Opal and Obsidian

The sky is black, like every Tuesday before it; but unlike every other Tuesday, the clock has struck nine and the sky hasn’t returned to blue.

Mal and I stand shoulder to shoulder looking through the windows of the coffee shop. We were supposed to be working, yet here we stand staring out at the obsidian void.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” she asks.

I wonder what sits behind the black. What lies beyond the void. My mind wanders, this abnormality momentarily lifting the weight of exhaustion that normally pulls at every fibre of me, the weight of the day-to-day; the unremarkable.

“Opal?”

I nod my head. “Weird,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

I look at her freshly dyed pink hair tied up all the way down to her platform boots. I push down my envy. I wish I had the strength to defy the ordinances like her.

I return to the sky, watching the streetlights push against the still black sky, doing little to illuminate the rows of towering city skyscrapers cramped together.

The familiar funny feeling draws a finger down my spine as the sparse white light glints in the windows. I always feel like something is just behind the glass, watching.

“The sky is still pitch black and here we are, working. Seems wrong,” I sigh quietly.

Mal nods, agreeing.

The chime of the bell on the door of Master Beans heralds the arrival of another customer. An old man trudges in and I’m struck first by the sheer amount of stuff haphazardly draped in his arms, and then by his peculiar attire: a tan trenchcoat and a purple fedora.

“Welcome in, what can we get for you?” Mal says, her cheery customer service voice exaggerated by her smile.

“Oh-er-I,” he mumbles, dropping the contents of his arms onto the counter. “Coffee, black.”

“Sure thing,” Mal replies, ringing him up. I finish his order mechanically and pass it out just as Mal hands him his change. The strange man mumbles his thanks, gathers his things, and walks out.

Mal shoots me a look of bewilderment and I shake my head in response when something on the counter snags my attention. A dainty gold necklace rests where the old man’s stuff had been just minutes ago. I pick it up and examine the small, heart-shaped pendant secured at the end, fascinated by the swirling pattern etched into the metal. I peer up through the shop window, but the man is gone.

“What’s that?” Mal asks, peeking over my shoulder.

“Looks like a locket,” I remark.

Mal’s eyes widen, “I’ve never seen one before. Well, not since they were banned.”

“Me neither.” I shrug.

“You keep it, I don’t want to get in any more trouble.”

I want to protest but I hear the door creak open so I quickly slip the jewelry into my jean pocket moving over to my station.

I wait for the wretched bell on the door to chime, but it never does.

…

The chilly air of the city hits me as I exit the shop. My feet find the familiar path I take every day after work. I stare up at the still black sky, the locket’s weight an uneasy reminder.

The corner of the sky spasmed in a flash. I blink, but the steady commuters push on unaware.

The buildings seem to push in and the funny feeling finds me again. But when I look for the familiar glint in the windows I am met with bright empty space. I blink and it is a window again.

“What the-” a flash of tan snags my attention at the end of the block. The trenchcoat, the old man. I tear after him as he turns the corner.

“Sir,” I yell.

I round the corner and am faced with a pillar of blinding light where a building should be. I blink and the building is back. The flapping tan coat is nearly in my reach.

“Sir wait,” I holler, my voice weak from lack of breath.

I’m only two paces away when a block of the sidewalk vanishes. I shut my eyes tight and brace for a fall when a hand grabs the back of my shirt, yanking me upright.

I’m standing next to the old man with the trenchcoat and fedora. Except he’s not old and he’s not wearing the fedora.

“Well isn’t that peculiar,” he grins at me capriciously as the sidewalk returns to normal and he drops my collar. “Your coffee is horrible by the way.”

I look at him, dumbfounded. “You are the old man that came in earlier. How do you look my age?”

“Genetics I suppose,” he says with a cheeky smile.

I wave off my confusion, “I have something of yours,” I mutter, reaching my hand into my pocket and pulling out the locket.

“Oh, that’s not mine,” he says.

“B-but it has to be,” I protest.

“Mmm, you misunderstand. That is not mine,” he replies with a wink.

I furrow my brows, then who the hell does it belong to?

He rolls his eyes, “I can see you’re slow on the uptake.”

“Well, I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“It’s quite simple really, you’re seeing what’s going on,” he says and I stare at him blankly, must he speak in riddles?

“Reality, my dear, you’re seeing what they don’t want you to see,” says the boy as he begins to walk away.

“You can’t just leave me without explaining,” I shout, “Why am I seeing these...abnormalities?”

He lets out a sigh, “ever wonder why precious metals, jewelry and things alike, were banned, say, when the sky began to be black on Tuesdays?”

My fingers press against the metal in my hand. “I didn’t think about it,” I admit.

“And that’s where people go wrong, everything is worth thinking about. Every time the clock doesn’t strike, every time the bell doesn’t ring, every time something goes slightly wrong there is a bigger reason behind it,” he explains, circling around ‘til he is standing right behind me.

“And that bigger reason would be?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Something you should figure out,” he whispers in my ear, “Ah, look at the time.” He holds out his arm in front of us, the gold watch around his wrist ticks to eleven-eleven.

The sky erupts in a flash, blinding me when I shut my eyes too late.

A heartbeat later I open my eyes to see the blue sky settled and the boy in the trenchcoat gone.

…

The sun rises as usual. No black sky. No trenchcoat boy. I take my usual route to the coffee shop and arrive nearly on time, as per usual.

I push open the door, the smell of coffee hitting me before the greeting of my co-worker:

“Wow, Opal, you look like crap.”

“Good morning to you too, Mal.”

She waves me off as I round behind the counter, tugging my apron over my head as I clock in.

“You're late,” she remarks.

“By ten minutes,” I answer.

“Eleven, actually,” she shoots back.

“What happened to your hair, I liked the pink,” I lament, noting Mal’s dark brown hair tied up in a braid.

“I’m sorry?” she looks at me, bewildered.

“Your hair, it’s back to brown.” I point as if that would alter her confusion.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s always been brown,” she says, brows drawing together.

“But it was pink yesterday,” I protest.

“Are you feeling alright, Opal?” she tilts her head and frowns at me.

I note the fog over her usually bright eyes, the unnatural calm etched into her disposition. My hand slips over my pocket, feeling the outline of the locket.

There is a bigger reason behind it.

“You know what, I don’t think I am. I think I’m going to go home, take a sick day,” I say hesitantly.

She nods approvingly, “Okay, I hope you feel better.”

I push out of the shop, sucking in a breath, I’m not sure where to go but instinctively I know I cannot stay here so I pick a random direction and I walk. My hand slides into my pocket and my fingers toy with the cool metal. The funny feeling settles in again. My eyes flick across the rows of towering buildings but only catch on a flickering sign blinking the time eleven-eleven.

Ah, look at the time.

I shake my head but my feet redirect towards the sign and--again-- eleven, this time on a street sign.

Breadcrumbs.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something isn’t quite right. Watched, I’m being watched.

Eleven on a building address.

I dare to look over my shoulder and regret it instantly; out of the windows, shapes begin morphing into beasts.

Before thinking, I run.

Eleven on an advertisement.

I urge my legs faster, lungs burning.

Eleventh street.

The sound of unearthly growls ebb at my heels.

Faster.

I round the corner and a few paces ahead I see it: metro station eleven.

In seconds I’m stumbling into the mouth of the green-cast station, shifting through the labyrinth, the rumble of trains filling my mind and suffocating my ability to think. Howling echoes under the grumble of metal. Those things have entered the tunnel behind me. I choke down my panic and pick another random path and sprint. I pass the openings of platform after platform. I don’t know where else to go so I go forward.

I approach another entrance when hands wrap around me. My back slams against the wall and I gasp for air.

I am face to face with a very wide-eyed boy wearing a very familiar trenchcoat.

“Not so slow after all,” he grins.

“What the hell are those things?” I sputter.

He brings a finger up to his lips and I shut my mouth as hoards of creatures pass by our platform. I resist the urge to peer around the corner. The growls fade and I look back to the boy, now wearing a ridiculously cheeky grin.

“Those, my dear, are creatures of the void,” he answers.

“Is that what you are?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replies. “I’m glad to see you got my message. Do you have the locket?”

“Why elevens?” I question, pulling the gold chain from my pocket and handing it to him.

“It’s a nice number,” he mutters, taking the locket from me, spinning me around, and pushing my hair over one shoulder.

“Why here?” I ask, looking around at the rounded ageing walls of the platform.

“To escape.” He clasps the locket around my neck, the cool metal settling just below my collar bones. A thrill runs down my spine.

“Escape where?” I ask, spinning back around to face him.

“Have you ever wondered what was beyond the sky, Opal? Have you ever thought of leaving this place?” He looks down at me through long lashes. “Figure out why the sky is black every Tuesday?”

I have, a thousand times I have.

“What happens if we leave?” I question, my voice nearly drowned out by an oncoming train.

“There’s only one way to find out.” He says, eyeing the platform entrance where the grumblings of the beasts were mounting.

The roar of a train breaks into the tunnel like a windstorm.

“What do you say?” he asks over the noise.

I think the same roads I walk every day. The coffee shop. Mal’s pink hair. The weight of the locket sits heavy around my neck. Finally, I look to the peculiar boy in the trenchcoat with eager eyes.

I nod my head, “Okay.”

He winks.

The tunnel begins filling with that blazing light. The air is ripped apart as we are slowly engulfed. For the first time, I notice that his eyes are black--obsidian. Then I am falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Until the world is white, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.