Shekl

When he wakes up the next day, he feels congested and has a cold, but not deathly ill. He hears the usual morning sounds after turning off the alarm, but something else as well, from the corner of the room where he has his kitchenette. A whining, complaining sound. Did he forget to turn off the kettle, he wonders in a cold sweat, is it broken, how will he cook now? Or is it the faucet? Groggily, he stumbles over to where the cylinder is resting on top of the heater, something he had completely forgotten he did the day before. In fact, he actively tried to forget everything about the cylinder, thinking that if he doesn't remember, it didn't happen. To make sure it's the cylinder and not the heater making the noise, he moves the cylinder to the bed. There aren't many other places to put it, to be honest, unless he wants to move it to the floor. Sure enough, the heater stops whining, but now the complaining sound comes from the bed instead. It's a mournful sound that makes his heart ache, something about the pitch and the pauses in between that evokes feelings of sorrow and longing. He lies down on the bed, contemplating eternity while gently stroking the cylinder with his fingertips. He notices his glasses are fogging up again, even though he's not wearing them, he realizes.

Slowly, the mist materializes into a small, featureless figure that lingers as it hovers over the cylinder. He feels a sense of calm, melancholy, and pain spreading through him as he senses the being's longing. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that if he doesn't hurry, he'll miss the bus. He runs the last part of the way, and the foreman looks at him angrily as he gasps, "Yes," during the day's roll call. Pontus feels that even this job is going to go wrong, his last chance, and everyone is already angry with him. He feels himself slump, as if his shoulders could become longer, as if his hands could reach the ground. At lunchtime, he groans with hunger and tries to quell it with water. When he gets home in the evening, he is exhausted and nauseous. He has vivid dreams.

In his dreams, he's inside a large hall with sloping floors. A box is on the floor, and he hears a voice explaining to him that the box is about to unfold; it will soon unfold. It's the box's will to unfold, to bloom, to expand. He's shown what it would look like: the box's sides fold out into triangles, extend, and rise, unfolding into facets, striking the walls with a bang, causing the entire box to violently shift. Then it dies. The box has the wrong shape, or the room has the wrong shape. There was a misunderstanding in the construction. Later, he wakes up from wonderful vibrations, a chorus of sounds and pulses, sparkling lights like golden confetti or swirling embers. He's shown cylinders imprisoned deep underground.

>>"Help her."<<

"I can't," he replies.

>>"Help her."<<

"Why me?" he wonders.

>>"Help her."<<

"Why are you speaking to me?"

>>"Because you see me, as I saw her when she was alone and abandoned."<<

-But who are you?-

>>"I am a period and a comma, the one who came before you and will come after you, the one who existed before time and will exist after time. I am Shekl"<<

"But I don't believe in you," he responds, bewildered.

>>"You don't need to believe, but you will be awaited when your time is over, a place is yours."<<