Chapter 7: Apeirophobia

 

“The problem is, there’s just no time, never enough time.”

Why must time stop? Please, keep going, let me out. I can’t stay here… 

He waited an eternity, trapped within a silence, surrounded by the isolating darkness. It was like a clock, ticking away every second that passed, but not knowing if true time did progress. He was tired, he’d been tired before. Tired of the damning constants he’d lived in previously, a boring life defined by a neverending routine. Time passed too quickly then, he’d wished there was more of it. More time so he could sleep off the worries, and still have enough to deal with the issue later on. He never wanted time to stop permanently. He just wanted there to be more of it. To do the things he always wanted to do. It wasn’t supposed to be like this though. He didn’t want this at all. It was wrong, everything was wrong. He just wanted more time, not an eternity.

He was tired. If it wasn’t already evident from the dark circles under his eyes, ones that held no light, then it would be evident from the sore aching of his body, the stings of pain that stabbed his forehead. His heart was so heavy, it felt like it would fall to his feet. His stomach, tossing and turning, was now empty of its contents, which were strewn across the floor. The remnants of its odour burned in his nose, just like the leftover bits that clung to his chin. To say it was gross would understate how truly wretched Fulgur felt. Now he stood next to a new mirror. One adorned with rustic metal leaves that curled in on the frame. Splotches of oxidized copper turned a deep turquoise, dusted with dirt—a once beautiful frame surrounding a mirror that could barely reflect. The large cracks were filled with grime and the areas where the mirror wasn’t broken were foggy and greasy.

Fuglur reached his hand out, rubbing the padded tip of his finger against the dirty specks on the mirror, clearing away that surface layer. Now what stared back was his face. A horror to his own eyes. He didn’t just look tired, he was a corpse. A dead body of what he once looked like. Slowly that face faded, mixing into a blend of colours until it turned black. Vaguely, he could still see the reflection of his expression, bringing forth the muddled image of a sick, worn-out man. Each nightmare slowly chipped away at his sanity, and now there was another one. As he stared, the black space slowly descended into a small room. A light appeared, drowning out the image, and forcing Fulgur to close his eyes for a moment, blinking away the spots that invaded his vision. He saw a familiar man, kneeling with arms barely even attached to his body, held up by chains. Chains wrapped themselves around his limbs, legs pinned down, whilst his arms were nearly ripped off of his body, only kept together by a few exposed wires and plates of metal that seemed to hold on stubbornly. Fulgur watched the side of his counterpart's face as he stared up, eyes focused on the unmoving arms of a grandfather clock. Under a raspy breath, he spoke the word, “One”. A mantra of a broken man, over and over he repeated himself.

Fulgur backed away from the mirror, fear now boiling on the surface of his skin. 

“Is that me? Fuck, is that me?” He’d been in bad shape before, seen even worse, but never himself in such a state. He had a distant expression he’d never seen before. It was unsettling. “What the hell is this?” He asked, hoping for an answer, even if it was just a slight click, the feeling of a breeze in the air, even if it was his voice echoing back at him. He just wanted acknowledgement from an isolated silence.

“This is seriously fucked up.” He muttered. He drew his hands away from the mirror and he pulled them close to his chest. “Let me outta here!” He screamed.

He ground his teeth in frustration, “You’re here, right? I know you hear me!” The lack of response slowly ate away at his anger, desperation was what he felt now. A desire for it all to end. “Please! I can’t stay here!” He truly couldn’t, if he stayed he worried his mind wouldn’t be able to take it any longer. He could feel himself slipping away with every passing second he stayed there. Fulgur was nearly gone at this point, he didn't know who he was. 

“Let me out!”

Silence.

“I can’t stay here!”

There was only the darkness that surrounded him to give him comfort. 

Too much, it’s all too much. 

He continued backing away from the mirror, the anxiety bubbling up nearly to a peak. Slowly, the room became darker with every step he took. The main source of light was the mirror, the further he walked, the farther he was buried in the darkness of the room. His eyes clouded over, and his heart raced so harshly that the blood swam up to his head. He could barely think with the way his ears rang. His lungs swelled, and breathing was a painful chore that stabbed his chest with every inhale. At some point, he knew his back had hit something solid, and he laid his head against that wall. He noticed the cold smooth surface, almost glass. He turned, raising his hands to slam against what he thought to be a glass wall, but rather than shattering, there was a thud. Nothing moved. Even with his arms, which he couldn’t feel a thing under, he could tell there was no movement in the wall, barely even a vibration. 

“Who are you? What is this?” He banged the wall again, creating another loud thud, but he couldn’t tell if anything was happening. 

“You can’t keep me here!” He hit the wall again and again. Over and over he slammed his metal arms against it, each time harder than the last. At some point, the surface parts of his metal plates began to break off. Clattering over the floor, screws rolled away, yet Fulgur didn’t care as he continued to scream until his throat felt hoarse and the paddings of his palms had ripped open in parts. He demanded, sobbed, screamed, pleaded. Effort that was wasted when there was no reply. 

“Please!” He knew how pitiful he sounded, with desperation cracking through his words. It couldn’t have been helped, he was spiralling. It felt like he’d been there for hours. Every part of his body ached, the edges of his limbs where flesh met metal were swollen raw with the constant harsh movement. Sweat and tears stuck to his skin uncomfortably, and it hurt every time he wiped them away. 

He was tired. That was the truth. With no concept of time and no idea how time was even passing in that room, it felt like an eternity of entrapment. It scared him with every thought that even resembled the idea. An eternity, trapped within a room filled with the memories of the nightmares he’d seen before. All because of those mirrors, that damned mirror. A consistent reminder of the suffering he’d been put through. 

He drew close to the mirror, and the image of the clock grew nearer. The arms of the clock were still, with no clicking that indicated every second that passed. Yet, it wasn’t silent, the whisper of his counterpart saying “one” filled the air. It felt wrong. The way the clock didn’t move, it felt off. A frustrating heaviness pushed against his chest. 

“One.” The words kept getting louder.

“One.” It filled his ears like a booming drum. 

“One.” It was too loud now, the words caused his head to ache.

Too loud.

“One.” 

Stop, please. Shut up. 

“One.” 

“Fucking shut up!” Shatter of glass splattered on the ground. Shards fell into the crevices of his arms, while most fell to his feet. Fulgur hadn’t realized he’d moved. He could barely think with the beating of his heart in his ears that clouded his thoughts, and the constant throbbing around his forehead that seemed to persist. 

He was sure he’d finally lost himself, he let his anger seep through, and now he was sure there was nothing to hold him back anymore. As he fell to his knees, he landed on the pile of shards, crunching under his weight. Burying his face into his hands, he felt the tiny bits of the mirror prickling his cheeks. He let out a scream. One filled with frustration and anger, a scream to let out the feelings of agony. He was exhausted, his limbs could barely move, his body was baked with sweat and dirt, and all he cared for was sleep. He wanted to sleep to let the time pass, and hopefully have the chance to return to his home, to his friends, to his family. It was lonely in that place. The silence was more than just deafening, it was maddening. Scared, Fulgur believed that if he stayed silent for too long, he’d finally lose what was left of his sanity. 

Yet here, he kneeled, sobbing into his hands as he mumbled pleas to whoever was listening. 

“I can’t stay here. Please, let me go.” 

His emotions were erratic, constantly fluctuating between immense anxiety, deep depression, and spurts of rage. During these spikes, he’d lift his arms only to slam them back down onto the pile of broken mirrors. He beat them until they turned so small, they were practically dust. He held his arms down on the ground for a bit, the constant swinging took more out of him than he thought it would. As his forehead was pressed against the dusty floor, something to his side caught his eye. He tilted his head, glancing around until his gaze finally landed on a small piece. A shard, with a pointed edge sharper than the rest. 

Fulgur knew that he’d likely never be able to leave, the small bit of hope within him fading into the back of his head. There was a new hope and a new plan. One that could potentially save him from this hell. Whoever brought him there seemed to love playing with him, toying with his mind, and breaking him psychologically.  However, it’d be difficult to do so if there was nothing to break. If his mind was completely blank, and a body void of a soul, he’d become an empty vessel, one too boring to play with. He’d finally be free from this never-ending hellscape. 

As his hand drew closer to the object that would finally free him, he felt a tug at his leg, and a clank soon followed. There was a tight hold around his ankle, and he whipped his head down to take a look. There, a chain firmly anchored itself around his ankle, tightening when he tried to pull away. Before he knew it, the hand he held out to the broken mirror shard felt the same tight wrap around his wrist. It was then that he felt it pull. Yanking his body away from the broken mirror, his body was dragged across the floor. Fuglur was frantic. He tried to grab onto the ground to stop the chain from taking him away. His efforts only resulted in his fingertips being ripped off, pieces of its metal and paddings sent flying. He cursed as his cheek collided with the floor sliding beneath him. The strain ripped off the surface of his artificial skin, puncturing the metal underneath. Black oil spilled from the hole, dripping onto the ground and leaving a trail behind. It didn’t take long before it stopped, now he laid on the ground, catching his breath after the sudden event. 

It only took a blink, only a slight moment for his guard to falter, when his exhaustion hit him like a truck. He’d only planned to rest his eyes for a moment. However, as soon as he opened them, he knew he wasn’t in his previous position. He could tell that it was brighter, brighter than it had ever been before. There was heat radiating on his back, and above him, shining down on his body. He was facing down, but even then, the light was so intense that he had to take a second to process the change. Now he was kneeling, red heavy chains pinning down his legs, wrapping around his torso and up his neck. Some held his arms up and those were the only ones that kept him upright. Without them, he’d collapse. Twisting his head around was difficult with the chain restraining his neck, which made the soreness worse. Yet he could tell that the chain led to nowhere, only emerging from the darkness. He was nearly a perfect copy of that image in the mirror. That realization hit him far too late. 

“Fuck!” He shouted. He pulled on the chains and tried to step forward, but they tightened their hold on him, nearly strangling his neck. He pushed even harder, the sounds of metal rupturing coming from both sides. The red plates of his shoulders ripped apart from their screws, revealing the jumble of wires inside. As he kept pushing, some plates pulled off from the tension, and others only stayed on because of being attached to an inner piece. The wires were stretched to their limits, unplugging from the body or tearing from the middle. All that was left were a few measly nerve cables and a metal bone that held the prosthetic together. Fulgur could no longer move, the chains had tightened themselves to the point of immobilizing him. He was stuck, with his limbs barely staying on, and metal everywhere. His body was broken beyond repair, and as he bowed his head, his breathing deepened, burning his lungs. A sob spilled over and soon, the little area he was in was filled with his agonizing cries. 

“I can’t do this! Please, let me go!”

It wasn’t as if he was hoping for an answer, that hope was lost now. He didn’t know who he was pleading to, who he was begging to, but all he knew was that his pleas were useless. No one was there, no one would help him.

“I can’t stay here!”

There was a thud in front of him, the knocking of wood, and the jangle of bells. Fulgur looked up, squinting past the light that shone from above, and there, there stood the same grandfather clock he’d seen in the mirror. It was daunting, seeing it so close to him and in person. The body of the clock held a glass case, to which three golden bells hung. What he hadn’t noticed before was the way he could see himself in the reflection of the case, see himself, torn to shreds, with fear and hopelessness embedded within his dishevelled appearance. Then there was the clock itself. As he remembered, it didn’t move. 

It only then dawned on him that he’d never be able to keep track of the time, to know how long he’d been there, and how long he would stay. That was a fear, a constant reminder of his endless entrapment. Isolated from everyone he cared for. Eternity, trapped alone and wondering if he would ever be let out. He wished for his life back. He wished for that constant boring life back. A life where he would no longer complain that there was never enough time. He knew now, that he’d rather run out of time than ever have to be stuck. Stuck in a timeless space, tormented by the thing he loathed. An eternity, without time.

Written by: @A_Konaras

Art by: @sayayabweh