TheNeverPages Serialisation
Series 6, Episode 4

TheNeverPages - Series 6, Episode 4

And so here we are, watching Angeline and Brekker walk back into the NeverRealm. After the Tumour Baby birthed itself, we all stood up, our meeting at an end. Angeline looked at me, almost awake, almost asleep and with one of her eyes holding recognition for me and for what we had been through. There was definite pain there and I hoped that it was pain for Tesla and not for herself. I could not be sure. Her other eye had clouded over into the awful cataract I used to fear, then had forgotten and now recalled.

I offered my hand to shake, but she did not take it. She simply turned and walked down the pier into the red desert. I wonder whether she will meet me again. Whether a version of me will be there at that train station, or maybe she will meet me again in another life, or another reality? All fates are the same; it is just the details that differ. So we will meet again.

I am now at the pier’s end.

Beyond me is just an expanse of flat red sand. Curiously, there is a small rowboat pitched to the side of the pier. It does not bob or move when I push on it.

I put my hand on the flat surface below the pier – I lay down on the decking and ran my hand over the red sand and my fingers sank in…but into nothingness! There was no sand beneath the top layer. I could just feel a cold nothingness. I fear that if I were to leap off the pier, I would fall straight through the façade and fall into the void! A terrifying concept: frozen in space. No gravity, no force, no sensation of falling or rising. Just stuck.

Before we embark on our journey into the FurtherUnknown I will take a moment to look back over the NeverRealm that I have travelled through. Inversely to my physique reforming, the desert in my memory is falling away and I am beginning to remember things now. My fears, my spirit. I remember Tesla’s wry smile; I remember his giddy explanations of his theories and his capacity for drink. Tesla, my love, I am so sorry for what became of you. But what do I know of other people’s death? Maybe you are alive in another reality driving others crazy with your wild schemes. There is no logical evidence to support this conjecture, but I am choosing to support it nonetheless.

I can also think back to my life before the NeverRealm. Back into my flesh life. I can remember staring into that mirror in the bathroom. Looking blankly at myself before slicing my open my throat. I can remember my shirt growing heavy with the blood.

I came this way for Lucy whom I hope to meet one day– but I do not think it possible. Though, like with the unsubstantiated belief that Tesla is not dead, but in fact happy somewhere else – I am choosing also to believe that I will, in this reality, see Lucy again.

On the horizon behind me the cyclones are still moving in their regular fashion just as they have always done and just as they always will do.

We are now in the boat. I must admit that there was a moment of fear just before I climbed in. Would it hold us or would we crash straight through? As soon as I got on it, it suddenly began to act like a boat, pitching and yawing and it gave me great comfort to be welcomed by recognisable natural physics given the insanity at the LHC compound and our various twisted escapades. I steadied the boat and beckoned Paisley in. Poor thing flat out refused. Paisley doesn’t like boats…so I left him!

It was a cruel joke, I admit. I rowed out away from the pier without saying goodbye. He sat there, his ears flat against his head, whimpering. I rowed out as far as I could bear to see him like that and then I beamed a smile at him and rowed back shouting, “Come on boy! Come on, let’s go!”

His ears shot up, his tail wagged and he began running around in circles on the pier until I was within reach before leaping out across the lake and landing in the boat with such force that we nearly capsized. I hugged him tightly and he nuzzled and licked my face. We were happy and to sea we rowed and so here we are!

The surface of the plateau acts like water and we bob and weave as we move along with no discernable current taking us anywhere. Oddly, there is no wake or waves - no pattern or evidence of my oars. Everything is deathly still and yet we drift.

I have rowed for days now (maybe weeks or years – there are no cyclones on the horizon anymore). I have put my oars in their rowlocks and taken time to drift on the invisible current and write. We are not hungry, nor thirsty and we cannot see land in any direction. Only us and our little boat.

I have never written about my father. I have not mentioned his likes or dislikes or what he stood for or his journey. I have never theorised what might have happened after I slit my throat and left them for the NeverRealm. How did he feel and how did he grieve? If he even did grieve. I never once thought about it, such is the eternal selfishness of the child. I cannot talk about my father in descriptive terms that are unique to him, only in terms of how I perceived him. The truth is, I do not know how to. I should like to have spent more time with him. Listened to him more. Asked more about him.

I do not know why I write this. Something about the solitude of this lake compels me to. This gentle melancholia that I am drifting on makes me ponder.

I would like to say that I am at total peace and fulfilling my destiny of continuation but, as I am human, there is a niggling thought remaining. It is like a scratch in my mouth or a hair in my throat. There is always one duty left to perform. One face you need to see and whose name you need to speak again.


Next Episodes

Previous Episodes