Catherina - Day 3

You stood in the lounge of an apartment building. People — families and strangers — huddled together in this gloomy space. The overhead lamps were working poorly, squeezing out dim, yellowish lights now and then. The surrounding walls and marble floor reflected an oily shade of white as if soaked with boiled fat.

Outside laid a night so dark that not a trace of starlight could parse through. People said that "they" were coming. "They," the unknown monsters creeping in darkness, awaited their prey to walk out of the protective light. Or they may prefer throwing themselves against the glass (bullet-proof, making it more secure) entrance for a gory feast.

This apartment was an isolated fortress, a lonely sailor in the face of frisky waves. Its prisoners — confined themselves within the radius of light, chitchatting in indistinct voices in small groups. You, being one of the youngest, went from one group to another, taking in segments of people's talk. "What can we do?" Someone asked. You received no answer, and silence followed.

To cover up the silence, or perhaps fear, people resumed talking. You couldn't bear this any longer. You walked towards the gate and leaned against that compressed layer of glass, exposing one side of you to whatever threat. Pushing your right cheek against the glass, you sensed frosty coldness grew into your head and body, cooling off your overwhelmed metabolism.

Where were the other people? Populated this construction was, with multiple units on each floor. Several thousand people inhabited this place. Thirty stories, it had.

You felt sleepy pondering over this question. You knew the residents still existed, scattering across this giant termites nest. Yet, all remained quiet— silent as the sleeping, silent as the dead. Tilting your head, you let the right corner of your forehead touch the glass. You looked up, seeing a dome of inky clouds pushing against the sky. It was impermeable to moonshine, dividing the sublunary from the ethereal.

Then you saw a shade other than black: a warm, ivory-colored brightness. Along with that light, you made out a blurry outline of another apartment building.

You pulled your eyes immediately away from that light. It must be a trap, you said to yourself, despite an inner voice persuading you otherwise. With extreme discipline, you forced yourself away from the glass door, melting back into the crowd. At least, sharing their anxiety, fear, and depression, you were not alone.

You won't regret it. The voice kept reminding you of the light. You imagined it to have the face of a ruthless swindler, with a fake smile and an ugly heart. Yet, its continued work had shaken your stand. You had always known the underlying feebleness of the crowd. What chance do these people stand against "they"? Step by step, you inched away from that surficial warmness.

Go on. The voice urged thus. This time, you imagined it to have a womanly face, which reminded you of your kindergarten teacher who had always sung sweet lullabies. You heard yourself say, "I will go."

You opened the gate. Few around you came forward, while more stayed further behind with eyes soaked in fear. "I will be fine, and I must go." Diving into the darkness, you jumped off the stairs, turned your body leftward before your whole sole touches the ground. A vague impression: you had no way back.

Rain fell as bullets, trying to break your defense for something awaiting. You felt heavy with wetness and yet light as a leaf, pushing forward in this pool of ink like a swordfish. The light wasn't far off, be it in relative or absolute terms because you had broken into the building before you concerned over the possible "they."

You asked yourself why the gate was open. Now, your brain finally caught up with your body, though your body seemed to have its freewill once inside this building. You walked, in a very determined way, past the lounge into a corridor. A door appeared on your left. Segments of the wall being frosted glass, you saw lights coming out.

Knock, knock. The door opened, and you entered a meeting room with a large black oval table in the middle, chairs, and a small cupboard with drawers beside a whiteboard. Several people decorated the room. You saw one man with waxed mustache sitting on the table, legs on a chair; a brunette girl on your right, stretching her hand towards you; a teenage boy with moss green vest leaning against the back of a chair, the table separated him from you. Many were here, hiding their faces. These people wore clothes with the same shade of moss green, implying that it was uniform they wore.

"Hello, and welcome." The young girl greeted you, producing sounds while moving her lips. Tautological description, wasn't it? No, her lips were in a way that you knew she wasn't talking — at least not producing sounds that you may understand. She resembled those people in the movies, who, upon entering a different dimension, shouted with such painful efforts but even millimeters away, others ignored them. From her cherry lips, thoughts flew into your brain, translating themselves into words.

With information flooded into you, you understood that these people belonged to a secret society (reminding you of the Order of Phoenix), and you will become their ally. An ally, not a member. The girl allowed you to digest for a while and gestured you to join them. But with so full of thoughts, naturally, you asked the vital question: where is the washroom?

She informed you to turn right, walk straight, and take an escalator — the washroom being downstairs. You okay with going yourself? You said yes, and you went.

At the end of the corridor, you came to a grand hall, the center of which was hollow to accommodate two adjacent escalators. You did not move ahead, for a thick white fog had risen from that deepness, threads of it touching your feet. Somewhere divine was underneath. Not anthropomorphic divinity per se, but a weird sense of sacredness it was. Intuitively, you believed that the fog marked a domain for gods, which you were to infringe.

You backed up and lingered around the entrance, where stood a few exhibition boards. You walked up to one of them and read.

The board was titled "Introduction." It gave a brief overview of an ancient battle and presented a map that showed the army's route. You often have no patience for such introductions; instead, you skim through them and proceed to the exhibition shelves with bronze knives and pieces of rusty armors. Here had no such shelves, and thus you went through the board line by line.

It was about a battle that happened a few thousands of years ago against the "they," or "demons" as your ancestors called them. A bloody war: eight largest tribes in the West united against waves of demons coming out of the desert. Your city was far from any deserts, you thought.

Suddenly, you felt someone watching you, sending a shiver upon your spine. You looked up; a man stood behind you, reading. The man had long, silvery hair, despite looking only middle-aged. He wore a silver embroidered moss-green robe, based on which you suspected him of being a member of the society.

"I am a soldier," the man spoke with a hoarse voice as if he had coughed his throat split. Now you saw traces of military service from his way of standing and talking. "I had been at this battle," said he.

You nodded your head idiotically, trusting him fully. Why won't you? You considered him belonging to the divine, as suggested by the whiteness lingering by his side.

Turning back to have another look at the exhibition board, you found yourself unable to read the words - they became blurred. When you were to ask the man for help, you found him gone - no, you could still sense him. Seeing through the silvery gloom, you saw him descending on the escalator you came to take.

A shaft of sunlight through the seam between curtains woke you up. Despite a fast passing trace of doubt that it was a lure from the rainy night, you were glad to breathe brightness again.

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