That Close of Their Eyes

If you closed your eyes tight enough in the heat of the day, in the midst of summer, you could see a swirling void of turquoise and green and yellow; flashes of foreignness and mesmerizing foliage. Perhaps it would come at the front of that black canvas, or maybe in the distant reaches of your mind – he certainly wouldn’t know – but that’s what happened. He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew this, how he could sporadically see into the minds of the people below, but he knew now.

Yes, vibrantly colored images, deep beyond recognition. The man knew what these were: glimpses into his area, the area reached less than Heaven or Hell.

Technically, he wasn’t a man…per say. He was seventeen, bordering on the age claimed as ‘adulthood’. Still, he felt as old as time itself, not having aged a day since he arrived.

He didn’t know how he got here, though. No, he knew he had just ended up in this place at one point – originally, he was from somewhere, somewhere unnamed. He had a life before. Was it a life? Where? When? The place he now dwelled in had no time or distance, it was just a mass of space – or possibly something different. He couldn’t know.

Fortunately, however, he felt as though this plane were incapable of delivering recognition to some of his mental capabilities: like frustration or boredom, which was especially useful since it was just a plane. Really, some unnamed force had bestowed him with nothing, nothing but this view of both the dead above and left, and Earth to the bottom.

In fact, he theorized something. His world, certainly illuminated and grasping and made of this strange turquoise concoction, was narrow, flexing through the invisible distance as though bent against two ellipses. The worlds next to him, like marbles: round, three dimensional, perfect as glass. And thus he assumed: he was in between.

In between.

There was always a pressing feeling, somewhere in this mysterious realm, though. It was a weed. It had grown, as time passed in the truly human world. It forced itself against his sides sometimes, pushing like some sightless weight on the strings of his soul.

Over time, he wondered if he originated on Earth.

Then, he wondered if he could go back, or just visit, or something.

Those were dangerous thoughts.