"Nowhere and Somewhere," a short story

Took a bit of a break from getting stories out.

General work and leaning back into sobriety...along with amount of news I'm taking in day in and day out is definitely taking a toll on my...focus.

That said, I know and recognize that is the time to lean in which I plan on doing from here on out starting with..."Nowhere and Somewhere."

Definitely a shorter piece that I found in an old Google Doc. that I edited and put together into something...good? One can hope - haha.

Hope everyone is well and staying safe.

Cheers. Mitch.

Nowhere and Somewhere

Edwin's life had always been series of bad choices, missteps, and shallow but still deep regrets; a winding path that inevitably, try as he try as he try, led him right back to where he started. Or, nowhere.

He existed (if one could call it existing at all) in purgatory: stuck between here and there, in a place devoid of meaning.

Despite everything, Edwin nevertheless had to exist in the world. Bills needed paying, so he went to work, clocking in and out like everyone else in a world of working to survive. Afterwards, like most, he drank at the local bar until he ended up in a stranger's bed or passed out in the gutter or talking to strangers on benches late into the night, only to often wake beneath another monotonous dawn, brushed in white, yellow, and pale purple. Even then, Edwin remained unmoved by nature's beauty, lost in thoughts of his own bad choices, wondering why they kept repeating (even during his stints of being off the drink) and returning to dwelling on his sorry state, forever wrestling with the fleeting ghosts that refused to leave his side.

At home, in his studio apartment with nothing on the wall save a clock that came with the place, no mirror was safe around Edwin.

If I had only said I love you when I should have, Edwin often thought.

Did what I said I was going to do...been who I pretended I could be.

Where did that person go? Edwin murmured to himself: at the back of the bus, on the toilet at work, amongst piss slapping against porcelain and coughing into sinks and farts echoing out the door.

Could I find them again? Would they hear my sorrowful pleas? Could they forgive the man I was back then and the oaf I am today?

He first wanted to work in Government Cloud security. He wanted to keep people safe. Many people throughout his life had been lost deemed not worthy when they were. Until Edwin realized he was only putting digital eyes in the sky and digital cuffs around humanity - his first love. The day he understood he wasn't protecting anyone, only watching them, was the day Edwin stopped pretending he could fix his life, this life - the future.

After, Edwin wanted to learn to paint and show the world the world through his hands. But painting doesn't pay, so he took a job as a lowly typist and engineer to exist.

Years passed. Temporary became permanent as his once lively brushes gathered dust, and Edwin traded his dreams for survival - and lost both. Every abandoned canvas on its easel, every day spent in fluorescent-lit cubicles instead of sunlit studios, pressed down on him like the great palm of a God who had never once offered a helping hand.

Confusion clouded Edwin's mind, as the great bard's words stung at every corner and avenue of his mind late at night:

Shame and confusion! All is on the rout.
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.

On what Edwin believed to be his final night, he wrote in his journal:

I have made my peace with my mind, my body...I no longer see it as ever mine, but as something given to me, broken. Without the will, wherewithal, or ability to fix it - or the want - I am giving it back.

I am giving it all back to Her, to Her - to Her.

Morning, and Edwin walked the train tracks alone. Birds side-stepped back and forth past each other in the air and in the trees and on their branches as bugs whipsawed through the sky. The sights and sounds made him think of breakfast - something he hadn't eaten that day if only to avoid inconveniencing the coroner.

Overhead, the translucent moon lingered against the rekindling morning, an in‑between place. The sight reminded Edwin of himself, a mind and body passing through. Himself, a thing for a time and then, not - no more.

Then, in the distance, a piercing train whistle cut through the air.

I have made my amends with my mind, my body, Edwin whispered. I am infinite now, and I will be infinite thereafter.

He stopped, stared down at the shaking tracks. Still, Edwin watched the rocks and the pebbles tremble with the Earth. He was not scared. He was not Edwin. He was vibration returning.

Thank you, Edwin said softly. Thank you, anyway - regardless of it all.

And when Edwin looked up, the massive train that had been barreling towards him had stopped before striking. Its engine billowed thick, white, grayish smoke in the air. He could feel the searing heat from its engine. The Conductor of the train, a thumb-shaped figure wearing nothing but a large and loose dirty white t-shirt and even dirtier blue overall jeans, no hat (just bald), leaned out to look at Edwin.

His gaze was wise and knowing, like he had seen time for what it was: a bridge to another bridge.

You have a choice, the Conductor said, his voice timbre. This train can take you to Somewhere or back to Nowhere. Somewhere takes you to a world of choices, millions of them. All for you. The other is the path you're on - paralyzed.

Edwin hesitated and then started to shake, split between decision and choice.

Just thinking about it will become who you are, the Conductor said. Who you are is beyond that.

The train's door creaked open, and Edwin stepped inside.

What was revealed was a cabin filled with passengers: reflections of himself shaped by all the choices he had made in all the lives he had lived in other times unseen. They stared back at him, a tapestry of possibilities, lost dreams, mistakes, mishaps, stalls, and successes.

The train lurched, then chugged forward as Edwin wandered the cabin, observing each version of himself. Some waved, others frowned. Some did nothing but look ahead. With every interaction, though, he felt the weight of his past regrets and the burden of each heavy choice lift and disappear along with their apparitions.

Eventually, they were all gone, and Edwin was left alone again.

But this time, he was on his way to Somewhere.