The Back of an Incomplete Alchemist

By the Gods, I am an abomination.

Frozen in time, eyes filling veins. This must be what insanity is like. A void so impossible, escape is but a reverie.

A reverie of mania.

Inside this armoured cage, my soul cries out. It is blocked by the souls louder than I, more sorrowful than I. I am nothing but madness, a folly, a torrid iron to clasp without being given a choice. A corpse, left to rust down underneath the bones of those I have blundered in my service to.

I continue to question if I am real anymore. Existence drips down slowly to a figment the more the spell of time passes.

Oracle, please hear my dream.

Do not exonerate me with the employ of your one, last key.

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During our daily rounds today, I found a key.

I mean, at least that’s what I think it is. I polished it up pretty good if I do say so myself, with all the bird shit encased around it.

Well, at the very least it smelled like bird shit.

Of course, Frankie didn't miss the chance to chastise me the whole way back to camp about it. Frankie is always calling me a damn hoarder.

“You keep finding trash instead of food,” he says, picking at a new scab.

This time though, I think I might have found something really valuable, worth something good enough to trade with the next camp we cross paths with.

“Let me see it for a sec,” he asks.

I held out my hand for him to take it, but instead he just stared for the longest while. His face slowly spread into a smile. A very wry, crooked smile I might add.

“That thing looks weird. You’re gonna get alien tetanus.”

“Shut up. It’s a super awesome-looking key, dude.” I put it in my backpack, away from his judgy eyes.

Although, I couldn’t completely deny what he said about it being weird. The length was abnormally long for a key, probably around the size of two of my hunting knives put together. Still, it had a real nice sheen to it once I spruced it up. And etched into it were these weird dark carvings, wavy and circular. Not to mention the ridges. Extra spiky.

Frankie picks up a rock and skips it across the river. It taps the water once, twice, before submerging. He howls and pumps up a fist at the orange cloud-flecked sky, an expression on his face highlighting the worst of his qualities. His cockiness fills the air everywhere we go.

I tease him. “You’re just mad because it’s another thing I could use to fit into your tooth gap when you sleep at night.”

He jerks his face back at me. “You’ll lose a finger, Lonnie. Don’t you dare put that archaic torture device anywhere near me.”

Other than scavenging, my favourite pastime is pissing off Frankie. He never wakes up during my pranks. He usually breaks into my tent to chuck whatever I put in there first thing in the morning. I regret nothing. Sometimes it’s nice to see an expression on his face other than inane smugness.

Frankie stiffens as I walk up to him and pat him on the back. Hard. ‘I’m gonna stick to calling it a key.” Never do I tire of watching him furrow his brow. Matching my intensity he pats me back on the shoulder before breaking into a dash.

“Run, garbage girl! You’re gonna miss the campfire if you can’t keep up!” he screeches, every bird in every tree flying serpentine, fastening their wings to beat away from his noise.

Holding the shoulder where he tagged me, I look back at the river and breathe a heavy sigh. On the other side of the shallow river we waded across lies what's left of Brookback Park. Beyond that, the debris of houses and homes long gone. Finally, if you take a sharp left at the demolished 44th Street, is the blackened Winky Mart. Underneath all the broken glass, rubble and bird dookie, of course.

We’ve moved around alot, but I never thought we’d come back to my hometown.

Memories from here are still pretty fresh for me. Going to the mart with my mom and baby brother, the loud intercom playing pop music, the buzzing hums of conversations all around.

It just...doesn’t feel like yesterday. These recollections never do.

I dig my heels into the muddy leaves and grass, frustrated, before embarking back to the campsite. In my backpack, the key rattled loudly as I ran. Fatigue for this life is washing over me again.

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Old Abraham Ed is recounting his stories again. He does it every week. He’s a sleepy solemn man, the head and the oldest of our little conglomerate of people. I usually try to squirm my way of his recollections of the good ol’ days, but for an old man he’s pretty sharp. Somehow he always manages to find me, and I always end up sitting on a musty bit of timber while he tells drunken tales. He’s hard to say no to. When you look into his eyes, it’s like gazing at a drowsy, watery-eyed puppy. Saying no feels impossible.

And so I find myself sitting on the wooden perches among 20 others. All of us are exasperated, but can’t find it in our hearts to turn down the old man.

Ed sits down with a huff, rolling his right shoulders to prep himself before he preaches.

Walking down to the logs I catch Frankie picking at another fresh scab on his arm. The skin where he’s been scratching looks almost as red hot as the bonfire.

I grab the guilty hand away from him. There’s a pause as he stares at our hands joined. He pulls away hastily, rolling down the arm sleeves of his hoodie.

“It’s just a nervous habit.” He mutters under his breath, face downcast. When he acts like this, it’s almost impossible to believe we’re the same age.

“Yeah, I know, but you’re gonna give yourself an infection.”

“I don’t need you to---”

“Welcome survivors of the world! Welcome one and all!” Ed starts his sermon, wheezing between wasted giggles. Frankie bits his lip, seemingly wanting to continue what he had to say, but doesn’t. He turns from me and puts his gaze on Ed instead.

Usually I try to listen out of respect, but I find myself staring at the key I found, blocking out his voice. There’s no truth to what Ed says anyways.

It would be more accurate to call us the opposers.

After all, we decided to stay here in spite of everything.

It all started five years ago. 5 days away from my 15th birthday. Huge, winding metallic staircases started appearing in the sky. Covered in clunking gears, they shifted and turned intricately as they moved through the sky. To this day, we still aren’t sure what they are. Many believe they’re aliens, but it’s not like that really matters.

What’s more pressing to me is knowing why we feel all this forceful need to walk into the spotlight that descends from them.

We all feel it. We don’t know why.

In the present-day era, we are always moving. The staircases during the day are always dim, but every few nights they break into an inferno. The top of all of them boast a bright neon light, and a boisterous frantic thunder as they move around. A spotlight comes down, and everything in its path is destroyed. So we move. We never stop moving.

That’s why there’s never anything to rebuild around here.

All the people who marched forward, and heeded the mysterious force, are lost to history. No one knows what exactly happened to them, but from what we’ve seen they just disappear into the light.

Hell, maybe they’re all fine, laughing down at us in that posh floating contraption for not joining them...All I know is that I'll probably never be joining them, not until I know the truth behind this nightmare.

I rest my hand on Frankie's shoulder and breathe a deep, heavy sigh for the second time today.

“I can’t listen to this tonight. I’m off to bed.” I whisper.

I feel so tired.

Frankie is still for a bit before he smirks. “...Alright. But I better not find anything in my mouth in the morning.”

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I feel a crack resounding deep in my circuitry. I hear you calling. I steel my resolve now in this dirt. I am coming for you to free me. I wonder, will you free me?

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I woke up at 3:30 am. I’m not even sure how I know the time. My watch has been broken for the last four months. Still, I'm certain. I can feel myself sitting up, moving. I can feel myself gripping the key in my hand for dear life. The teeth are pinching my skin, and I can feel the cold blood running out of my clenched fist. It’s a dank sour smell in my nose, staining my tongue.

I'm sweating like a horse, my feet scrambling up forcefully from the dirt. I can't fight it. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even try to fight it. My fear is palpable. Even so my will is non-existent.

I can hear the sounds of a million denizens trying to claw their way out of my body, unable to get out. In exchange, I can hear my own voice growing quieter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a bright neon green light emitting from my fist.

My consciousness would have been lost had Frankie not ripped open my tent in that very second. His face is flush red, his chest pushing up and pulling down. In and out. I try to focus on him in my feverish haze, but there is something behind him.

“Lonnie! Oh thank fuck you’re up. We gotta get going, the staircases are moving again. Lonnie?”

Behind him was a metal man. No skin, no hair. Simply an expressionless man whose skin was gleaming silver in the moonlight. Before Frankie could even turn, the metal man flung his hand towards Frankie’s neck and threw him deep into the night.

I tried to scream. I finally could feel my body straining to scream, my muscles trying to pull, popping. My efforts were futile. I stood there as expressionless as him, our eyes locked tight.

My body exited the tent, wobbling as it fought me. The tin-can backed away slowly, almost timidly.

“Hello, my little alchemist.” The sound coming from my lips was foreign to me, disconnected from my body. “Bear your back, Aelius.”

The metal man turned around and kneeled, showing me his back. In its center was a heart-shaped locket, its carvings and etchings identical to the key.

“Your work is far from complete,” I growled.

“Oracle...I beg of you. I have done all I can for these people, I can't, I can't...please, let me depart.” He is sobbing weakly, his gaze tiled back towards me. In the distance, the looming staircase was quickly approaching.

“Aelius. You weak, spiteful child. Look how the earth has fallen under your watch. You have yet to initiate true change.”

“NO! PLEASE!” he cowers, rising to his feet.

I grab at the metal man and push him down. He is extremely weak under my firm grasp.

“No. We shall begin again. And hopefully, this time you will do as you’re intended.” My hand loosened its grip on the key, swiftly plunging it into the locket.

There was a loud cry, and an atomic explosion of light. And right then and there, the staircase that had always sailed in our vicinity had fallen into a nearby forest. My senses jumped back with a kick, and I regained control of my body.

Only to feel weak, and pass out.

Exhaustion stakes its goddamn claim on me for the third time today.