The Fallen City

|Chapter X: What Hides Inside?

When Gale awoke something had changed... The sounds... It had to be.

The sounds were... there?

But weren't they?

He listened. He listened to them, he heard them all. No longer were they a wild array of white noise bearing down and entrapping his kingdom. He could hear them, he could hear each one so clear. He picked out each one and listened to them.

The marketplace outside, the vendors, the buyers, the cars. The rain...

Gale then opened his eyes. His room looked... different? Why would it be different? In ten years nothing had changed...

He looked at every mark on his ceiling. The stains from upstairs' leaky pipes. The many thick cobwebs. The broken light fixture and peeling plaster. It looked... refreshed.

In fact it all did. Like a thick smog had been cleared. The air was fresh. The patterns on the fading wallpaper were strangely inviting, even if they were stained grey by dust and smoke.

Gale rolled onto his side and propped himself up on the edge of his creaky bed. He could feel every tendon pulling, he could feel every muscle straining. His bones creaked, his joints cracked. His heart began to beat manically. His head span, his eyes wandered...

He saw everything in his room. Unopened moldy boxes, faded books stacked on bookshelves, damaged crates and rotted furniture. Why hadn't he noticed its condition before?

Gale reached for his glass of whiskey. Its contents ready and inviting, the amber liquid was like liquid velvet. It yearned to be consumed. It called to him, its gentle whispers wormed their way through every nerve in his body, finally sauntering into his mind. It worked to seduce him, like it had done for many many years.

He gave it what it wanted. His shaky hands worked together to raise the glass to his mouth. Its smell saturated his senses. Smokey, dry, oaky...

His hands continued to shake as he tilted the glass. The ambrosia snaked its way down the tumbler's form, touching his lips it was almost numbing. It pooled, almost teasing him until it pushed through. The taste exploding through every sense. Its effects were already felt. His heart slowed, his breathing turned deep.

Gale lowered it back to his lap. It's contents half consumed. Yet he noticed something. He raised the glass back to his eyeline, the liquid sloshed and jostled. The glassware was stained with filth. Green mold crusted around the base, dirt and grime coated its exterior. Waterlines ringed its interior like layers of rock. Small white semi circles intertwined around its rim.

It hadn't been cleaned for ages...

How did he not see that?

He pushed himself to his feet only to fall back slightly. Gale looked at his legs puzzled.

"You boys fancy pulling your weight?" He grumbled at them. Even his voice was different, it sounded slightly interested. Gale rocked forward and heaved himself, groaning to his feet. His steps were shaky, his legs were wobbly. Old wounds showed themselves.

He worked his way slowly but surely to his bedroom door. Gale struggled to step over the scattered items and boxes. Old toys, magazines, memorabilia, trinkets and knick knacks spilled out of toppled over boxes and sat dejected and tired. Memories clung to each one, yet memories that were long lost to him. He'd never know the significance of any of them ever again. They were now only the remains of a lived life.

Part of Gale felt sad about that. But it was an issue to be dealt with at a later time. He'd reached the door, its hinges were stiff and heavy, just like every night he had to heave with all his weight to open it.