Little Mitchel stared at the last set of gates he would ever see. He wandered for nearly a year, getting as lost as a little boy could. His 10th birthday he had set out, now, on his 11th, he had finally arrived: Heaven. Four years had past since he first heard of the mystical town, where boys and girls unhappy with life could find themselves after a year of being lost, and only those truly displeased with life outside the gates could find the town. Once you walked in, you never walked out. It was not that you were a prisoner, just that no one ever wanted to. The town was every neglected child’s dream, the Genie who operated the slice of paradise, Mahamoti, made every dream and desire a reality, and loved each child equally. Little Mitchel wondered if his parents had even realized he had run away yet. It had only been a year.
He shouldered his pack, and felt the items settle. A canteen, MRE's, survival supplies. Not the typical backpack of an 11 year old, but when you grew up with parents who did not notice when you were gone for weeks at a time, you grew up quickly, and learned what you needed to to survive. He took one last breath of the world outside, had one more look around. He wouldn't miss it. He had never hated life. Neglectful parents, bullies at school, teachers that despised him, life had certainly tried its best to get him to hate it, but all he really felt was discontent. Discontent with the boring, cycle of thing. You were born, you grew up, you died. He had learned that at six when his best friend was killed. All of life lead to that, and if there was any reason to muddle through to that end without being happy, he had yet to find it. With this in mind, he left his discontenting life behind him, and step through the gate.
Everything changed the moment little Mitchel's foot broke the threshold of Heaven. The silence and darkness outside vanished, the sky glowed as bright as midday, and music was playing in the background. He heard a man singing “hush, hush, hush, here comes the...” as if to announce his presence. The music was drowned out by laughter in the distance, and Mitchell exhaled a breath he had held his whole life. He was away from his family, and his school, and his life, and his hell, and he was finally, finally home. He bent over to exam the flowers growing next to the path. Chrysanthemum were the dominant blossom, but the plants that bore them were home to other flower, dozens of others, as well as fruit, nuts, and all manner of colorful vegetation. Mitchel knew it was impossible, but no longer cared, he breathed the tumultuous mixture of scents in deeply, and picked a full, ripe pomegranate off of the plant. As he rose with the fruit, he noticed movement to his left. The air shimmered, then, parted, and out stepped a man wearing a black suit and an ear to ear grin.
“Oh, frabjous day, callooh, callay!” The man managed to speak without losing an inch of his smile “A New family member has made it to us, children, come, greet your new brother”
Mitchel was hesitant at the puzzling remark, but decided to surrender himself to The Smiling Man's charm. This is what he had come for.
“I... I.. uh, am” Mitchel began to stutter as an armada of children pulled in and dropped anchor around him “I am Mm...”
The Smiling Man cut him off “We know who you are, brother Mitchel, we have been watching your progress anxiously, since you set out a year ago, on your tenth birthday, which reminds me” The Smiling Man reached into the air, and it shimmered again, seeming to part for him. He pulled out an impossibly large cake, and set it down in the air. A table shimmered into existence under the cake, and the children herded him to the head, all smiles and reassurance.
“Great to have you Mitchel” “We knew you would make it” “Happy birthday, brother Mitchel”
Mitchel decided to allow himself to surrender to the gentle encouragement of the children. This is what he had come for.
He found himself at the head of the table and with children ages 10-12 lined up on either side. Chairs appeared under them as they sat down, and then, in unison, the children began to sing. Not the warbling canter of relatives at a birthday bash, which Mitchel had experienced once in his life, and not the choreographed, lackluster song of classmates he had been forced to sing for, but a heart warming chorus of such beauty and passion, that he looked down to avoid showing his new family his tears. The Smiling Man stood beside him, and turned Mitchel's chin up to the other children, who smiled on as if nothing was amiss.
“We hide nothing from each other in this family, Mitchel, and we love each other unconditionally, if you cry, then we will make you smile, and think no less of you for it. We ask only that you do the same.”
“T-th-thank you” Mitchel managed to stammer. “Your so kind” he turned to the children “You are all so kind” back to The Smiling Man “And I don't even know your name”
“Was there ever any question?” his smile extending to the point of nearly of splitting his head in two “I am Mahamoti, Djinn and wish granter of all the children in Heaven”
“Mahahti” Mitchel struggled with the name
Mahamoti bellowed with laughter, and the children around the table joined in. Even Mitchel felt a smile tugging the corners of his lips up from their usual, stoic expression.
“Mahamoti” Repeated the genie, “But the children here call me by whatever name they fancy, father, papa, Friend, Mr., one little girl even decided that I should be called Humpty Dumpty, though I've never fallen off of a wall in all my life” another round of laughter, and Mitchel’s smile grew “What name is the first that pops into your head when you see me?”
“The Smiling Man” Mitchell immediately responded, somehow this roused another round of soft laughter, and he found it amusing himself, and let out a little chuckle.
“Very fitting” The Smiling Man smiled “Very fitting indeed”
“I have a question, though, mister smiling man”
“No need for the mister”
Mitchel smile deepened, grew wider, he felt better than he had in his whole life up to this moment. “I am so tired, and it still seems to be midday, is there somewhere dark I can sleep”
“Lisa, will you take Mitchel to a dark house?” The Smiling Man turned to a short, brown haired girl.
“Of course, Humpty Dumpty” she sprung up and took Mitchel by his hand, leading him towards a line of low sitting houses, framed by more of the plants-of-many-flowers he had seen on the way in.
Finally regaining his composure and ability to articulate, Mitchel turned as they left, and remarked “To think, a day ago, I wasn’t sure any of this was real. It was too good to be true, I didn’t believe in heaven, or genies or... happiness”
“Well” The Smiling Man replied, as the distance between them grew greater by the step “If you agree to believe in me, I agree to believe in you” and then he was gone, vanished around the corner.
---
The dark houses were aptly named. The suns warmth and light beat down on the two until they broke the threshold of the short, stout building. Then, It was nighttime, indisputably. The moon shone gently, stars danced there two step, visible-invisible, tango and a cool sea breeze rolled in through the open window. Mitchel stuck his head out and could experience the ocean with all five sense. Waves crashed, gulls cawed softly in the distance, the air was home to a lingering, salty aroma and felt moist and heavy. “How... Where...”
“All I did my first day was stammer, too” She grinned at him, then let out a soft, pleasant little giggle. “You do get more used to it, I promise, but Humpty Dumpty can do anything, and he does anything we ask. He will never stop amazing you. Now, anything you want will be in the closet, sleep tight, brother” and with that, she hugged him, and left. Mitchel set his pack down in the corner, and looked at the plush, inviting bed. He sat on it, and felt a tear splash onto his hand. He felt his face and realized that the stress and pain of life, as well as they joy of finally arriving were lining up behind his eyes. He released them, and wept with more force than he had before, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, when he realized he had never let go of his fruit. Mitchell picked at the skin until a few seed were present, and popped them into his mouth. The sweet, tangy sensation that filled his mouth was among the most beautiful he had ever known. He lay back on the bed and kicked of his shoes, travel worn and mud spattered, then shed his jacket, in a similar state, and crawled under the warm, enticing comforter. Sleep claimed his mind before the pillow claimed his head. He surrendered to the wonderful sensation. This is what he had come for.
Brother Mitchel awoke when he felt he had slept enough. He realized he was hungry and decided to begin the days adventures with a quest for food. He felt around in the darkness for the door handle, gripped, turned, and stepped out into the sunlight. The world shifted from the peace of night to the bustle of day in an instant, and, looking down, Mitchel found himself in all new clothes. “Was I Wearing these when I woke up?” he wondered, but was distracted by Lisa waving as she came up to him
“Hi” how she managed to get such warmth and affection into such a greeting was beyond him “Lets get some food. I feel like its lunch time. How about you?”
It was such an unusual question that it took Mitchel a few seconds to properly register it “Uh, breakfast?” he almost asked.
Lisa giggled, and he felt without reserve that she was not laughing at him. “Come on then, I know just the place” she lead him by the hand to a large building, and through the open archway that marked the entrance. Together they sat and before either of them spoke, The Smiling Man was there, carrying two trays.
“Peanut butter, jelly, and banana for the adventures lass” he chuckled, and Lisa smiled up at him “And pancakes, bacon, oatmeal and...” he paused, set the tray down, and reached into the shimmering air to produce a small carafe full of tick, brown liquid “real maple syrup for the newest member of our family. Enjoy children.” and he was gone.
“How did he..” Mitchel started, turning to Lisa.
“It's what you wanted, though, isn’t it?” she cut him off, the smile on her face wavering for just a moment, but returning in full force, leaving Mitchel wondering. Mitchel put the thought out of his head and reached for the cup of orange juice, not bothering to wonder where it had come from or when it had appeared. The food was the single most delicious meal he had ever enjoyed, and he kept up a pleasant stream of conversation with Lisa the whole time. they finished their breakfast and lunch, respectively, and Lisa suggested a walk. The two left, meandering down the waterfront, and wound up outside The Smiling Man's home.
“You can go in” she offered “ask him for anything, anytime”
“I'm alright, I don't think I need anything from him now, just a little hungry, what say we get some lunch... and whatever you want.”
“Sure” she said, eyes falling momentarily downward, then flicking back up “Let's go”
The lunch was as perfect as the breakfast, and Mitchel told Lisa everything about himself. He told her about the parents who had never cared about him, about the classmates, who, at best, ignored him, and the teachers who never thought he quite measured up. Then, thinking about The Smiling Man's declaration of everything in the family being shared, he leaned in and told her something he had never trusted anyone enough before to tell. “I also write poetry” he said, feeling how silly it was to keep something so small a secret when he said it out loud, and her head tilted to the side.
“Can I hear some?”
“I am not good at reading aloud, I just...” he began, and looked down to see a pen and paper. He picked up the pen and began to write:
She bounds out so, leaps to and fro,
Like autumn wind vanguarding snow,
Her smile hides her tale of woe,
Who is this, this girl I know?
He frowned at the stanza, discontent. Lisa picked up the page and read, the corners of her mouth fighting upwards. “It's lovely” she stated “And look, the pen bled through. We each have a copy. Something to connect us.” Mitchel surrendered to her praise, shocked that someone was praising him at all. This love, this is what he had come for. He picked up the second copy of the poem, and tucked it into his innermost pocket, away from harm. She held the original copy and he saw the sadness creep across her face.
“I'm sorry if it upset you” he managed, not knowing what else to say.
“No, it's not that, it's just moving. Really, its beautiful, just, forlorn.” she looked off into the distance, at nothing, at everything. “What would you like to do now” her tone was still friendly, but, also oddly distant.
“I'm kind of tired” he stifled a yawn, and looked back towards what was now his home “Maybe a quick nap?” They stood and walked to the small, squat dwelling. “See you tomorrow?” brother Mitchel asked hopefully.
“Of course” came the response, and he took a step into his dark house, towards his comfortable bed, towards his dreams. He settled into the bed, and was gripped by a sleep so deep, he knew nothing in the world save for himself could wake him.
---
Something besides himself woke Mitchel from his deep sleep. A frantic shaking, starting at his shoulder and extending, rocking his whole body. He was so drowsy it took him nearly a minuet to realize he was being shaken awake by someone. Lisa came into focus, and he looked outside to gauge the time. Still night time, of course, but, the same night, he was sure. Lisa followed his eyes and shook her head. “It's a trick. It's all a Trick, I'm sorry, it was dangerous to wake you, but he doesn't pay much attention while you are supposed to be so deeply asleep and I didn't want to wait another year. Hurry up and get dressed Mitchel. You are getting out of here.”
“Why would I want to leave, its perfect here, and my old life was...” he continued the pattern from the last few days and trailed off “A year? Another year?” he asked, panic and solace fought their way into his mind, solace showed the most promise, so he surrendered to it. Solace, that is what he had come for. Lisa slapped him across the face, twice, hard. The pain brought the world into a blur. There was not supposed to be pain, and, something else drew his attention. Her hand felt larger than he would have thought, but he hadn't studied her hands, and so dismissed it. He was thinking too much, he had to allow himself to just enjoy where he was, he decided to surrender to the notion, after all, it was what he had come here for.
Another slap.
That hand, again, bothered him, but, he shouldn't feel bothered, he should just...
A fourth slap, and this one followed by Lisa's voice “Stop.” she hissed, voice low, but dangerous “Stop letting him win. Listen to me, none of this is real, he needs you, I don't know why, but for some reason, you are special, he built this all for you. The poem, look at the poem you wrote, read it out loud”
Puzzeled, Mitchel reached into his pocket and felt for the scrap of paper. He unfolded it, and began to read it to himself: She bounds out...
“Out loud” Lisa demanded
Mitchel began again, this time reading the words aloud so that both of them could hear:
The puppeteer smiles and pulls his strings,
caring little for the destruction he brings,
as long as you dance, he leaves you free will,
but defy him just once and fall eternally still.
That wasn't right. Mitchel puzzled over the poem, trying to deduce the exact nature of what was wrong with it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew something was different, but, not what it was.
“You don't write poetry” Lisa was saying “But, he loves it, his favorite book is full of poems, long and short, and when he feeds, he leaves a little part of himself imbedded in the subconscious. You were trying to warn yourself, but, he controls all perception. It took me 15 years to figure that out, and he did not make it easy for me. You need to focus on what doesn’t make sense in order to bring the world into focus. Mitchel, are you hungry?” He hadn’t noticed it when he woke up, but, he was, more so than he should be. “Exactly. Focus on that. It's a bit of a paradox, the safe guards he has in place make it so you surrender to the positive emotions , but when you haven't eaten in a year and six months, and then your brain try’s to convince you that you are full, its a hard one, come on, kid, I know you can do it.”
Mitchel focused. He was hungry, desperately so, and that didn't seem to make sense, because he had eaten a few hours ago. He wanted to not be hungry though, and he knew he was full, because he had eaten a few hours ago, but, if he did, he thought he should be hungry now, but he knew he wasn't, but at the same time... His eyes closed, he thought, and thought, until something inside him budged, he struggled against it, until life started coming in more clearly. Mitchel inhaled, and it felt like he hadn't taken a breath in years. He opened his eyes, and horror gripped him. The window was illuminated by the full moons light, and hung from its hinges, barely attached to the wall. Stacks of garbage and refuse were the only view it offered, and the smell of rotting meat wafted in, forcing him to gag and choke on the air. A rotted pile of what he hoped had once been food was in the bed with him, and soaked through the thin mattress down to the jagged springs underneath. Looking down at the bed, he saw himself, gaunt, and clothed in shredded tatters. His boots and jacket sat next to the bed, and they offered the most appealing view of the floor. The molded, warped floor boards were home to insects and rodent leavings, and seemed to bow under the weight of the frail, middle aged women crouching on them. Mitchel look up into her dead eyes and taught face and whispered “Lisa? Where are we?”
a painful smile pulled her cracked lips across her bony face “A town called Heaven” she told him, and picked up his boots and jacket, tossing them on to the bed with him “Happy birthday, you missed your twelfth.”
“What do you mean I missed it? How long have we been there?”
“We?” she asked “No, no, no, you. You have only been there for a year and a half, I have been there for 30. Every time you sleep in his world, it marks a year passing in ours”
Mitchel sat, befuddled. He had been gone for over a year. “How am I still alive?” he managed, looking around and not seeing any food, as he spoke, Lisa brought up a blue, wrapped bar, and proceeded to tear the ends open and deposit the bar into his hand. Mitchel remembered them, a candy bar he had eaten whenever he could get a hold of it in his past life. He looked up, puzzled.
“Those keep you alive for a year at a time. Mahamoti's little gift to the world. They don’t do anything for hunger or nourishment, so, when people in the world eat them they don’t notice anything, but if you are a young boy or girl, it draws you to him. He thinks its only fair, he feeds you, you feed him.”
Mitchel prepared to ask Lisa about the last comment, but she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of the house. The pristine streets of Heaven laid in ruin, disarray, and general mayhem. Piles of filth accumulated at the end of every downward slope, and small rodents scurried through the trash heaps. Candy bar wrappers littered the road on either side, all the tell-tale blue of Mahamoti's sugary kidnapping implement. They made there way through the dilapidated city, having to climb piles of garbage at times in order to proceed. Mitchel lost his footing more than once an went tumbling down into filth and grime and excrement and what seemed like congealed blood. They finally arrived at their ultimate destination, a run-down packaging plant, with industrial equipment and run off littered around the exterior. Lisa lead him around the back and up a small set of concrete steps, the only thing that looked even remotely intact about the facility. She ushered him inside and into an an adjoining room. The first door closed behind them, and the second soon followed. He turned to see that he stood in the second room alone. “she must have fallen behind” Mitchel muttered to himself “But...” he made his way back to the door and tested it, finding it locked and surprisingly sturdy. The light in the room sputtered to life and allowed him to see the walls that surrounded him. Every inch of the two story walls were covered in writing. Scrawled hastily or artistically created, the words around him all seemed to form stanza's, poems, pieces of literature that left a pit in his stomach. He began to read the nearest one:
A monster smiles from behind those eyes,
blurring your vision between truth and lies,
He always knows what to say, how you feel,
But his secret I fear he will never reveal.
Mitchel turned and read another:
Death his desire, darkly dreaming, drowning demons fury deepens.
Despair is delight, demanding demise, destruction real, Demon rise.
He turned to read a third and froze. He was no longer alone in room. The Smiling Man stood, leaning against the wall he had read the first poem off, his namesake smile still the chief resident of his face.
“You see, I find myself on the horns of a conundrum.” The Smiling man began “On the one hand, you were such a trouble to keep down, so, Lisa bringing you early was necessary, but this is also the part where I show you that the poem you wrote was actually a warning from yourself. You get all terified and scream 'ahhhh' I laugh, all menacing like 'muahaha' and then we proceed with our live as normal. Well, I do. But, there in lies the rub, because she has made it so you won't become terrified when I show you the poem. Can you empathize with my predicament or are you just going to have an emotional episode like all the other dull creatures I drag through here to their death?”
Mitchel stood, staring, petrified to his very core.
“Oh, stunned silence, that's a new and refreshing twist, usually people kill me and run away to freedom”
Silence.
“See” The Smiling Man continued, shifting his weight on the wall to the other shoulder “That's what grown-ups call sarcasm. It can't be true because I am still here. I am using humor to lighten the mood, because, you see, I'm going to kill you, and that can just throw a damper on the whole relationship thing, I've found” He produced a wicked looking knife from his sleeve, curved and dripping red. “Really? Not even a chuckle for that? Oh, the knife, don't worry” he said, pushing off the wall and standing upright “I'm not going to use this. Truth be told I don't even know why I have it... and why is it bloody? Did I kill someone recently? God, you know, it gets so hard to remember. Maybe I just... Oh! I wrote you a poem with it, look.” and he gestured towards the wall behind Mitchel with the knife, splattering him with red in the process. Still too stunned to react, Mitchel surrendered himself to the suggestion and turned to the wall, and read:
Little Mitchel was 5 when he learned he was alive,
Little Mitchel was 6 when he grew fed up with life’s tricks,
Little Mitchel was 7 when he first heard of heaven,
Little Mitchel was 8 when he wanted to see the gate,
Little Mitchel was 9 when he realized it was time,
Little Mitchel was 10 when his journey Began,
Brother Mitchel was 11 when he found his way to heaven,
Mitchel was 12 when he realized it was hell.
Mitchel read the last line and slowly, painfully looked back at The Smiling Man. The Smiling Man gave a double thumbs up and asked “So, what do you think? I don't know if there is, like, an award show for poetry or anything, but, if so, I'm definitely winning one of those”
“W-why, why” Mitchel began to stammer, his ability to speak still minimal.
“Why am I doing this?” The Smiling Man finished “Oh, goody, I've only given this speech a billion times, I love when people ask it again. Fine, look kid, key bullet points here: one, I need to feed on extreme emotions to survive. Joy, terror, love, all perfect, delicious, downright yummy” He reached into the air beside him, putting the knife into the Other Space “Two: children are much less inhibited than adults, and feel more freely, I tried using very drunk adults once, but, with all the cleaning and boozing and other upkeep they took, it was just more trouble than it was worth” he continued, his smile never wavering “Third, and pay attention there, kiddo, because this one is specific to you: I usually keep people until adult hood, then kill them once they outlive their usefulness. But you, there, sport, are so utterly anhedonic and stoic that I was poring joy into your brain, and forcing you to surrender to the joy and you still were discontent. You just really, really don't want to be happy, and that is not healthy my little friend. I would suggest you seek psychological help, you know, if the whole 'I'm going to kill you' thing wasn't an issue”
“You made me surrender” Mitchel said out loud. The first complete thought he had expressed since being trapped in the room.
“Seriously?” The Smiling Man laughed out loud “Seriously? That's what you took away from that. Not 'This guys a monster, I must flee' or 'oh my good god, he is here to kill me'. That is not how the game is played. Seriously kid, you've got some problems.”
“He made me surrender” Mitchel thought. “He made me surrender, and I am not hungry” he thought to himself.
“Yes you are” The Smiling Man interjected, his grin wavering ever so slightly “Stop thinking that”
“I am not hungry, and if this was real life, I would be starving. I haven't eaten anything to fill me up in two and a half years. The fear of death wouldn't be able to chase that thought from my head”
“Kid, trust me, it totally would, I'm just really scary, okay, see 'oooh' scary” A hint of a frantic tone crept into The Smiling Man's tone.
“He can hear me think, he wouldn't be able to in the world”
“No, I cant, I'm just a badass guesser” The smile on his face was leeching away, finding its way over to Mitchel lips.
“This is just another trick. That's all it is. I can leave, I know I can, Lisa wasn't lying, I just have to focus on what doesn't makes sense.” Mitchel stated triumphantly.
The Smiling Man's smile faded. “Well... alright, well played kid. But, you don't understand, see, I have this horrible condition that humanizes me and makes you want to let me kill you...”
Mitchel closed his eyes and focused, on the poem appearing behind him, on The Smiling Man moving through space, on the fact that he wasn't hungry. He struggled, his own mind urging him to give in, surrender, abandon all hope, but he persevered. Something inside of him shattered, and he opened his eyes.
He was still in the factory. The walls of morbid poetry still surrounded him, he could see Lisa through the window on the door and The Smiling Man stood in front of him, the smile still on his face, and a deviant glee glowing in his eyes.
“Oh, that's right, I totally forgot to tell you, I made that one so I could harvest fear. Nothing bad was going to happen to you there. Just get scared, pee your pants a little, but that's worst case scenario” The Smiling Man turned, picked up the knife he had used to write the poem, and continued “This is the one where I kill you. Well, would. You are only the second person to make it this far, and the other one took the deal.”
“What deal” asked Mitchel, questing inwards and realizing to his regret, he was starving.
“You help me with the whole 'collecting, harvesting, and not killing people' thing, and then you get to live. Yay!” The Smiling Man held out both hands, one open, one closed around the knife. “Think about it, Mitchel, you came to me because life was so dull, you weren’t sad, or depressed, you didn’t want to die, you could have easily done that without me, you came here because you were bored. Your only fear was being trapped in that never ending 9-5 cycle, oh, that's a work thing, until the day you die. I can give you the opportunity to do so much more, to be so much more, to have power, a life of meaning, a life where you will never be bored again till the day you die. I'm not a bad guy. I do what I need to to survive, and I get to do so much more. I live every day of my life like you wish you could live one, and I can make that your life too.” He proffered his hands up further, signaling for Mitchel to choose.
Mitchel's range of emotions was more extreme than when he had assumed The Smiling Man was just going to kill him. He had been looking for a life of adventure, a fantastical life to escape the monotony he was doomed for. That had been almost two years ago, but, he had experienced a day of that time at most. He was still the same person he had been then and he realized that the last year and a half of his life, while terrifying and horrible at times, was more excitement than most people experienced in their entire existence. He had dreamed of a life of excitement, and then the life had come to him as a dream. But which dreamed it? He wondered, and looked to see The Smiling Man's smile spread even wider. He knew then that if he didn't take The Smiling Man's deal, he would regret it, for the very short remainder of his life afterwords. Mitchel knew in that moment that there was any price he would pay to avoid the shrieking affliction of boredom. He knew he would never be affected by simple sorrows, or take happiness in simple joys. He took The Smiling Man's hand and The Smiling Man looked down at him “See, you just need the right incentive to fulfill my dreams” he said, and turned to Lisa, driving the knife through the glass and into her waiting eye. The blade sunk into the skull up to the hilt, and stuck there as Lisa fell back to the ground.
“Why did you do that!” Mitchel demanded, trying to relinquish the mans grasp and rush to Lisa's aid.
The Smiling Man held him firm and looked down at him “I lied' he said plainly “I do that a bit. She knew I would kill her if you said yes, because I killed the one before when she said yes, and before her, and before him and yadda, yadda, yadda, et cetera, et cetera, you get the gist. Exciting lives end in exciting ways. That’s not prophetic, it's a promise. You were not the first two to make it back to the real world and you wont be the last. We get about 1 every two years, actually. Lets just hope the one who pops up when your almost fifteen cares a little more about moral value and a little less about an exciting life. Eh, kiddo?” The Smiling Man opened the door, placed a foot on Lisa's neck, and pulled on the hilt protruding from here ocular socket, retrieving his knife. “But, hey, she lasted thirty years before some little up and comer got her killed, so, you never know. Now, I have this intense hunger that I think I just might surrender to. Awh, too soon?” The Smiling Man began to stroll away from the corpse, back towards the town as the suns first rays crept over the horizon. He began to whistle without losing a millimeter from his smile and he gestured at Mitchel to follow. As Mitchel sat, staring down at the corpse, The Smiling Man looked back over his shoulder and remarked “Oh, come on kid, leave off, will ya? This is what you came for.” and continued strolling away, whistling as he went.
If you made it this far, thanks so much for sticking it out, I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, or, if you really liked it and wanted to read another story, please feel free to contact me at [email]eck39@nau.edu[/email]
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Life is far too important to be taken seriously
-Oscar Wilde
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Little Mitchel stared at the last set of gates he would ever see. He wandered for nearly a year, getting as lost as a little boy could. His 10th birthday he had set out, now, on his 11th, he had finally arrived: Heaven. Four years had past since he first heard of the mystical town, where boys and girls unhappy with life could find themselves after a year of being lost, and only those truly displeased with life outside the gates could find the town. Once you walked in, you never walked out. It was not that you were a prisoner, just that no one ever wanted to. The town was every neglected child’s dream, the Genie who operated the slice of paradise, Mahamoti, made every dream and desire a reality, and loved each child equally. Little Mitchel wondered if his parents had even realized he had run away yet. It had only been a year.
He shouldered his pack, and felt the items settle. A canteen, MRE's, survival supplies. Not the typical backpack of an 11 year old, but when you grew up with parents who did not notice when you were gone for weeks at a time, you grew up quickly, and learned what you needed to to survive. He took one last breath of the world outside, had one more look around. He wouldn't miss it. He had never hated life. Neglectful parents, bullies at school, teachers that despised him, life had certainly tried its best to get him to hate it, but all he really felt was discontent. Discontent with the boring, cycle of thing. You were born, you grew up, you died. He had learned that at six when his best friend was killed. All of life lead to that, and if there was any reason to muddle through to that end without being happy, he had yet to find it. With this in mind, he left his discontenting life behind him, and step through the gate.
Everything changed the moment little Mitchel's foot broke the threshold of Heaven. The silence and darkness outside vanished, the sky glowed as bright as midday, and music was playing in the background. He heard a man singing “hush, hush, hush, here comes the...” as if to announce his presence. The music was drowned out by laughter in the distance, and Mitchell exhaled a breath he had held his whole life. He was away from his family, and his school, and his life, and his hell, and he was finally, finally home. He bent over to exam the flowers growing next to the path. Chrysanthemum were the dominant blossom, but the plants that bore them were home to other flower, dozens of others, as well as fruit, nuts, and all manner of colorful vegetation. Mitchel knew it was impossible, but no longer cared, he breathed the tumultuous mixture of scents in deeply, and picked a full, ripe pomegranate off of the plant. As he rose with the fruit, he noticed movement to his left. The air shimmered, then, parted, and out stepped a man wearing a black suit and an ear to ear grin.
“Oh, frabjous day, callooh, callay!” The man managed to speak without losing an inch of his smile “A New family member has made it to us, children, come, greet your new brother”
Mitchel was hesitant at the puzzling remark, but decided to surrender himself to The Smiling Man's charm. This is what he had come for.
“I... I.. uh, am” Mitchel began to stutter as an armada of children pulled in and dropped anchor around him “I am Mm...”
The Smiling Man cut him off “We know who you are, brother Mitchel, we have been watching your progress anxiously, since you set out a year ago, on your tenth birthday, which reminds me” The Smiling Man reached into the air, and it shimmered again, seeming to part for him. He pulled out an impossibly large cake, and set it down in the air. A table shimmered into existence under the cake, and the children herded him to the head, all smiles and reassurance.
“Great to have you Mitchel” “We knew you would make it” “Happy birthday, brother Mitchel”
Mitchel decided to allow himself to surrender to the gentle encouragement of the children. This is what he had come for.
He found himself at the head of the table and with children ages 10-12 lined up on either side. Chairs appeared under them as they sat down, and then, in unison, the children began to sing. Not the warbling canter of relatives at a birthday bash, which Mitchel had experienced once in his life, and not the choreographed, lackluster song of classmates he had been forced to sing for, but a heart warming chorus of such beauty and passion, that he looked down to avoid showing his new family his tears. The Smiling Man stood beside him, and turned Mitchel's chin up to the other children, who smiled on as if nothing was amiss.
“We hide nothing from each other in this family, Mitchel, and we love each other unconditionally, if you cry, then we will make you smile, and think no less of you for it. We ask only that you do the same.”
“T-th-thank you” Mitchel managed to stammer. “Your so kind” he turned to the children “You are all so kind” back to The Smiling Man “And I don't even know your name”
“Was there ever any question?” his smile extending to the point of nearly of splitting his head in two “I am Mahamoti, Djinn and wish granter of all the children in Heaven”
“Mahahti” Mitchel struggled with the name
Mahamoti bellowed with laughter, and the children around the table joined in. Even Mitchel felt a smile tugging the corners of his lips up from their usual, stoic expression.
“Mahamoti” Repeated the genie, “But the children here call me by whatever name they fancy, father, papa, Friend, Mr., one little girl even decided that I should be called Humpty Dumpty, though I've never fallen off of a wall in all my life” another round of laughter, and Mitchel’s smile grew “What name is the first that pops into your head when you see me?”
“The Smiling Man” Mitchell immediately responded, somehow this roused another round of soft laughter, and he found it amusing himself, and let out a little chuckle.
“Very fitting” The Smiling Man smiled “Very fitting indeed”
“I have a question, though, mister smiling man”
“No need for the mister”
Mitchel smile deepened, grew wider, he felt better than he had in his whole life up to this moment. “I am so tired, and it still seems to be midday, is there somewhere dark I can sleep”
“Lisa, will you take Mitchel to a dark house?” The Smiling Man turned to a short, brown haired girl.
“Of course, Humpty Dumpty” she sprung up and took Mitchel by his hand, leading him towards a line of low sitting houses, framed by more of the plants-of-many-flowers he had seen on the way in.
Finally regaining his composure and ability to articulate, Mitchel turned as they left, and remarked “To think, a day ago, I wasn’t sure any of this was real. It was too good to be true, I didn’t believe in heaven, or genies or... happiness”
“Well” The Smiling Man replied, as the distance between them grew greater by the step “If you agree to believe in me, I agree to believe in you” and then he was gone, vanished around the corner.
---
The dark houses were aptly named. The suns warmth and light beat down on the two until they broke the threshold of the short, stout building. Then, It was nighttime, indisputably. The moon shone gently, stars danced there two step, visible-invisible, tango and a cool sea breeze rolled in through the open window. Mitchel stuck his head out and could experience the ocean with all five sense. Waves crashed, gulls cawed softly in the distance, the air was home to a lingering, salty aroma and felt moist and heavy. “How... Where...”
“All I did my first day was stammer, too” She grinned at him, then let out a soft, pleasant little giggle. “You do get more used to it, I promise, but Humpty Dumpty can do anything, and he does anything we ask. He will never stop amazing you. Now, anything you want will be in the closet, sleep tight, brother” and with that, she hugged him, and left. Mitchel set his pack down in the corner, and looked at the plush, inviting bed. He sat on it, and felt a tear splash onto his hand. He felt his face and realized that the stress and pain of life, as well as they joy of finally arriving were lining up behind his eyes. He released them, and wept with more force than he had before, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, when he realized he had never let go of his fruit. Mitchell picked at the skin until a few seed were present, and popped them into his mouth. The sweet, tangy sensation that filled his mouth was among the most beautiful he had ever known. He lay back on the bed and kicked of his shoes, travel worn and mud spattered, then shed his jacket, in a similar state, and crawled under the warm, enticing comforter. Sleep claimed his mind before the pillow claimed his head. He surrendered to the wonderful sensation. This is what he had come for.
Brother Mitchel awoke when he felt he had slept enough. He realized he was hungry and decided to begin the days adventures with a quest for food. He felt around in the darkness for the door handle, gripped, turned, and stepped out into the sunlight. The world shifted from the peace of night to the bustle of day in an instant, and, looking down, Mitchel found himself in all new clothes. “Was I Wearing these when I woke up?” he wondered, but was distracted by Lisa waving as she came up to him
“Hi” how she managed to get such warmth and affection into such a greeting was beyond him “Lets get some food. I feel like its lunch time. How about you?”
It was such an unusual question that it took Mitchel a few seconds to properly register it “Uh, breakfast?” he almost asked.
Lisa giggled, and he felt without reserve that she was not laughing at him. “Come on then, I know just the place” she lead him by the hand to a large building, and through the open archway that marked the entrance. Together they sat and before either of them spoke, The Smiling Man was there, carrying two trays.
“Peanut butter, jelly, and banana for the adventures lass” he chuckled, and Lisa smiled up at him “And pancakes, bacon, oatmeal and...” he paused, set the tray down, and reached into the shimmering air to produce a small carafe full of tick, brown liquid “real maple syrup for the newest member of our family. Enjoy children.” and he was gone.
“How did he..” Mitchel started, turning to Lisa.
“It's what you wanted, though, isn’t it?” she cut him off, the smile on her face wavering for just a moment, but returning in full force, leaving Mitchel wondering. Mitchel put the thought out of his head and reached for the cup of orange juice, not bothering to wonder where it had come from or when it had appeared. The food was the single most delicious meal he had ever enjoyed, and he kept up a pleasant stream of conversation with Lisa the whole time. they finished their breakfast and lunch, respectively, and Lisa suggested a walk. The two left, meandering down the waterfront, and wound up outside The Smiling Man's home.
“You can go in” she offered “ask him for anything, anytime”
“I'm alright, I don't think I need anything from him now, just a little hungry, what say we get some lunch... and whatever you want.”
“Sure” she said, eyes falling momentarily downward, then flicking back up “Let's go”
The lunch was as perfect as the breakfast, and Mitchel told Lisa everything about himself. He told her about the parents who had never cared about him, about the classmates, who, at best, ignored him, and the teachers who never thought he quite measured up. Then, thinking about The Smiling Man's declaration of everything in the family being shared, he leaned in and told her something he had never trusted anyone enough before to tell. “I also write poetry” he said, feeling how silly it was to keep something so small a secret when he said it out loud, and her head tilted to the side.
“Can I hear some?”
“I am not good at reading aloud, I just...” he began, and looked down to see a pen and paper. He picked up the pen and began to write:
Like autumn wind vanguarding snow,
Her smile hides her tale of woe,
Who is this, this girl I know?
He frowned at the stanza, discontent. Lisa picked up the page and read, the corners of her mouth fighting upwards. “It's lovely” she stated “And look, the pen bled through. We each have a copy. Something to connect us.” Mitchel surrendered to her praise, shocked that someone was praising him at all. This love, this is what he had come for. He picked up the second copy of the poem, and tucked it into his innermost pocket, away from harm. She held the original copy and he saw the sadness creep across her face.
“I'm sorry if it upset you” he managed, not knowing what else to say.
“No, it's not that, it's just moving. Really, its beautiful, just, forlorn.” she looked off into the distance, at nothing, at everything. “What would you like to do now” her tone was still friendly, but, also oddly distant.
“I'm kind of tired” he stifled a yawn, and looked back towards what was now his home “Maybe a quick nap?” They stood and walked to the small, squat dwelling. “See you tomorrow?” brother Mitchel asked hopefully.
“Of course” came the response, and he took a step into his dark house, towards his comfortable bed, towards his dreams. He settled into the bed, and was gripped by a sleep so deep, he knew nothing in the world save for himself could wake him.
---
Something besides himself woke Mitchel from his deep sleep. A frantic shaking, starting at his shoulder and extending, rocking his whole body. He was so drowsy it took him nearly a minuet to realize he was being shaken awake by someone. Lisa came into focus, and he looked outside to gauge the time. Still night time, of course, but, the same night, he was sure. Lisa followed his eyes and shook her head. “It's a trick. It's all a Trick, I'm sorry, it was dangerous to wake you, but he doesn't pay much attention while you are supposed to be so deeply asleep and I didn't want to wait another year. Hurry up and get dressed Mitchel. You are getting out of here.”
“Why would I want to leave, its perfect here, and my old life was...” he continued the pattern from the last few days and trailed off “A year? Another year?” he asked, panic and solace fought their way into his mind, solace showed the most promise, so he surrendered to it. Solace, that is what he had come for. Lisa slapped him across the face, twice, hard. The pain brought the world into a blur. There was not supposed to be pain, and, something else drew his attention. Her hand felt larger than he would have thought, but he hadn't studied her hands, and so dismissed it. He was thinking too much, he had to allow himself to just enjoy where he was, he decided to surrender to the notion, after all, it was what he had come here for.
Another slap.
That hand, again, bothered him, but, he shouldn't feel bothered, he should just...
A fourth slap, and this one followed by Lisa's voice “Stop.” she hissed, voice low, but dangerous “Stop letting him win. Listen to me, none of this is real, he needs you, I don't know why, but for some reason, you are special, he built this all for you. The poem, look at the poem you wrote, read it out loud”
Puzzeled, Mitchel reached into his pocket and felt for the scrap of paper. He unfolded it, and began to read it to himself: She bounds out...
“Out loud” Lisa demanded
Mitchel began again, this time reading the words aloud so that both of them could hear:
caring little for the destruction he brings,
as long as you dance, he leaves you free will,
but defy him just once and fall eternally still.
That wasn't right. Mitchel puzzled over the poem, trying to deduce the exact nature of what was wrong with it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew something was different, but, not what it was.
“You don't write poetry” Lisa was saying “But, he loves it, his favorite book is full of poems, long and short, and when he feeds, he leaves a little part of himself imbedded in the subconscious. You were trying to warn yourself, but, he controls all perception. It took me 15 years to figure that out, and he did not make it easy for me. You need to focus on what doesn’t make sense in order to bring the world into focus. Mitchel, are you hungry?” He hadn’t noticed it when he woke up, but, he was, more so than he should be. “Exactly. Focus on that. It's a bit of a paradox, the safe guards he has in place make it so you surrender to the positive emotions , but when you haven't eaten in a year and six months, and then your brain try’s to convince you that you are full, its a hard one, come on, kid, I know you can do it.”
Mitchel focused. He was hungry, desperately so, and that didn't seem to make sense, because he had eaten a few hours ago. He wanted to not be hungry though, and he knew he was full, because he had eaten a few hours ago, but, if he did, he thought he should be hungry now, but he knew he wasn't, but at the same time... His eyes closed, he thought, and thought, until something inside him budged, he struggled against it, until life started coming in more clearly. Mitchel inhaled, and it felt like he hadn't taken a breath in years. He opened his eyes, and horror gripped him. The window was illuminated by the full moons light, and hung from its hinges, barely attached to the wall. Stacks of garbage and refuse were the only view it offered, and the smell of rotting meat wafted in, forcing him to gag and choke on the air. A rotted pile of what he hoped had once been food was in the bed with him, and soaked through the thin mattress down to the jagged springs underneath. Looking down at the bed, he saw himself, gaunt, and clothed in shredded tatters. His boots and jacket sat next to the bed, and they offered the most appealing view of the floor. The molded, warped floor boards were home to insects and rodent leavings, and seemed to bow under the weight of the frail, middle aged women crouching on them. Mitchel look up into her dead eyes and taught face and whispered “Lisa? Where are we?”
a painful smile pulled her cracked lips across her bony face “A town called Heaven” she told him, and picked up his boots and jacket, tossing them on to the bed with him “Happy birthday, you missed your twelfth.”
“What do you mean I missed it? How long have we been there?”
“We?” she asked “No, no, no, you. You have only been there for a year and a half, I have been there for 30. Every time you sleep in his world, it marks a year passing in ours”
Mitchel sat, befuddled. He had been gone for over a year. “How am I still alive?” he managed, looking around and not seeing any food, as he spoke, Lisa brought up a blue, wrapped bar, and proceeded to tear the ends open and deposit the bar into his hand. Mitchel remembered them, a candy bar he had eaten whenever he could get a hold of it in his past life. He looked up, puzzled.
“Those keep you alive for a year at a time. Mahamoti's little gift to the world. They don’t do anything for hunger or nourishment, so, when people in the world eat them they don’t notice anything, but if you are a young boy or girl, it draws you to him. He thinks its only fair, he feeds you, you feed him.”
Mitchel prepared to ask Lisa about the last comment, but she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of the house. The pristine streets of Heaven laid in ruin, disarray, and general mayhem. Piles of filth accumulated at the end of every downward slope, and small rodents scurried through the trash heaps. Candy bar wrappers littered the road on either side, all the tell-tale blue of Mahamoti's sugary kidnapping implement. They made there way through the dilapidated city, having to climb piles of garbage at times in order to proceed. Mitchel lost his footing more than once an went tumbling down into filth and grime and excrement and what seemed like congealed blood. They finally arrived at their ultimate destination, a run-down packaging plant, with industrial equipment and run off littered around the exterior. Lisa lead him around the back and up a small set of concrete steps, the only thing that looked even remotely intact about the facility. She ushered him inside and into an an adjoining room. The first door closed behind them, and the second soon followed. He turned to see that he stood in the second room alone. “she must have fallen behind” Mitchel muttered to himself “But...” he made his way back to the door and tested it, finding it locked and surprisingly sturdy. The light in the room sputtered to life and allowed him to see the walls that surrounded him. Every inch of the two story walls were covered in writing. Scrawled hastily or artistically created, the words around him all seemed to form stanza's, poems, pieces of literature that left a pit in his stomach. He began to read the nearest one:
blurring your vision between truth and lies,
He always knows what to say, how you feel,
But his secret I fear he will never reveal.
Mitchel turned and read another:
Despair is delight, demanding demise, destruction real, Demon rise.
He turned to read a third and froze. He was no longer alone in room. The Smiling Man stood, leaning against the wall he had read the first poem off, his namesake smile still the chief resident of his face.
“You see, I find myself on the horns of a conundrum.” The Smiling man began “On the one hand, you were such a trouble to keep down, so, Lisa bringing you early was necessary, but this is also the part where I show you that the poem you wrote was actually a warning from yourself. You get all terified and scream 'ahhhh' I laugh, all menacing like 'muahaha' and then we proceed with our live as normal. Well, I do. But, there in lies the rub, because she has made it so you won't become terrified when I show you the poem. Can you empathize with my predicament or are you just going to have an emotional episode like all the other dull creatures I drag through here to their death?”
Mitchel stood, staring, petrified to his very core.
“Oh, stunned silence, that's a new and refreshing twist, usually people kill me and run away to freedom”
Silence.
“See” The Smiling Man continued, shifting his weight on the wall to the other shoulder “That's what grown-ups call sarcasm. It can't be true because I am still here. I am using humor to lighten the mood, because, you see, I'm going to kill you, and that can just throw a damper on the whole relationship thing, I've found” He produced a wicked looking knife from his sleeve, curved and dripping red. “Really? Not even a chuckle for that? Oh, the knife, don't worry” he said, pushing off the wall and standing upright “I'm not going to use this. Truth be told I don't even know why I have it... and why is it bloody? Did I kill someone recently? God, you know, it gets so hard to remember. Maybe I just... Oh! I wrote you a poem with it, look.” and he gestured towards the wall behind Mitchel with the knife, splattering him with red in the process. Still too stunned to react, Mitchel surrendered himself to the suggestion and turned to the wall, and read:
Little Mitchel was 6 when he grew fed up with life’s tricks,
Little Mitchel was 7 when he first heard of heaven,
Little Mitchel was 8 when he wanted to see the gate,
Little Mitchel was 9 when he realized it was time,
Little Mitchel was 10 when his journey Began,
Brother Mitchel was 11 when he found his way to heaven,
Mitchel was 12 when he realized it was hell.
“W-why, why” Mitchel began to stammer, his ability to speak still minimal.
“Why am I doing this?” The Smiling Man finished “Oh, goody, I've only given this speech a billion times, I love when people ask it again. Fine, look kid, key bullet points here: one, I need to feed on extreme emotions to survive. Joy, terror, love, all perfect, delicious, downright yummy” He reached into the air beside him, putting the knife into the Other Space “Two: children are much less inhibited than adults, and feel more freely, I tried using very drunk adults once, but, with all the cleaning and boozing and other upkeep they took, it was just more trouble than it was worth” he continued, his smile never wavering “Third, and pay attention there, kiddo, because this one is specific to you: I usually keep people until adult hood, then kill them once they outlive their usefulness. But you, there, sport, are so utterly anhedonic and stoic that I was poring joy into your brain, and forcing you to surrender to the joy and you still were discontent. You just really, really don't want to be happy, and that is not healthy my little friend. I would suggest you seek psychological help, you know, if the whole 'I'm going to kill you' thing wasn't an issue”
“You made me surrender” Mitchel said out loud. The first complete thought he had expressed since being trapped in the room.
“Seriously?” The Smiling Man laughed out loud “Seriously? That's what you took away from that. Not 'This guys a monster, I must flee' or 'oh my good god, he is here to kill me'. That is not how the game is played. Seriously kid, you've got some problems.”
“He made me surrender” Mitchel thought. “He made me surrender, and I am not hungry” he thought to himself.
“Yes you are” The Smiling Man interjected, his grin wavering ever so slightly “Stop thinking that”
“I am not hungry, and if this was real life, I would be starving. I haven't eaten anything to fill me up in two and a half years. The fear of death wouldn't be able to chase that thought from my head”
“Kid, trust me, it totally would, I'm just really scary, okay, see 'oooh' scary” A hint of a frantic tone crept into The Smiling Man's tone.
“He can hear me think, he wouldn't be able to in the world”
“No, I cant, I'm just a badass guesser” The smile on his face was leeching away, finding its way over to Mitchel lips.
“This is just another trick. That's all it is. I can leave, I know I can, Lisa wasn't lying, I just have to focus on what doesn't makes sense.” Mitchel stated triumphantly.
The Smiling Man's smile faded. “Well... alright, well played kid. But, you don't understand, see, I have this horrible condition that humanizes me and makes you want to let me kill you...”
Mitchel closed his eyes and focused, on the poem appearing behind him, on The Smiling Man moving through space, on the fact that he wasn't hungry. He struggled, his own mind urging him to give in, surrender, abandon all hope, but he persevered. Something inside of him shattered, and he opened his eyes.
He was still in the factory. The walls of morbid poetry still surrounded him, he could see Lisa through the window on the door and The Smiling Man stood in front of him, the smile still on his face, and a deviant glee glowing in his eyes.
“Oh, that's right, I totally forgot to tell you, I made that one so I could harvest fear. Nothing bad was going to happen to you there. Just get scared, pee your pants a little, but that's worst case scenario” The Smiling Man turned, picked up the knife he had used to write the poem, and continued “This is the one where I kill you. Well, would. You are only the second person to make it this far, and the other one took the deal.”
“What deal” asked Mitchel, questing inwards and realizing to his regret, he was starving.
“You help me with the whole 'collecting, harvesting, and not killing people' thing, and then you get to live. Yay!” The Smiling Man held out both hands, one open, one closed around the knife. “Think about it, Mitchel, you came to me because life was so dull, you weren’t sad, or depressed, you didn’t want to die, you could have easily done that without me, you came here because you were bored. Your only fear was being trapped in that never ending 9-5 cycle, oh, that's a work thing, until the day you die. I can give you the opportunity to do so much more, to be so much more, to have power, a life of meaning, a life where you will never be bored again till the day you die. I'm not a bad guy. I do what I need to to survive, and I get to do so much more. I live every day of my life like you wish you could live one, and I can make that your life too.” He proffered his hands up further, signaling for Mitchel to choose.
Mitchel's range of emotions was more extreme than when he had assumed The Smiling Man was just going to kill him. He had been looking for a life of adventure, a fantastical life to escape the monotony he was doomed for. That had been almost two years ago, but, he had experienced a day of that time at most. He was still the same person he had been then and he realized that the last year and a half of his life, while terrifying and horrible at times, was more excitement than most people experienced in their entire existence. He had dreamed of a life of excitement, and then the life had come to him as a dream. But which dreamed it? He wondered, and looked to see The Smiling Man's smile spread even wider. He knew then that if he didn't take The Smiling Man's deal, he would regret it, for the very short remainder of his life afterwords. Mitchel knew in that moment that there was any price he would pay to avoid the shrieking affliction of boredom. He knew he would never be affected by simple sorrows, or take happiness in simple joys. He took The Smiling Man's hand and The Smiling Man looked down at him “See, you just need the right incentive to fulfill my dreams” he said, and turned to Lisa, driving the knife through the glass and into her waiting eye. The blade sunk into the skull up to the hilt, and stuck there as Lisa fell back to the ground.
“Why did you do that!” Mitchel demanded, trying to relinquish the mans grasp and rush to Lisa's aid.
The Smiling Man held him firm and looked down at him “I lied' he said plainly “I do that a bit. She knew I would kill her if you said yes, because I killed the one before when she said yes, and before her, and before him and yadda, yadda, yadda, et cetera, et cetera, you get the gist. Exciting lives end in exciting ways. That’s not prophetic, it's a promise. You were not the first two to make it back to the real world and you wont be the last. We get about 1 every two years, actually. Lets just hope the one who pops up when your almost fifteen cares a little more about moral value and a little less about an exciting life. Eh, kiddo?” The Smiling Man opened the door, placed a foot on Lisa's neck, and pulled on the hilt protruding from here ocular socket, retrieving his knife. “But, hey, she lasted thirty years before some little up and comer got her killed, so, you never know. Now, I have this intense hunger that I think I just might surrender to. Awh, too soon?” The Smiling Man began to stroll away from the corpse, back towards the town as the suns first rays crept over the horizon. He began to whistle without losing a millimeter from his smile and he gestured at Mitchel to follow. As Mitchel sat, staring down at the corpse, The Smiling Man looked back over his shoulder and remarked “Oh, come on kid, leave off, will ya? This is what you came for.” and continued strolling away, whistling as he went.
-Oscar Wilde
-Oscar Wilde