Part II: The Means [I]

“At first, the disturbance was no more than a slight quiver, a prickling of a hair upon the back of all things. Before we could pin point the source of the disturbance, what was once a shiver became a violent spasm, leaving only a contorted image of what was once the natural order.”

“What was the disturbance?”

“An unnatural creation, bits and pieces collecting to become a hybrid form.”

“Why are you here?”

The Messenger was silent for a moment. “Imagine for a moment that all things are contained within a sphere. All moments that will ever be and all moments that have ever been are contained within this sphere. The disturbance originated at the base of the first world, where all things within the sphere once came. Because of this, certain… irrevocable alterations have been made. The disturbance has in turn created your world and several others like it.”

“But why are you here?”

“This hybrid has left a sort of signature. It has been determined that its explosive origin occurs within this post-schismatic plain.”

“But why are you here?”

“To tell you anymore would cause another disturbance. Its impressions would be shallow, easily fixed, however, it would be detrimental to leave it unguarded, and I simply do not have the time, nor do I have the energy to focus my time upon it.” The Messenger’s eyes lowered, not in guilt but because he lacked the strength to keep them open. “I can tell you only what you have been told.”

“Alright then… what is the bridge?”

“It is a path by which the means may overcome their obstacles.”

“Stop talking like that. Just tell me what you mean.”

“You would like clarification?”

“It would be nice.”

“The bridge is a person or an entity, a path over which every element leading up to a particular event must cross or pass.”

“I’m the bridge?”

“Correct.”

Rhamiel placed his elbows upon the dining room table. The smell of his chilling coffee had eluded him until this moment, and he released a great sigh. “I don’t understand any of this… Sure you don’t want any? I can heat up the pot.”

“No. This body requires little sustenance. You have fed me quite well for the time.”

Silence again. The house creaked and moaned around them, every breeze that blew across the outside walls another monster, another reason to fight. Rhamiel was trying to decide if the stiffness in the Messenger’s shoulders was natural, or if he was stressed, or afraid. It would have been some relief…

“You weren’t always human.”

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am human. As of now, I am comprised of the same basic parts and elements and hold the same limitations of any of your kind. I believe you mean to ask me what I was originally.”

“What were you originally?”

“We have never found it a necessity to give ourselves a name.”

“So, what do I call you?”

“I am a Messenger. That title will suffice for now. People…” He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, bleary and gray, tracing the lines of dirt. “People are strange. You speak as though a name is required to be recognized. Human life asks that each object have a set identity. You are yourself. I am myself.” The voice was soft, fading in and out. “The essential string that once bound the objects of the sphere is coming undone. Interference. Is this who you have evolved into? How many days?”

“How many days are left before the adhesive fails?”


His body began to tilt, The Messenger’s heavy head lolling as though it were a bowling ball rather than a skull, and Rhamiel snapped up from his chair and steadied the man’s body with his hands. “You need to sleep. Your body still needs to recuperate.”

“Your suggestions are well-intended… but you see, I am human too and now,” The Messenger paused, looking upward with a hard, indecipherable stare. “Now, I have far too much on my mind to rest.” They exchanged glances and it was Rhamiel who finally turned away, allowing his hands to slip from The Messenger’s cold skin. “It is almost dusk. Do not concern yourself with my welfare- I will sleep.”

And with that, Rhamiel was dismissed. He felt his father in The Messenger. He felt his mother, and authority, and power. He felt many things, and as he lay down to sleep, as the sun peeked in through the windows above his bed, he could not help thinking that if there was something on the Messenger’s mind, it would be for the common good to have it on his mind as well.