Ashes to Ashes

“Oh Millee~ It’s time to wake up. We have so much left to discuss still, and I’m still so eager to see that look of dread on your face again! Millee, Millee, we need to talk!”

The words coagulated in her brain before she knew how to respond. The doppelganger was singing her name like it was some kind of nursery rhyme, one she’d used to dance around in circles singing before falling to the ground upon the rhyme’s conclusion. It was taunting her, using her own unleashed psyche against her. She knew what the rhyme meant, the spiraling cadence of death that haunted its lyrics.

“I know what you are now,” she said, voice barely an audible whisper. “You’re some kind of doppelganger that’s been lurking in my shadow, ruining my life, manipulating my reality—you’re a black hole of all my burdens, the things that I ran from and never faced. I neglected my past and now its come to collect… to collect on my future.”

“Ooo! Very analytical of you, or should I say, me, Millee! Unfortunately, you’re wrong. You noticed your portrait and name have all been removed, right? What more do I have to say before you finally grasp the concept?” The monster smirked. It was using her face, her body, her life. For what purpose? “But you did get one thing right. You correctly guessed the nursery rhyme,” it smirked. “I know what you’re thinking—what I’m thinking.”

She ignored its taunts. “Those hands, in the last nightmare— You meant for them to represent the hands that held the knives that carved out the scars in my heart. Why? How is it even possible my unconscious mind gave birth to something as unruly and undesirable as you?”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed again, expecting to land on her feet as pushed herself off. Instead, she crumpled to her knees the moment her feet hit the floor. She attempted to lift herself up, but her legs refused to move, and her muscles refused every command her brain gave them.

“How pathetic. Can’t even move, like someone cut my strings. That’s what this is… I’m just being strung every which way, just like a puppet with no control over its own strings.”

“You see,” her doppelganger continued, “this little white box that you now find yourself trapped in… What does it remind you of? Perhaps something you’ve already encountered before? You’re smart,” it said, “so why not tell me what comes next? Here, I’ll even give you a hint: the purple stuff on your fingers is both what you think it is and isn’t.”

She recalled the first nightmare and the inactivated chip that she vomited up. “Is this supposed to be some kind of compounding nightmare that never ends? Was the neurotoxin real? The black hole— We’re somewhere beyond the event horizon—”

“Why don’t we have your dead parents explain instead? Maybe you’ll figure it out then. You second-guessed yourself and now here we are again. Your bridge to reality has fallen, burned away in the flames of loathing that you swore never to wield against someone else,” it shrugged, “but you managed to make it real—at least temporarily. So, are you ready for that family reunion? I hear they’re just dying to give you a piece of their mind!”

She tried to lift herself off the floor again—still no luck. She turned around, hoping to use the bed as support, to get off the icy floor that was stealing her body heat, her very life, but when she attempted to grab the frame, it burst into ashes. The bed had become a smoldering pile of whitish grey.

Ashes to ashes.

***

Millee opened her eyes. “I was… dreaming again? What…? When did I fall asleep?”

She remembered the conversation she had been having with her doppelganger, sending her, abruptly, into an upright, seated position. Frantically, she looked around, taking in the sight of her new surroundings: a dimly-lit passenger train car, sleepy passengers scattered about in their seats, and the background music from the speaker system—Lo-Fi beats had been popular on Earth for a while, at least up until it became a ball of dirt.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the darkened window opposite her seat: brushed, silky-brown hair, emerald irises that cut through the dim lighting, airbrushed cheeks and glossy lips, and a two-piece outfit set—a ruffled white top that extended just above the belly button and a muted, midnight-blue pleated skirt that rose above the knee. A pair of black thigh-highs ran past the length of the skirt, disappearing somewhere beyond the end of the pleats.

“I sure look put-together tonight, don’t I? Where am I, anyways? What would I be doing if I’m wearing this…? Something special?”

She stood up, surprised to find she could stand, and walked over to a digital map framed against the front wall of the car. An ad scrolled across the bottom of the screen, stealing her attention: Looking for relationship advice? Scan the QR code below and our relationship experts will be happy to give you a call! Whether it’s a bad boyfriend or a clingy ex, we’re here to help!

“Well, that’s a first,” she mumbled. “Who advertises themselves as ‘relationship experts’?” Just then, the connecting train car door opened, the whoosh of air startling her as she took an instinctive step back. “I’m way too on-edge right now. Ugh. I must’ve been out drinking or something. Probably had a little too much and passed out when I got on the train, I bet.” She rolled her eyes. “Would explain these nonsense nightmares I’ve been having.”

A male passenger emerged from the doorway, seemingly happy to see her, as she concluded her thought. “Finally found you!”

Millee looked around, wondering if he was perhaps talking to someone behind her, but she was alone—everyone else in the car had mysteriously disappeared. She opened her mouth to speak but held her tongue for a moment. Something didn’t seem right, and a strange feeling of nostalgia suddenly overtook her, a chill of familiarity arcing down her spine.

“This guy… The loose hoodie, plain black tee, and shorts… I think I know—” The lights flickered for a moment, interrupting her thoughts.

“So, what do you think? Pretty great idea for a date spot, right?” he beamed.

She decided to respond. “Uhh, yeah. I’ve always loved seeing the city lights from afar, so this was a totally great idea…!” She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “I hope I didn’t just screw something up. I’m pretty sure I remember what happened here, sort of.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d like it!” he said, resting his arm across her shoulders.

“This isn’t comfy… I don’t like this, and why is his arm so wet and cold feeling? Eugh!” She closed her eyes and smiled, thankful she sounded convincing enough. “Why don’t we sit dow…n—”

Something in the window’s reflection made her stomach drop. She wasn’t sure at first, figuring it was probably just a trick of the light or a passing object as the train clacked on but, studying the image further, there was no mistaking it, the reason his arm felt so gross—it was a giant tentacle, covered in some kind of slime that oozed from its pores.

“I was right. This is a date I went on when I was sixteen, but the tentacles were definitely not part of it!”

It was a train ride to the outskirts of the city where they’d sit atop one of the many benches overlooking its mesmerizing lights from afar. Her memory had become a time machine to a past she didn’t want to relive—not this memory, not one of her most precious she’d locked away for safekeeping.

“Of all things, why does this one have to be ruined? Literally a month after the hospital called, too… This night was supposed to be the one thing that kept me from regressing…”

Somehow, her date had become a grotesque monster that seemed a little too eager to close the gap between them. She tried to push herself off his slimy body, but his arms-turned-tentacles held fast, pulling her in instead of aiding her escape. Was he going to eat her? A late-night, human-sized snack that would tie him over until an eventual morning feast the next day? This was something she would have expected to see in the local bookstore, an illustrated cover common in comic book tropes that had enjoyed a recent resurgence in popularity.

“I would really prefer not to live inside the pages of an unimaginative comic book right now,” she complained to herself.

“Wanna get a bite to eat after?” her date-turned-monster quipped. “I’m pretty hungry now, actually, and you look really good. The way the smell of fear enhances your delectable aroma and seasons your flesh… My tentacles are telling me the sweat on your skin makes for a bitter aftertaste, but I don’t mind bitter eats!”

“No, no, no, no! There is no freaking way I’m letting myself be eaten! This is insane! How did this memory even get unlocked?!” she squealed, still trying to free herself from the clutches of her hungry date. “This memory wasn’t for sale, and I wasn’t exactly giving it out for feedback on what needed changing either—!”

“Ashes to ashes…”

In what felt like a moment-turned-century, the train suddenly lurched to one side, sending her into the window, barely avoiding a face-first collision with the glass. An earsplitting screech emanated from somewhere outside the train as it lurched again, this time to the other side. The lights flickered once more before cutting out completely, plunging her into a chaotic train ride, threatening to derail itself and her mind. The acrid smell of diesel fuel filled her nose. Then, everything grew quiet—just for a moment. It was as if time had stopped, as if the noise of the world had been consumed by the onset of night, an unstoppable force akin to the wrath of God—just for a moment.

Smoke immediately began to fill her lungs, but where was it coming from? She stumbled to her feet only to be thrown into a nearby support pole, bent in half by the force of which she was thrown into the thing; the sickening crunch of fracturing ribs followed in pursuit.

She crawled across the floor, desperately searching for help—it was all she could do, but no one came. Her chest felt like a broken window, ribs threatening to shatter with every breath. Still, she had to try. Someone had to be around; someone had to be on the train with her. Right?

She screamed at the top of her lungs, a painful mistake, pitting the integrity of her ribs against the fleeting hope she had that someone might rescue her—from the train, from the memory… from herself. It was then that the train derailed entirely. The roar of metal grinding against metal was unimaginable as the train’s steel exterior slid along the tracks at breakneck speed until it slammed into the side of a concrete building, effectively halting its cacophonous grind.

“Dammit… How did I,” she winced, “manage to end up… like this?” Tinkering shards of glass, billowing plumes of smoke, and the familiar side of a crackling fire shared the space with her. “Should I have lived that?”

She pulled herself along the edges of the seats, using every ounce of strength she could muster just to lift herself up, reaching for the shattered windows on the other side of the car. The windows had been blown out, scattering glass across the floor; jagged pieces still remained in the frames, but it was her only escape. If she stayed, she would be consumed by the budding fire, though she surmised smoke-inhalation might actually be faster.

“First my date turns into a monster—” The sudden onset of a coughing fit interrupted her, fresh blood staining her lips a brilliant crimson. She took a breath, broken ribs threatening to puncture her lungs at any moment. “Then the train derails?” She coughed again—more blood.

The smell of smoke was growing stronger—time was short, shorter than the derailed train ride. She pulled herself up to the window, jagged shards of glass digging into the soft skin of her hands, but she gritted her teeth, fighting through the pain as she climbed out of the overturned car. It was a miracle she’d survived the accident—it would be an even bigger miracle if she could get away from the flames that had begun to spread from the locomotive, but there was so much fuel, and she could already feel the intensity of the flames several cars away.

“Ashes to… ashes.”

The train exploded. It was both instantaneous and an unending nightmare within a warped memory. She felt her skin ignite before the fat on her body melted into puddles, only extending the fiery agony. Her blood boiled, evaporating in the diesel-fueled flames. It was a fate worse than a living nightmare—every ounce of pain was amplified as she felt her body repair itself over and over again, only to experience the same agonizing death she’d suffered through moments ago.

She wanted to scream, hoping that whatever cruel and unjust force had decided to punish her would have a change of heart… would pity her. Pity? Was that seriously what she wanted? Even if she could scream, express her lamentation to whatever god may be listening, watching, if her throat burned away before she could form the words, what good was trying? Again and again, her body continued to repair itself, subjecting her to an unending cycle of destruction and reconstruction.

Then, as if the light had been swallowed by the encroaching darkness, everything went black: the blazing train, the flames that charred her from the inside-out, the endless cycle of infernal mutilation. Even the pain came to an abrupt end, replaced with an overwhelming sense of numbness. Finally, peace—or so she thought.