Un/Necessary Illusions of Life

I recently participated in a writing battle. I did not win, but I did get an honorable mention which I also think is pretty cool, especially for one of my first contests. Here's the story I wrote.

Moonlight glints on the knife blade, the only illumination in her apartment. It sits in the center of a bare wooden table, inches from her hands. Roisheen, Ro for short, stares dully at the blade. Next to the knife, unseen, is a business card printed on thick cardstock. On the front, it says,

The Wise Man on the Mountain

Healer of All Ills

And on the back,

Bring this to the top of any mountain,

Behold the power of the wise man.

It seems too good to be true. It seems too impossible to be true.

The card had appeared on her nightstand one week ago inside a small pine box. She had thrown both away. Then the mysterious box had appeared on her kitchen counter; that time, there had been simple carvings in the pinewood. She had thrown them away again. When the box had appeared amidst her own personal drugstore on the bathroom counter, this time ornately carved and red lacquered, she’d kept them, believing improbably in the power of threes.

Now the card taunts her. One last thing left untried. If Ro doesn’t try everything before succumbing to her need to die, what will become of her soul? If she has tried everything, then it could be argued—by her—that taking her own life is justified.

She sits at the table all night, staring at the blade in the dark, staring at the spot where she knows the card is but cannot see it, mindlessly opening and closing the box lid. When the sun shines the next morning, she still sits there, scratchy-eyed.

Rising, she picks up the card and places it inside the box, the box goes into her purse and her purse goes onto her shoulder. She walks outside in three-day-old sweats, a tank top, flip-flops. Her apartment is located downtown, above the cheap buffet that uses so much grease, that she can’t touch her own walls without needing a napkin afterward.

It’s easy to get on a bus that takes her to the mountain, to pull on the cord for her stop, to step outside and begin the ascent.

It’s do or die, now. Either this card fixes something, or she dies.

At the top of the craggy monstrosity, she finds a simple pine door. No walls, no roof, just a door and a tan doormat that says, “Hi, I’m Mat.” She squares her shoulders and stomps over, swinging it wide open. Ro doesn’t know whether to be surprised when the open door reveals a waiting room. She peers around the doorjamb and sees only open skies, then looks back through the open doorway. Nothing left to lose, she walks inside.

An older woman sits behind the reception desk, looking over her tortoise-shell glasses at Ro. “You brought the card?”

Ro nods.

“Take a seat and the Doctor will be with you shortly.”

Ro sits.

Five minutes later, the door opens. The receptionist points wordlessly at the doorway. Ro enters.

She finds… a tiny, green man smiling widely at her. An alien. A lime green version of E.T.

Ro screams.

E.T. cocks its head and asks, its voice distinctly masculine, “What is wrong?”

“Um—you’re an alien?”

E.T. shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

Ro nods. “Yes, you are. I’m willing to accept the magical box and the physics-defying door, but I will not be lied to.”

E.T. steeples his hands. “This is unexpected.”

“What?!”

“You shouldn’t be able to see my true form.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I should look like a normal human.”

“You don’t.”

“Well, regardless. You came here for a reason. What can I cure you of?”

Ro folds her arms and looks at her feet. “I’m depressed.”

E.T. doesn’t respond.

She flails her arms in desperation. “Like, really depressed. I’ve tried everything—every medication, therapy, ECT, TMS, all the acronyms. Nothing helps.”

E.T. spreads out his hands. “Give me your head.”

Ro kneels and lets him grasp her head with his bony fingers. His right thumb presses hard down on the middle of her forehead, two thumbs-width above the bridge of her nose.

“Ow!” She pulls back, pressing at the sore spot. It felt like he’d stabbed her in the center of her brain.

“Do you often see through people’s lies?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess?”

“You have brain cancer.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”

 “That was a test, obviously. I’m an excellent liar. You, however, have an unnaturally well-developed pineal gland.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Ever hear of a third eye? It’s like that. You can see through illusions, lies, fabrications...”

“Yes, I know what a lie is. Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“It can be. In your case…” He shrugs. “Do you think it’s a good thing?”

Ro scans her memories like a Rolodex, scanning all the lies she’s seen through but wishes she hadn’t. “No.”

He shrugs again.

“What can you do?”

“You could learn to live with it, to appreciate its gifts.”

She stares coldly at him.

“Alternatively, I could remove it.”

“Would that… Have negative effects?”

“You’d never be able to see through another lie.”

Ro2 bites her thumbnail. “No in-between?”

“Not that would last. I could damage it, but it would heal.”

“Will it… hurt?”

He nods. “You must be awake and alert for me to access it. All I can offer is temporary paralysis.”

Memories flood her, unbidden: her first boyfriend, her last boyfriend, and all the ones in between; in response to her declaration, responding with their own. But Ro had seen their eyes, seen their truths, and been unable to stay with them. “I consent.”

Epilogue

One year later, almost to the day, Ro stands outside the door on the mountain again, then steps inside. When the Doctor’s door opens, she doesn’t hesitate. The tall white man turns to look at her, and before he can say a word, she says, “I want it back.”