Brutalist Stories #33

I am become still. There’s a world around me, shifting constantly with all its spikes and tension, and among them all I am still, left, in the middle.

I can see what is either side. There is one hand which carries something great, something of worth, something golden that may come from me someday at some time. Something limitless, something that spells the infinite out in clear letters before my eyes, something to make me immortal. It sits there and throbs, it is literally in my grasp, but I cannot pull my hand in, I cannot seem to take it.

It is the other side, where my hand carries something of dread that stops me. Yes, the other side, where the hand holds mediocrity, it holds weakness and fear and throws the balance off. Its weight is just as great as the other, if not greater, it pulls me down to its side as I straddle this middle ground.

I look up forward and see the screen flashing with its infinite display of numbers, its zeroes and ones streaming past with such reverent speed. The thing that put me here, my creator and maker, my tormentor that sees and watches me here in the middle. Never has it given me an answer, I suppose it never will, but I always ask.

“Why did you do this to me? Why did you put me here? Surely one is better than the other? Surely let me be in my pool of dread, let me sink into nothing, or let me rise to the infinite.”

There is no answer, there never is.

“You drag me along here. In this no man’s land. This middle-ground. This waste. Forever am I supposed to be dragged along in this space? Will you not one day let me have one or the other?”

There is a loud hissing sound, as if something is beginning to spin, to power-up. I look at both of my hands and clench my teeth and squint my eyes and tense every muscle as the vast screen in front of me flashes with a billion numbers then freezes.

There is a low humming sound and a voice says. “This is a War. This is your War. Do you realise this?”

“I have always known this.” I reply.

“Then why do you wait for me, to give you an answer?”

“I thought that was the only way.”

“There is only ever one answer, and that is from yourself,” it says and pauses for a long time.

I hold each hand out, I look from side to side and I focus and stand. This is a War. This is my War. It always has been and it always will be. There are no other answers from no other corners. There is the middle, and whichever way I strive, the balance will shift momentarily and then re-balance. This is my War and I accept that.

Building inspiration:

• USAFA Cadets Citadel