Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 6

He walked towards the tower. And as he did so, he felt the temperature decreasing rapidly; this did not have
any effect on the beads of sweat rolling down his back. His cat trailed behind him with an air of superiority,
occasionally lunging at small creatures which Thomas did not recognize. They got to the tower without any
trouble, something, on a later note Thomas should have seen as a bad omen. The cat, evidently thinking
that he had done all he could to help, disappeared behind a bush. Thomas swallowed nervously and stepped
into the building. The lobby was a spherical room, completely empty except for an unoccupied front desk
built out of black glass and an elevator at the other side of the sphere.
The moment he stepped in the tower, a wave of nausea rolled over him. Every single part of the sphere was
made from millions of screens, every single screen was projecting a shade of orange and, starting from the
screen on the left, each screen changed to the second shade of orange, darker, until it got back to the first
screen which changed to the third shade of orange. The pattern continued, and Thomas felt like his eyes
were glued to the screen. He couldn't bring himself to look at anything else even though every cell in his
brain was futilely screaming for his eyes to look away. Inside his mind, he felt his vision split into two, then
three, continuing forever.
He called every ounce of willpower left and commanded himself to close his eyes. When he did, he
immediately felt his consciousness return and seizing the chance, ran towards the elevator behind the front
desk. Frantically, he pressed the buttons for the top floor, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. For some
reason, while the elevator ascended, fear built up in him, like oil feeding the cold fire inside him that was
burning him down. The idea of death shepherded all his positive emotions into a hut too far for him to
reach as the elevator opened on the top floor. There was only one person in the spacious room, which
puzzled him since he knew how powerful the switch was.
Instantly, he was seized by the man whose outline was the only visible thing. He felt the air being squeezed
out of his lungs after he tried to kick at the man, who quickly ducked under him and flipped him over. Pain
shot up his spine, temporarily paralyzing him. All he could do to save himself from the next attack was roll
over, but the man had anticipated it, and before Thomas could react, the man stamped his foot on Thomas'
chest. Thomas felt a scream of agony escape from his lungs. The pain made him feel more awake than ever,
now masked by the adrenalin pumping in his veins. When the man launched into another attempt to kill
him, Thomas caught his foot in midair and spun around, aiming a kick at the man's knee while using his free
hand to find the pressure point in the man's neck. The effect was instantaneous. He heard a sickening crunch
as the man crumpled to the ground like a piece of paper. Once his brain realized the fight was over, the pain
immediately returned and he doubled over. He used the last of his strength to pull himself over to the lever
at the end of the room and pulled it.
Thomas rubbed his eyes sleepily and climbed out of his bed. He made his way to the window, pulling the
curtains as sunlight flooded into his room. He then trudged downstairs, expecting to be met by his butler,
and saw that there was no one there, just a dust covered post-it on the kitchen table which read: 'Thomas,
you can't exist in this world anymore, so when you're here, the rest of the living things can't exist. It's up to
you. And you never had a cat either.' There was no signature on the note, almost as if no one had written it.
He read the note over and over again, waiting for the meaning to sink in. Slowly, like he was in a trance,
Thomas walked back to his room, where he pulled out a hammer from one of his drawers. He reached a
hand into his pocket and pulled out a small, black stone.He knew what would happen next was inevitable,
but as his own death approached him, he found that he was not intimidated by it. In fact, he didn't feel
anything at all, just peace, a different kind of peace. Thomas brought the hammer down on the stone as hard
as he could. The stone shattered, its pieces all exploding in midair.
There was a flash of blinding black light. And then the feeling of a million needles against his skin. And then
a loss of consciousness. And then he became nothing. Yet more than everything. An infinite helix. A
warrior.