allowed to speak in years, considering he was finally not being controlled by the little man. The doctor’s lips trembled as sweat beaded over the pierced scars. The healed Doctor opened his pierced jaw and barely, and slowly yelled, “Run!”