Cobblestone

There was once a time where certain unexplainable events in the world eluded the minds of even the cleverest of men; events that have been erased by the practice of modern sciences. What if these scientific claims were no more than biased observations? What if something unexplainable was just something unexplainable? What if I was to write a story right now, and had the whole world believe it to be true? What If the entire world believed something, and one man proved it to be false? Do his finds make any difference? If you are someone who desperately wants to believe, then please read ahead, and for a few seconds feel as if for once in your life, some questions just do not have answers and that at the center of such an idea, there is order to be found. But if you cannot numb yourself to the possibility that nothing is set in stone, and believe that everything in life will always have an explanation, then please enjoy my story as a work of fiction, to pass the time with, and don’t let the concept bother you any further.

What if it were the year 1852 in London, and a cloudy night sky cast a shadow over the city? The city streets overflow with garbage, allowing a putrid smell to freely run down the largest road to the smallest alley. A warm summer breeze picks up the scent, and carries it to a bridge in a quiet part of town. Under the bridge, the soft inhale and exhale of a person breathing is heard inside the tunnel, but the absent moonlight presents no body. The people inside this city have grown used to the smell, and this man is no exception to the rule. Even if the scent could writhe through the cracks of the wall he’s put up, he is only partially conscious of the present. Down on his luck, no job, a sick child, and a wife who blames their condition on him, he stares off into space, running through scenarios of how this night will turn up. It’s surprising, the places you can go when you’re at the end of your rope. The man is still breathing softly, not moving a muscle, when his ears finally pick up a noise; the soft rapt of shoes on cobblestone.

Walking on the cobblestone road, a small girl whistles a slow song that grows somber as it creeps along the cobblestone path on an echo. The young girl has on a blue dress, with a black velvet cloak with the hood drawn up. In the dim light from a streetlamp, we can see brown curls peeking out from under the hood. This is surely a strange sight to see, this young girl slowly walking through a dangerous part of town at night, with nothing more than a small cloak and a handful of balloons. And how could such a small girl whistle something so dreary? The edge of the light spilling from the nearest streetlamp stops abruptly right before reaching the dark tunnel under the bridge. The young girl is nearing the bridge now, and as she arrives at the edge of the light, a man steps into view. Light dances on steel as quivering hands try to steady a knife.

With the knife rattling in his hands, the man grabs the young girl and pulls her under the bridge; wide eyes gleaming in the light before they vanish into the dark. The man did not want to involve a child into his plans, but her dress and cloak were expertly sewn, and spoke of wealth. The young girl also held herself with an air of confidence seen by someone whose parents' money have hidden her from the dangers of the world. He knew if he didn’t try, he might not be able to feed his family, but the conviction he tried to plaster on his face was as wavering as his hands. "Hand me all the money you have, or I will have to kill you”. Eyes’ adapting to the lack of light, the girl turns towards the man and says “I am sorry, I do not have any money or food, but I don’t plan on dying tonight.” A frown on his face accompanies a now steady grip. “I don’t know who you think you are little girl, but understand that I will kill you if I have to”. “You misunderstand my intentions sir, what I meant to say was that I may not have any money, but I can offer you something better than money. I can offer you whatever your heart desires.”

Taking a step back, the man hesitantly waits for the girl to laugh, but when the laughter doesn’t come, he speaks up anyway. “What… what are you going on about girl?” Pulling a balloon in front of her, she holds it up to him, and says “inside of these balloons, are all different lives you can lead. Inside of these balloons are the key to your happiness.” Roaring his head back in laughter, the man crouches down on to his knees and takes a balloon into his hand. The effects of his laughter are still subtly plastered to his face. Bringing a balloon to his face, he mockingly looks into the balloon, and his smile slides right off of his face.

Opening his eyes, the man sits straight up, and looks around incredulously. He is lying on a massive bed, and through a window, dim light pours into the room. Scanning the walls for a door, he stands up, and slowly walks out into the rest of the strange building. A woman stands in the kitchen, baking a cake. As he enters the room, she turns around and says “It’s about time you woke up! We would have celebrated your birthday without you!” Placing a hand to his head, he shakes his head a little and says “Where… where am I? Who am I?” Turning around with a smile, the woman slowly puts on a thoughtful frown. “I thought we talked about you drinking after work my love. Oh well, you’re Judge Richard Blake of course. You’re the most well known judge of the land, and the loving father of our three healthy children.” With a smile she turns back to what she was doing, and left him standing there. Looking around the house, he just began to register what it was he saw. Gilded tables and stairwells everywhere, fine art adorning the walls, and elaborate tapestry on the hard wood floors. “This is… more money than I have ever seen, and it’s mine?” he asked to himself. “Papa, who are you talking to?” Turning around, he knew that voice. In front of him was his child Edwin, but he wasn’t sick anymore. “No one my son, just talking. Why don’t you go outside and play for the day?” “Really papa, thank you!” the boy yelled; giving him a hug, the son ran down the halls, and burst out the front door. While walking along the house, he sees a shimmering mirror inside one of the rooms, and a voice starts to drone in his head. “You can continue to other lives, and see what else it is your heart desires. You can always come back if you are not happy with the others.” Hesitantly, the man walks towards the mirror. “Oh well, If I can come back, then I have nothing to lose.” He steps into the mirror.

Opening his eyes, he now finds himself in a smaller room with a canopy bed. He himself is wearing a robe, and can see clothes tossed all over the floor of the room by dim candlelight. Rising to get up, he feels sudden movement all around him. Sitting up and looking down, he sees six of the most gorgeous women in the world sleepily looking up at him. “Come back to bed Will” a raven haired woman yawned. “Yeah, don’t get up” a blond on his other side softly spoke before falling back to sleep. Face changing from a face splitting grin, to a look of disbelief, he stands up, and walks over to a side table with a water basin, and washes his face. “There’s just no way this can possibly be true” he says to himself. Scanning the room again, he sees that the room he lives in is of modest condition. He is not rich, but he is not poor. Unfortunately, his previous world’s house made his current situation not quite up to the taste he has grown to like, but at the same time, he was entranced by these women who he had somehow seduced. With the thoughts still rolling over in his head, he turns and sees another mirror at the end of his bed. The words drone again. Without thinking about it, he steps into the mirror.

Fame, money, power, sex, knowledge; world by world flew by, each with its own tantalizing promise of something any man would kill for, but there was always something missing. A million names, faces, places, and situations, all crowding in on each other. As usual, a mirror shines in front of him as he steps down from the balcony with a crown in hand, and he walks through it. He finds himself back under the bridge with the little girl standing in front of him. “You must choose” she says. “Which of the lives do you wish to live in?” Panic boldly shows itself on his face. Slowly, the man’s smile grows, and he has a wide eyed look on his face. “All!” the man howls. “I want it all; give me money, and women, power and knowledge, fame and health, arrogance and modesty. Give me everything, please, end this life for me and give me everything!” Smiling, the girl peers up at the man. Knowing all along that this would happen, she slowly removes her hood, and the man's face changes to one of horror. Her face is a pale white, not skin, but looking as if made of plaster. Black lens like that of a camera show on her face where eyes should be. Looking up at him, she opens her mouth, and a reflective substance shows his distorted reflection to him. Sounding as though underwater, her strange voice rises and lowers in pitches to his ears as she speaks to him. “If your life is that terrible, step into the last doorway, and all of your problems will be solved” she says. A hand rises to her face, and sticking her fingers into her mouth, she slowly tears off her strange pale jaw. The reflective silver liquid now pours down her chest, and starts to take the shape of a wavering doorway.

“Enter, before it is too late.” She warns him with that strange voice. It takes less than a second for him to snap out of his confusion and step through the doorway. When he opens his eyes, he is standing in what could only be described as a white plane. Except for the ground his feet where on, no other objects existed. Looking around in confusion, he begins to ask her what the meaning of this is, when suddenly he feels pain as some invisible hand grips his body. Screaming, he can feel a million hands tearing something unseen out of him. It’s only moments before everything fades to black.

Pushing hands up to the source of the liquid to lessen the flow, she picks up her jaw, and replaces it, making the doorway disappear, and the liquid stop running down her chest. Reaching into her dress pockets, she pulls out a balloon, and blows it up. She stares at it for a second, and then blows a final breath in, a silver smoke like substance entering the balloon. She smiles as the balloon forms a face, and a look of agony appears as the mouth silently screams. Pulling a needle out of her cloak, she pops the balloons, and lets the pieces fall to the ground. A quiet sob is heard for a second before everything is quiet again. Stepping out from under the bridge into the light of the next streetlamp, she sets off down the cobblestone path, and starts to softly chuckle to herself. Quickly growing louder and louder. She now has a shrieking laugh, and disappears into the distance. The streetlights start to blow out behind her as the laughter fades; and the soft rapt of shoes on cobblestone melt into the sleeping city.