Act Two {Lars Awake / One-Shot}

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A scarlet sun sinks beneath the surface of a swirling sea of shadows. Waves of whispers crash across the sandy shores with songs of sadness tainting their tones. Alone I watch the waning light of life drown in the depths of death. A single soul seated on a silent shore chilling in the growing presence of the night sky, I know this is my final sunset. In a instant, there is nothing but the black and whispers while my soul sails adrift losing grip of its sandy seat. The voices fade into the void until I am entirely alone, one boy forever wandering through the unchanging bleakness of the dark. 

My moment atop the river Styx seems centuries long as time toils into nothingness. Thoughts turn for Auto and thoughts turn for home. Is this the true finale of the largest show? A lifetime of moments and myriads of connections all condensed into never ending shade. Is this the fate of stars whose spotlights have faded and the have curtains closed? An eternity adrift in reflection of opening night? It seems anti-climactic. It seems cruel. Yet above all, it seems to be the truth. 

I've forgotten what feeling is like. I no longer know the sensations it can stir through the streams of my thoughts. I've forgotten what it's like to move. For millennia I've been motionless, rolling across the surface of shadows. I've forgotten what it's like to speak. In life treasures could be found in the hearts of conversation, but here only solitude shines through the echoing of my single voice. It is isolating, and it murders all desire to speak. 

One thing alone has survived this scene of dancing darkness, the images of those who shared the stage of my life. With crystal clarity I can imagine Auto's voice and envision her snarkiest smiles. With perfect precision I can remember the battles aside Carter and the conversations with Maxwell. With absolute accuracy I can recall the laughter of my siblings and the lessons they would teach. But even this ability is tainted by a film of shadows. They are perfect pictures of everything I have lost. Torturous and condemning to the soul, souring to the mind. 

I wonder whether the world still exists. Are all humans now surrounded in silencing shade? Was the world ravaged by war or devoured by a storming star? Or perhaps it's only been mere moments since I felt my body rattle against the ground of the arena. Perhaps time is slowed instead of expedited? They are all pointless questions, but to drive off the madness I can never let my mind null into the numbness of this existence. I'll keep existing, even if just as a single speck drifting on the backs of constant currents. '

A wind washes over my face, I hardly notice until it returns for a second time. Suddenly I'm more alert then any other time I've spent wandering within this prison. This is new, irregular, dare I imagine... hopeful. It caresses my cheeks again, this time turning my entire figure. Cold creeps across my body... wait, I can feel the cold creeping across my body! I can hear a soft sound suddenly begin to rise, it mimics cracking ice but instead is shattering shadows. 

The river holding me hostage halts and gives way to sunlight. The wind fills my chest. Breath. A drum hammers by it's side. Heartbeat. A mind registers everything that is happening. Life. The curtain rises and my eyes sluggish blink open. 

Eyes angle towards me from out of the mists of my awakening. Fear unlike any other engulfs my instincts bringing hands tightly around the neck of the nearest watcher. Shouts split lips and bodies burst from nearby areas ripping free the victim from my animal-like attack. A woman is trying to speak to me but I can barely hear her above the confusion crippling my mind and contorting my body. She just keeps repeating:

"You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."

But I know I died.

It takes several hours for the shock to settle and for my panic to perish. I know now that again the spotlight of life shines over me, but despite the return of the light inside I remain dark. There is a beat in my chest and breath over my lips, but the boy who once resided as owner of this existence no longer remains. A hollow husk sits in silence where his soul should rest, and instead he is left with a new question. 

How are the dead expected to live again?

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