As Vince heard the door open, he could only stand still, fear rising for a moment. The footsteps grew louder and louder until "Vince" finally arrived at the door.
Remembering how quickly he once ran to the door, not seeing his boss, worried he would be caught by the police and scrambled toward the back, Vince could only wait while it all happened again.
CREAKK!
Hearing "Vince" open the door, he instantly floated away, his thoughts rambling over and over.
Why am I here though? It is me, perfectly me. I was there, so why am I here now? Is he copying exactly what I did? It can't be fake, it can't be. I was here already, and I opened the door. Is it really me? But how? Vince's thoughts ran with rage.
Fully opening the door, Vince saw his old flesh self from very long ago. His long hazel hair showed slight signs of grayness, his gray eyes were a little more dulled but still had some life in them, and wrinkles had started to form around his mouth with eye bags underneath.
"Vince" was instantly swallowed into darkness. Noticing this, he made a subtle change and started searching for a gas lamp. After grazing it with his hand, he fumbled for a matchstick. His eyes lit up as "Vince" found one, lighting it near the lamp.
WOOSH!
The flame from the match embraced the gas lamp in a heartbeat. Slowly flickering upward, the fire grew slightly larger, giving off a burning smell but rewarding him with a lush golden glow that sparked around the room. The beauty of the flame could only do so much, lighting only a small part of the door.
As "Vince" let out a sigh of relief, his eyes widened as he caught a stench so horrifying that it made his stomach twist. The smell of maggots running through rotten food growing into flies only worsened the air around him.
"Vince," locating the smell, looked toward where it came from. Seeing the state of his boss, he froze for a long moment. The stench hit his nose, and "Vince" instantly collapsed to the ground with tears forming in his eyes. The tears rolled freely as his fists slammed into the dark oaken floor.
Why do I have to see this again! Vince thought, outraged and unsure what to do. Ah! Replace what I did before.
Quickly, he floated behind "Vince," then began to speak in the female voice. This is what happened.
"Wake up, Vince…" His tone matched the same female voice as before.
"Vince," looking at the corpse of their boss, could only stutter with a shocked expression.
"No, no, no!" "Vince" cried as he scrambled back.
Suddenly, Vince felt a little tug on his fingertips. Looking down, he saw a thin thread at the tip of each finger. The threads were dark and black, connecting each finger to each limb. His left pointer connected to the left leg, the middle to the right arm, and the same went for the other hand but opposite.
Chuckling softly, Vince looked at them with a grim expression. So that is how I can control them, huh?
Vince's "face" darkened as he slowly made his boss get up using both middle fingers. Vince felt drained, but he continued to control the dead man.
As he did, "Vince," with the most terrified death stare, crawled back even farther, tears streaming more and more.
"G-G-GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Scrambling faster, "Vince" kept looking back at the door, trying to reach it. So close yet so far.
Vince, eyeing the door still open, quickly phased out of the room. There he saw the view of Koburn, but it was slowly getting darker and darker, almost being eaten alive. Vince looked at it in shock.
What the hell is going on! he thought, worry filling his mind.
Then he quickly phased back into the main shop. Still controlling his boss, he rushed in front of the door where "Vince" could not see him, then slammed it shut.
BANG!
Feeling the pressure of "Vince" hitting the door, Vince took the same route back into the storage room. Slowly looking at himself, worried, he could only close his "eyes" as he continued.
"Wake up, Vince."
"Wake up, Vince."
The voice echoed again and again. Nothing happened. Vince felt irritation boil up from somewhere deep inside him. He sucked in a breath.
"Wake up."
The other Vince just stared at him with wide eyes.
Nothing changed.
Wait, what? His thoughts slammed into each other. No, no, with what I remember I should have disappeared by now. Why am I still here? His frustration twisted into something sharper.
A sudden shift tugged at his attention. He looked down at his arm. Human flesh returned, yet the surface glimmered like polished metal. His arm looked like a blade carved into the shape of a limb.
More thoughts spilled into his mind, quick and violent.
Kill you. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.
He stared at his own body then at the weapon his arm had become. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes as he raised the knife shaped limb. His breath shook. He charged at himself.
As he rushed forward, something inside him snapped back into place. His eyes felt like his eyes, his mind like his mind, his brain like a brain again. The warped form he had been trapped in faded. His hair returned, falling over his forehead, his body hardened into crystal for a heartbeat then shifted back to normal flesh.
BANG.
In one motion his blade fist drove into the back of the other Vince's head. It dug through skull and brain, tearing everything apart. When his fist punched through the front of the face, his weight dropped. His knees slammed into the back, carving two deep gashes along the spine.
Vince tore his arm out and staggered back, frozen.
"Why… I killed me. Was that me from the past or something replacing me?" His voice cracked. His hands clawed at his head as panic clawed at him.
Blood spilled from the head of his old body. Vince could only stare at it, stare at himself. He crawled backward until his legs gave out and his vision dimmed. Darkness swallowed him. A new voice rose from it, heavy and rumbling, nothing like the god he had heard before.
"A fearful man is always ridiculed by his past moments. For those moments mocked him to his lowest. Tell me, if the fearful man chooses to break his past, who remains to mock him?"
The sound shook Vince's bones.
A faint glow formed to his left. He turned and nearly froze in place as a pair of unseen eyes seemed to watch him from inside the dark.
What kind of quote is that? Vince thought. If someone breaks their past, they still have the real hardships waiting.
He cleared his throat and tried to speak.
"Th…" The word barely left him before the voice cut him off.
"Wrong." The reply vibrated like grinding stone.
Vince swallowed hard. He did not dare look up. As he shifted toward the glow, his breath caught.
A mountain loomed over him. It was not made of stone or earth. It was made of bodies. Hundreds of limbs twisted together to form its shape. It stretched so high that the source of the voice sat at the peak, watching him with eyes dried in old blood.
Vince tried to crawl away, but his body moved without his permission. It crawled forward instead.
Who are they? Why can't I move? My body will not listen.
His teeth clenched. As he drew closer he saw one body clearly. His breath stopped.
Pale skin. Gray eyes. Hazel hair.
It was him.
A choking sound escaped him and he doubled over, vomiting onto the ground.
Before he could even wipe his mouth, the voice spoke again.
"The midpoint of a dream is always a place of growth. It is half of a future and a quarter of what someone can become. Everything has a halfway, its truth and its beginning."