Ghostwriter

...

What do you remember about refugia?
You should know a great deal, there were so many questions you had to answer to get that beacon to go off, remember?
Remember the trees, the smell of pine in the air?
The language of refugia, the cultures, the history?
The names, the countries the plants and animals.
Oh, those lovely little furry animals, what were they called?
Oh yes, rabooli!
Fuzzy little things, with their tiny little eyes.
Remember how high they could jump?
How they lived in nests tucked away among the roots of trees?
Remember those flowers, oh how the rabooli loved those flowers.
Such a lovely shade of green.

I

Oh, can't forget though.
How those flowers would change colors with the season.
(Of which there were five, but you knew that already.)
Such a vibrant parade of colors.
Green on the first, gold the second. Violet the third and chartreuse the fourth.
And for the fifth season of but one day, a full rainbow of color to delight the eyes.
Do you remember what it was like every fifth day of the month, your brothers and sisters gathering in the chapels to offer praise to their deity?
What was its name, oh I can't remember.
But you do, you have to remember.
Or how the tribunal would natter away on the screens, bickering over the specifics of rules older than they?
Remember the schools, oh how tired and utterly dull they were, the hours passing like sand in an hourglass.
It wasn't like they taught much of value either, no they were too busy indoctrinating youth to fit nicely into their ordered society.
Surely this rings a bell, doesn't it Belfry? No?

d-d--hh--

Alright, how about the seventy-two-hundred flowers and how each one held a special meaning under different circumstances?
You wouldn't remember all of them, but you learned a few. Would be difficult not to, with how much you loved that book.
Dustclove to be hung when tired, rosepetals to relax, gravevine when tense or irritable, oh and your favorite: The crisp tri-gold petalled rose.
Such beautiful shades of gold, no two petals were the same.
No matter how hard you tried, you could never find one to the contrary, much less the rare mono-gold petalled rose.
The gardens, hah. You were never allowed in the gardens, but the gardener was a kind soul who never told anyone about the youths sneaking in through some loose bricks behind the everglass bushes.
Nasty, horrible shrubs those were. Yet, how they sparkled in the light.
Always seemed brighter in the days after someone was scratched by one.


...

Tell me Belfry, surely you remember something? Anything? Anything at all of this world you knew so well, surely you do!
All those questions you had to answer to trigger that beacon, to let Refugia know you were there!
A name, a scrap, a smidgen or even the teeny-tiniest tidbit of a memory?
No worries, no worries. Let's keep going, shall we?
How about the twin suns, how astronomers thought it a great find when they found out how refugia orbits around them.
A circle around one, launching into the orbit of the other.
A year was how long it took for Refugia to circle one star, the new year beginning as Refugia entered the other stars orbit.
They were amazed, in full, wondrous awe at how improbable the system was.
It was certainly one for the history books, heck it was enough for several!

I...

Still nothing? Tsk.
How about a bit of geology then, eh?
Some rocky facts to get that brain matter of yours working.
Refugia's industrial revolution,
(the first one, before Refugia got a tiny bit too close to one of the suns and woops, there go the crops time to fall back to anarchy for a couple centuries)
,was triggered by the discovery of this strange, greasey substance in one of the largest quarries of the time.
Turns out the stuff burned real good, making a great deal of light without poluting the air all that much.

R-Refugia is r-real.

Don't worry too much if you don't. That beacon was only the biggest turning point of your entire life.
Just, please answer the question Belfry.
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
Do. You. Remember?

I have to...

I...

...p-please... p-please. Please. P-Please.

...

...

There's n-nothing. I can't... c-can't... n-not a single... I don't remember anything. I know I m-must've said s-so much into that thing a-and it's just... g-gone. Why d-did it make me tear up wh-when I said it? Why d-did I care so much i-if it was never there? Why is it just... b-blank? Who t-took it?

Was it e-ever even there?

I just... w-want...

I just want this to end.

Please make it end.

Please make it end.

Please end.

She slumps out of the cockpit. I help her down gently, and as I stand next to her, for a moment I feel the intense lucidity of somebody who has seen something he intensely regrets.

Thank you for this, I/O. Without you, I fear she may have been lost entirely. All of you did very good work.

...

She is sat on this rooftop beside me, barely breathing. The air must be too humid.

"I think I'd like to go back on something I said, in retrospect," I explain, soft as a flower. "I may have given you a false impression, and this crisis you're experiencing went... too far."

Belfry fades into a Refugian form. Comfort, maybe. A shield to block out truth, same as it always was. Character trait. I slide over the slightly battered nickel writer with her nickel inside-- and turn on the viewfinder to show her. Amidst tears, her eyes focus. "I know that what I said was that your universe was perfectly real, but... well, I think that's something I tell myself, and the ghosts I create, to try and ease their mind. Clearly, in your case, it has done the opposite, so I will tell you the truth instead."

The viewfinder tracks Belfry at her moment of triumph, having saved millions of lives. I turn a dial, and Belfry has grown old; sick; dead. In an instant, a lifetime flashes by. So, too, do the lifetimes of every single person she knows, every plant, every rock withering away. I speed up until the planets collapse in on themselves and the species die and the universe grows cold, dead, empty.

Nothing.

"Your old universe is pointless, Belfry."

She cries out suddenly, like something has been taken from her.

"Meaningless. Worthless. We have too much consciousness here as it is. You think we want more, just lying around?"

Weak body trembles. Ghosts stop trembling as they age.

"You weren't anything in there. Look, look in the distance-- look how big this place is."

I retrieve her nickel from the machine. Its smallness is overwhelming.

"This place where we inhabit galaxies and will last beyond eternities."

She holds her face, and I rip her hands from her eyes.

"This place where you, Belfry, will not die of old age or sickness like you would have without me."

The nickel shimmers. I hum softly to myself, and place it on the ledge of the rooftop on its side.

"And compare all that to this coin which holds the tiniest, most insignificant speck."

She realizes what's going to happen. I hear her scream.

With no difficulty at all, I bend the nickel in half over the concrete rooftop.
In one singular, beautiful moment, all is dust within.

...

...

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