This is the End.... The Story - 1. Chapter 1

“Welcome to the P.R.O.M.P.T. experiment Part II.” Dr. Alka adjusted his glasses. His gaze wandered over to the ten soundproofed booths before him; nine were occupied. “Before we begin, I’ll call your names to determine who is present. “Please raise your hand when you hear yours.” He cleared his throat. “@Thirdly; @Valkyrie; @Paladin; @wildone; @CassieQ; @Tim Hobson; @LJCC, @E.K. Stokes, @Aditus, @Bryson.” He nodded at some of the test subjects. “It’s nice I can recognize some participants from part I. Couldn’t get enough of this, huh?” He winked at them. “First, I will explain the process for those new to this. You will find a VR device on the table in front of you. The devices will interlink during the experiment, and you will see the other participants’ ideas and be able to react if you wish. In a few minutes, my assistants will come to you and connect electrodes that register your brainwaves. Last time, we provided a situation, and your task was to create a story moving forward to whatever end. This time, we provide an ending, meaning you must invent a story moving backward to a whatever beginning.

“Don’t expect a continuous flow. The end product may seem erratic. Imagine your ideas as soap bubbles that sometimes collide and unite into a new sphere that bounces away in a different direction. Not every part has to make sense. We are here to create, imagine, and let our minds loose.”

Dr. Alka turned to @wildone, who sat in his booth and frowned. Pressing a button so he could chat with him directly, he asked, “Do you have a question? Remember, there are no stupid questions.”

@wildone shrugged. “To be honest I don’t understand the instructions.”

Dr. Alka frowned. “Just follow the more experienced participants and all will become clear.” He pressed another button so he could speak to everyone. “Let’s begin.”

The memory of Sam, a vibrant splash of colour in the monochrome landscape of his past, began to surface more vividly. He remembered the day they met, a chance encounter. Zelt, lost in the pages of a worn copy of Kerouac, had bumped into him, sending a cascade of papers tumbling to the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he’d stammered, his cheeks flushed.

Sam, his eyes sparkling with amusement, had laughed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”

They’d spent the next hour talking, their conversation flowing effortlessly from literature to music to their shared disdain for the stifling conformity of their small town. Sam, with his fiery red hair and rebellious spirit, was a breath of fresh air, a whirlwind of energy that swept Zelt away from the shadows of his past.

Their connection was immediate and intense. They spent a lot of time together, exploring hidden corners of the town, sharing whispered secrets under the star-drenched sky. They found solace in each other’s company, a refuge from the loneliness that had haunted them for so long.

Later, both older, they decided to move to the city together, a sprawling metropolis where they could escape the judgmental eyes of their hometown. They found a small, cramped apartment in a run-down building next to the railroad tracks, a place they could call their own. It wasn’t much, but they filled it with their dreams and their love.

Sam worked as a barista in a bohemian café, his vibrant personality a hit with the regulars. Zelt, fueled by Mr. Davies’s encouragement, pursued his writing, spending his days hunched over his laptop, crafting stories that reflected the darkness and beauty of the world around him.

They dreamed of a future filled with art and adventure. Sam, with his passion for photography, envisioned travelling the world, capturing the raw beauty of humanity. Zelt, with his gift for words, dreamed of writing novels that would challenge and inspire.

They talked about opening their own bookstore café, a haven for artists and dreamers, a place where they could share their love of literature and art with the world. They imagined long nights filled with poetry readings, live music, and stimulating conversations.

They talked about children, about building a family, about creating a home filled with love and laughter, a home unlike the one Zelt had grown up in. They painted a picture of a future bathed in sunlight, a future where the shadows of their past would no longer haunt them.

But the shadows were persistent. Zelt’s past, his unresolved trauma, his fear of abandonment, cast a long shadow over their relationship. He struggled with his inner demons, his anxieties manifesting in bouts of anger and withdrawal.

Sam, despite his unwavering support, began to feel the strain. The weight of Zelt’s pain, the constant fear of his unpredictable moods, began to take its toll. He loved him, but he couldn’t carry the burden alone.

The telegram, the news of his father’s heart attack, was a catalyst, a stark reminder of the unresolved issues that threatened to consume him. Zelt (He) knew he had to face his past, to confront the demons that haunted him. He knew he had to do it for Sam, for their future.

He remembered the last time he saw him, the tears in Sam’s eyes, the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. He’d said, “I need you to get better, Zelt. For you, for us.” He remembered the promise he made to him, a promise he desperately wanted to keep.

Now, in the sterile confines of the facility, he clung to the memory of Sam, his love a beacon in the darkness. He knew he had to find his way back to him, to the life they had dreamed of. He knew he had to heal, to break free from the chains of his past. He knew, with a certainty that pierced the haze of his medication, that he had to fight for their future, for the future they had built together.

The medication, a dull, pervasive hum beneath his skin, allowed Zelt a strange sort of clarity. Not the sharp, focused clarity of a healthy mind, but a softened, almost nostalgic recollection. Memories, usually jagged and fragmented, flowed with a deceptive smoothness, like a river carrying debris downstream.

He remembered his childhood home, a sprawling Victorian house with peeling paint and a sprawling garden. His father, a man of imposing stature and volatile temper, ruled the house with an iron fist. Zelt, a quiet, introspective child, often found solace in the garden, hiding amongst the overgrown rose bushes and whispering secrets to the wind.

His mother, a gentle, ethereal woman, was a constant source of comfort. He remembered her soft hands, her soothing voice, the way she would hum lullabies as she tucked him into bed. She was a painter, her canvases filled with swirling landscapes and vibrant portraits, capturing the essence of the world as she saw it.

But the peace was fragile, easily shattered by his father’s outbursts. Arguments echoed through the house, his father’s booming voice clashing with his mother’s tearful pleas. Zelt would cower in his room, clutching his teddy bear, the sounds of conflict seeping through the walls.

He remembered the day his mother left. It was a cold, grey morning, the sky mirroring the emptiness in his heart. She had packed a single suitcase, her face pale and drawn. She knelt before him, her eyes filled with tears, and whispered, “I’ll always love you, Zelt. Always.”

Then, she was gone, leaving a void that his father’s anger could not fill. The house grew colder, the garden more desolate. His father, consumed by bitterness, became even more distant, his affection replaced by a cold indifference.

Zelt found refuge in books, immersing himself in stories of adventure and escape. He dreamed of faraway lands, of heroes and heroines, of a world where love and kindness prevailed. He yearned for a life beyond the confines of his father’s house, a life where he could be free.

He excelled in school, his intelligence a sharp contrast to his quiet demeanor. He found a mentor in his English teacher, Mr. Davies, a man with a passion for literature and a gentle understanding of Zelt’s troubled soul. Mr. Davies encouraged his writing, recognising the spark of creativity that flickered within him.

He recalled his teenage years, a period of rebellion and self-discovery. He experimented with drugs and alcohol, seeking a temporary escape from his pain. He found solace in the company of other outcasts, misfits who shared his sense of alienation.

He met Sam in his last year of high school. He was a vibrant, free-spirited boy with a contagious laugh and a rebellious streak that matched his own. They spent long nights talking, sharing their dreams and fears, their hopes and disappointments. Sam understood his pain, his longing for escape, his need for connection.

He remembered their first kiss, a tentative exploration of shared vulnerability. He remembered the feeling of his hand in Sam’s, the warmth of his presence. He thought he had found a way out of the darkness, a path to a brighter future.

Then came the telegram. The news of his father’s heart attack shattered his fragile sense of hope. He felt a strange mixture of grief and resentment, a tangled web of emotions he couldn’t unravel. He knew he had to go back, to face the man who had shaped his life, who had cast him into the shadows.

He remembered the train journey, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels a constant reminder of the passage of time. He remembered the feeling of dread as he approached his childhood home, the weight of the past pressing down on him.

He remembered the confrontation, the final, bitter exchange with his father. The words, sharp and cruel, cut through the years of silence, leaving wounds that would never heal. He remembered the feeling of emptiness as he walked away, the realisation that he had lost not only his father, but a part of himself.

Now, in the sterile confines of the facility, the memories flowed like a film reel, a disjointed narrative of a life lived in the shadows.

Zelt blinked, the train station’s gritty reality snapping back into focus. The fading rumble of the departing train echoed the hollow ache in his chest. He looked at the nurse, a young man with tired eyes and a clipboard held too tightly.

“Meds?” Zelt echoed, the word tasting like ash. “Right. The meds.”

He reached into his pocket, his fingers fumbling with the small plastic bottle. He popped the cap and swallowed a pill dry, the bitter taste a familiar companion. He looked back at the empty tracks, the memory of his parents, the telegram, the rush, all blurring into a chaotic montage.

“It’s just...” he began, his voice trailing off. “It’s hard to tell what’s real sometimes.”

The nurse nodded, a practiced gesture of understanding. “I know. But that’s why we have the medication, right? To help you stay grounded.”

Grounded. Zelt scoffed inwardly. He felt anything but grounded. He felt like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, tossed and turned, unsure which way was up. The train station, the telegram, his father’s heart attack—it all felt like a fever dream, a distorted reflection of a reality he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Where are we going?” Zelt asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“To the facility,” the nurse replied, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s going to be okay, Zelt. You’ll get the help you need.”

“The facility,” Zelt repeated, the phrase echoing in his mind. He imagined sterile white walls, locked doors, and the constant hum of fluorescent lights. A place where the lines between reality and delusion were even more blurred.

He looked around the station, the bustling crowd now a distant blur. He saw faces, but they were all strangers, their expressions unreadable. He felt a profound sense of isolation, a feeling of being adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

“Will they have trains there?” Zelt asked, his voice laced with a strange urgency.

The nurse paused, his eyes searching Zelt’s face. “Trains?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah, trains,” Zelt said, his voice rising slightly. “Trains that go somewhere. Trains that take you away.”

The nurse placed a hand on Zelt’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly firm. “Let’s go,” he said, gently guiding Zelt towards the exit. “We’ll talk about trains later.”

As they walked, Zelt’s mind raced, the fragments of his memories swirling together, forming a disjointed narrative. He saw his father’s face, contorted in anger, then softened with a flicker of something he couldn’t quite identify. He saw the telegram, the words burning into his retinas. He saw the train, a steel serpent disappearing into the mist, taking with it a piece of himself he couldn’t retrieve.

He looked back at the empty tracks, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the city. He wondered if the train would ever return, if he would ever find his way back to the tracks, back to the world he once knew. He wondered if, in the end, it really mattered. The meds were kicking in, the edges of the world were softening, and the voices were getting quieter.

They stood together, watching the train pull away—a metallic beast sliding into the damp morning, swallowed whole by the mist. A single sunbeam, indecisive, pressed its fingers against the last car and then withdrew. For a moment, something moved on the horizon—divine intervention? No, just light making its last desperate claim. The sky cracked open in orange slits, jagged wounds above the mountains.

The train, undeterred, surged forward. Not toward disaster, though that would have been poetic, two hundred souls dashed against the rock. No, this was a collision of a different kind: a slow, inevitable plunge into the tunnel of Mordor—where, for the next twenty minutes, passengers would surrender to the darkness, to sleep, to forgetfulness.

Zelt had been speaking. To whom, he wasn’t sure. The air, maybe, or the careful curator of voices in his head. Yes. He’s gone mental, apparently.

“You know I’ll always love you.”

“Yes, and I’ll always love you.”

“Promise.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“But why do I have to go to the station?”

“Your parents need our help. The luggage.”

A tap on his shoulder. It was real. Unmistakably real. Zelt turned, and the male nurse sighed. He was accompanying the patient on his last journey to get institutionalized, who, sounding weary and rehearsed, said, “How many times do I have to remind you, Zelt? Take your fucking meds.”

“Do I have to go?”

“Yes, it’s important that you do.”

“But railway stations seem so final. You get to watch someone board and watch the train pulling out of the station. Sometimes you even see them look out the window and wave. I feel compelled to wave back as if it will be the last time I ever see them.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“At least at an airport you just give someone a hug and they disappear down that tube thing to the plane. You don’t even have to see the plane take off.”

“Well, it’s a train trip so we’re saying farewell at the station.”

“You know I don’t like farewells.”

“This is not going to be forever.”

“You say that now, but . . .”

“There are no buts. I assure you it’s not going to be forever.”

“You know I’ll always love you.”

“Yes, and I’ll always love you.”

“Promise!”

“Yes, I promise.”

“But why do I have to go to the station?”

“Your parents need our help getting there with their luggage.”

“Should we get them something to eat on the train?”

“I think the Rocky Mountaineer will have enough food for their tour.”

Together, they watched the train leaving the station. A single sunbeam broke through the heavy clouds and flashed over the last wagon before it vanished in the early morning mist.

Dr. Alka saw @CassieQ looking confused around. “Is there a question? Don’t be shy.” Then he hummed the Sesame Street ‘Questions song’.

Zelt’s hands shook as he stared at the telegram that had just been delivered.

“Your father has had a heart attack. Come at once.”

He didn’t know whether to smile or frown. His last conversation with his father had ended with a threat, and he didn’t trust the old bastard.

“Oh, what the hell. If I don’t show up and he dies, they’ll all think I had something to do with it--not that I wouldn’t be glad if I did.”

He checked his watch and saw that he had only thirty minutes to catch the last train of the day. Grabbing his coat and hat, he dashed out of his apartment building and hailed the first cab that came by.

Zelt looked at his watch - 6:45 pm. The train was supposed to leave at 7:00, and they were only five minutes from the station. That is, if the taxi he sat in wasn’t stuck in the traffic jam to end all traffic jams. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed some cash, thrusting it at the cab driver. “Here, I gotta make a run for it, or I’ll never catch this train!” He couldn’t miss his departure. He just couldn’t.

Zelt remembered running faster than this in his high school. As the blue line zoomed past his left shoulder, he cursed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

He had just made it to the street corner at the same time as a stranger reached the corner from the other side. They were both out of breath and holding onto their knees as they saw the train leaving the station without them.

The disused rail tracks, rusted and overgrown with hardy coastal weeds, snaked along the cliffs, a skeletal reminder of a bygone era. Zelt, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, followed them, the salty air stinging his eyes, the wind whipping his hair. The tracks led him to a secluded cove, where an old wooden shack, weathered and grey, clung to the edge of the cliff.

He approached cautiously, his footsteps muffled by the sand. The shack was silent, save for the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the rocks below. He pushed open the creaking door, and there he was, Sam, standing by the window, his red hair a vibrant splash of color against the grey backdrop of the sea.

He turned, his eyes widening as he saw Zelt. A mixture of emotions flickered across Sam’s face – relief, sadness, a hint of something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Zelt,” Sam whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Sam,” he replied, his voice barely a breath.

An awkward silence fell between them, the weight of their unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I got your message,” Zelt said, stepping closer. “The tracks... the sea.”

Sam nodded, his gaze fixed on the turbulent waves. “I needed to be here,” he said, his voice trembling. “I needed to get away.”

“Away from me?” Zelt asked, his voice laced with a hint of pain.

Sam hesitated, then looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears. “Not from you,” he said softly. “From... everything. From the city, from the memories, from the fear.”

“I understand,” Zelt said, reaching out to touch Sam’s arm. “I’ve been away too. I needed to get better. I needed to find myself.”

“And have you?” Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Zelt nodded. “I'm trying," he said. "I'm trying to be the man you deserve."

Sam reached out and took his hand, his touch sending a wave of warmth through him. "You've always been the man I deserve, Zelt," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I just needed you to see it too."

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the crashing of the waves and the gentle sigh of the wind. Then, Sam stepped forward into his arms, and Zelt held him close, the feeling of his warmth a comforting presence after so long.

"I missed you," Zelt whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I missed you too," Sam replied, his voice muffled against Zelt's chest.

They stayed there for a long time, holding each other, A warm silence filled the room, unspoken words of love and forgiveness. The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the sea.

"I'm so pleased," Sam said, pulling away slightly. "This was only meant to be a temporary refuge, but we can spend the night."

They stood hand in hand in the middle of the shack, looking out the window back towards the old rail tracks, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. They held each other.

Zelt imagined the train rumbling along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter a familiar comfort.

Together, they watched the train leaving the station. A single sunbeam broke through the heavy clouds and flashed over the last wagon before it vanished in the early morning mist.