The Epiphany

  • The hallway was dark, illuminated only by the white mist that turned to pink, then to darker shades of red with each step that Victor took. The only exit he could see was the wooden door with a metal frame as the end of the hall. Victor had not known how he landed here, nor did he remember why. All he remembered was going to the front door of a seemingly harmless skyscraper that had two-way glass, the outside reflecting off of the windows like mirrors. When he'd opened the glass door, entered the lobby, and heard the glass door shut, he remembered a hissing sound and he was knocked out, which is when he landed here. He thought it was part of the job interview, at least until there was a creaking sound as he was halfway to the door.

    At first, he thought something was to come for him, but it was only his over-active imagination playing tricks on him. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, calming himself with slow counting. "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand..." He mumbled to himself as he stepped closer to the door, the mist a normal, in-the-middle shade of red, matching that of the natural red of oil paint. Victor was at the door now, noticing that it was slightly open and that a slight breeze was coming from what was inside, which explained the creak. Slowly, he opened the door, releasing a terrifying, almost endless screech that all old doors seem to have, the mist turning to a blood-red color as he peeked in. What he saw in that room almost made him vomit, the smell almost as horrid as the sight.

    It was a dead woman in a black business dress, hanging from a noose, one high-heeled shoe fallen off, the other still on her crooked left foot, her leggings covering the area below her knees where the dress had ended. But Victor wasn't creeped out by the random corpse. No, he felt the chills crawl down his spine when he saw the storebought pregnancy test. When Victor came closer to the foul-smelling, halfway decomposed body that flies had inhabited, he noticed that the pregnancy test was positive. Even more shocking, he discovered small lettering along the plus sign, stating "You cannot run from your fate." After he read the lettering, which was glowing strangely with a blood-red glow, he looked up at the woman, noticing that she wore a sincere smile on her face. He couldn't tell much from her eyes, since they bulged out of her face with a dry, lifeless look, somehow not overtaken by the flies. He looked around the room and noticed a desk in the left side corner, the metal with a coarse texture and black paint, the top made of synthetic wood, with several folders and papers stacked on top of it. By the hanging corpse, he finally noticed the overturned rolling chair.

    Victor decided to explore the contents of the desk. He foraged through the top papers, most of them newsletters dating back to the day before. He didn't pay attention to the headings by then, wondering where it all went wrong. "What the hell is this?" He mumbled yet again to himself, seeing a pair of long-bladed scissors with blood-red handles. These scissors looked more like a pair of home-made knives screwed together than the industrial scissors Victor was used to through years of schooling. Before he could open one of the topmost drawers on the work side of the desk, three on each side, like a conventional work desk, a red mist hissed into the room. Victor inhaled the mist unknowingly, which he'd grabbed the pair of poorly-made scissors and looked at himself through the silvery reflection. He saw that, behind him, was a single-eyed figure, whose eye had glowed red, his body a silhouette.

    "You cannot run from your fate," it had said in a growling voice, loud enough to shake the ground. Victor had not felt afraid, had not felt a need to defend himself. He found he could instantly trust the figure, despite not knowing who or what he was. Victor then smiled, all his worries seemingly gone, all his memories gone except for the ones where he wished he'd been dead. It took him a moment to realize that his fate was to die by his own hand, and he found happiness in that. So, opening the poorly-made scissors, he put them close to his neck, the tips on either side of his throat muscles. Then, in an instant of numbness and happiness, thanked the mysterious figure, which he then afterwards stabbed the scissors into his throat, slicing his major artery. He then closed the blades, cutting his larynx and his esophagus all at once. He choked violently on his own blood for a moment, until he fell to the ground, still and silent like a rock.

    "Your fate will always chase you," said the silhouette, fading into a white mist and dispersing in the hallway yet again, awaiting the next of its mortal acolytes so that they, too, can share in the knowledge of fate. Several floors below, another person was heard entering the glass skyscraper, which, as soon as the door had closed, and the circle had begun again.

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