The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey (13 page)

Tearing it open and revealing its contents, John found a food item of which he had never seen before. While most of the food products of Labor were generically labeled with blue writing on white paper composed in simplistic terminology, these were individually wrapped bars with colorful designs on the packaging, overwritten with dainty words regarding the nutritional value of the snack that was encased inside.

“I think I found some of the tasty food you were hoping for,” he whispered as he threw a single bar towards Sofia’s direction.

Clasping both hands around it as it sailed through the air, she immediately tore off the wrapper revealing a small, brown, rectangular edible. It gave off a sweet scent that was most inviting.

“Should I eat it?” she questioned.

John read the packaging to himself, “
Choctacular Delight
.” He then said to Sofia, “I have no idea what that means. I’m not even sure if that sounds good. But, it says here, ‘
It’s a sensation to the taste
buds
’.”

Taking another sniff off the wavy top of the bar, Sofia said, “Oh, it smells wonderful, though.”

“I don’t know, girl. I guess you might as well try it. Mr. Sanders didn’t say anything about there being food we should avoid.”

With her eyes closed, Sofia’s teeth sank into the creamy chocolate, biting off a portion of the bar’s corner. Allowing the succulent richness to fill her mouth, she hesitated to chew it at first.

“Well,” John inquired, “is it any good?”

Nodding her head in the affirmative, she continued to savor the moment, moaning with delight.

“So, what’s it taste like?” John asked with an expressed
annoyance.

Opening her eyes, she took another bite.

“It’s so incredible. You just have to try it,” she spoke through a full mouth.

Pulling out another bar and simultaneously ripping the wrapper off and tossing it to the floor, John chomped off half of the treat in a single bite. With a grimacing brow, he chewed on the confectionary for a moment before suddenly opening his eyes wide and declaring, “This is so good.”

As the berries had affected them earlier in their escape, so now the sugary meal was accomplishing an awakening in their minds. With their feet dangling off the edge of the fractured structure, they sat together, just as they had often perched so many times on the edge of the rooftops of Labor. Holding onto the partially eaten candy in one hand and their other hands clasped one to another, they held off from further exploration in order to better the enjoyment of their newly found edibles.

“This is so strange,” John said. “I have this weird pressure around my head.”

“I wonder if it’s made of the same thing that’s inside the berries we’ve been eating,” Sofia responded.

“I think so, but these must be much more concentrated. I only felt like this after the first time we ate them.”

With four bars each eventually consumed, the accompanying nausea of overindulgence began to set in. Placing the case back inside its crate, John was more than glad to get the sweet bars out of his sight.

“I don’t think I’ll ever eat another one of those things as long as I live,” he said, holding his stomach.

Feeling a bit more comfortable regarding the safety of the vehicle, Sofia entered through the vine. The shifting of the metallic floor caused a lightly audible, vibratory sensation to roll through the vessel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever eat another one, either,” Sofia belched in agreement.

Placing the lid of the crate back onto its former place, John pulled the top off of the next wooden box beside it. Lifting out one of the small, brown boxes inside, he read aloud from the cover, “
Red Lens Battle
Light
.”

“Battle light? Is that one of those lamps that the soldiers in the pictures are sometimes using?” Sofia asked.

“I believe it is,” he said opening its carton.

Pulling out an olive drab, cylindrical casing with a red lens-containing head that bent at a ninety-degree angle from the longer body, he turned it around in his hands inspecting its plastic construction. Depressing the black switch at its side caused the lamp to awaken. The interior of the vine-draped room suddenly lit up with a similar red glow to that which illuminated from the scanners outside the apartments of labor.

Shining the light into the doorway, John peeked his head in and looked
around.

“What do you see?” Sofia asked with anxious
curiosity.

Stacked from the floor to the rounded ceiling, and spread throughout the entire area, were crates of various sizes. There was a path that appeared to have been deliberately left opened between them, where a walkway had been left, leading around a corner and into the
darkness.

“It looks like a storage room of some type,” he said, pulling her by the
hand.

With the red lamplight casting bizarre shadows from their moving bodies, and the vine and roots of grass dangling overhead, Sofia couldn’t help but startle at the appearance of movement all around
them.

Inspecting the labeling of the crates against a piece of paper on a clipboard hanging from the wall, John figured that the Sanders must have been organizing and cataloging the entire inventory of, what must have once been, a cargo ship.

To one area they had separated men and women’s clothing, out of which John found himself a new pair of shoes, along with various items, such as cases of books, appliances and medicinal elements from antibiotics, to creams and lotions from
Golden World
. While in another area there were stacks of boxes labeled
Red
and
Raw
that contained uniforms, boots, various crates of small arms and ammunition, mining tools and machines. The largest of the groupings was in the food department, where the crates were densely stacked to the ceiling.

Following along the labyrinth-like path among the wooden containers leading them to another doorway, of which they found the door having been previously removed and propped up against the wall, they entered in. Finding themselves in another room of nearly the same dimensions as the previous one, John and Sofia stood in awe at the sights before them. From floor to ceiling, with minimal space to move about, crates of food were so bountiful that there must have been enough to feed an entire army of men for many years. As the room was filled to capacitance, there was no way for them to continue further into the inner chambers of the vessel.

“It looks like they were using this place exclusively as a warehouse,” John said, moving the light from label to label. “There’s enough food here to last our entire lives.”

“More than enough,” Sofia interjected.

“But, if this is the storage place,” he looked inquisitively at her, “then the other half of this vehicle must be the place where they were planning on living.”

“You mean where we’ll be living? Let’s go see it.”

Snapping the lamp out from John’s hand, Sofia let out a taunting howl before quickly disappearing through the doorway, entering into the maze of crates leading back to their point of origin. Caught off guard by the suddenness of her folly, John was left standing momentarily dazed in the blackness with only a faint glow of light and her giddy laughter leading him out.

“Sofia,” he yelled, desperately running towards the faint glimmer of the lamp. “That’s not funny, you bad girl!”

Trying to keep within a suitable distance so as not to lose sight of the illumination completely, at every turn John bumped into the walls of the crates, occasionally tripping over the rope-like vine scrawled across the floor.

The corridors made by the stacks of boxes were not as easy to maneuver between with such a dim light illuminating his path. As the fear of falling too far behind was growing stronger with an inverse proportion to the strength of the glow of the lamplight, he suddenly found himself alone within the darkness of the vessel.

“Sofia! Get back here,” he screamed at her, but she was long gone from his presence.

With the last glimmer of the precious light cut off, along with her girlish squeals, groping blindly with his hands and feet, feeling his way along the walls, slow and steady, was his only option. Racing around with the youthful, imaginative thoughts of his mind, the frightful expectation of one of the forest’s hairy creatures grabbing him by the shoulder seemed inevitable. As the cool beads of sweat began to well upon his brow, the anxious stuffiness of the thick blackness engulfed his entire being. He felt the familiar, dull pain behind his eyes as he tried to hold back his tears. Against his resistance to do so, he succumbed to the childish urge to
cry.

Minutes passed by, and, feeling his way around a sharp corner of crates, he finally caught site of that familiar glow of the lamp as it filtered through the doorway a few meters ahead.

Exiting from the darkness, he emerged into the red-lit room where he found the lamp standing on its end, propped up on the open lid of the candy crate.

“Sofia,” John whispered. “Where are you, you naughty girl?”

Pulling back the drapery of vine, Sofia peeked her head in, chocolate stained lips and all.

“Is everything alright?” she asked with an air of indifference.

“That wasn’t funny,” he said to her delightful giggling. “And, besides, I thought you weren’t going to eat anymore of those things.”

She licked her lips then, one-by-one, she sucked the sugary smears from her fingertips.

“I wasn’t. But, hearing you cry made me work up an appetite.”

“Very funny,” he said, wiping the moisture from his cheeks, “I wasn’t crying. I was just concerned about you.”

Lifting his legs over the twisted, metal edge of the vessel, John held on tightly to a vine with one hand, and with the other he assisted Sofia with the climb. The lower half of the machine had been fractured off from the unexplored upper portion, and was situated perpendicularly to it, lying at the base of the hill.

Appearing similar to the storage half, the vine and thick moss and grass, overlaid the semi-embedded metallic hull with a cloak of living green. A peculiar tunnel of organically overgrown crates and scraps of torn metal had been previously arranged at the center of the rounded wall of what had once been the middle room of the vehicle when it was in its original state. Depressing the switches on the lamps that each of them now carried, John and Sofia cast their lights upon the entrance. A reflection returned back to them, bouncing off of the peculiarly set chrome décor dangling off of the steel hatch nestled at the distal end of the manmade cave.

Arm-in-arm the two adventurers cautiously moved in, pushing aside the sticky webs, blowing at the dust and flying insects that manifested in the lamplight. Carefully stepping over the contorted trails of vine that spread like thick, green veins upon the floor, they finally reached the decorated, hinged plate that hindered their further progression. Handing his lamp to Sofia, John grasped at the metallic, spoked wheel situated in the middle of the door, cranking it in a counter-clockwise fashion, grunting under the exertion.

After an intense, high-pitched grind poured forth from the lock’s hidden mechanism, the wheel began to turn with minimal effort, completely unbolting from the wall, allowing the door to swing wide open. Retrieving his lamp from Sofia, John peered inside, carefully sweeping his light back and forth about the room. Various orange-yellow reflections littered the walls from the mirrorlike golden-brass ornaments adorning the long hidden abode.

“What do you see?” Sofia asked.

Stepping over the threshold and into their new home, John held his hand out to her.

“It looks safe enough,” he said. “Come, take a look.”

Taking a firm hold of John’s arm, Sofia stepped over the lip of the threshold and moved inside, flashing the cone of light from her lamp in various directions in an attempt to better orient herself to the new environment. Although the monochrome, crimson spectrum that her lamplight emitted was not favorable to the appreciation of that afforded by the natural light of the Savior, Sofia perceived by the flowery designs of the rug-covered flooring and the beautifully embellished living arrangements, that the layout of their new quarters could only have been chosen by Mrs. Sanders herself. Considering all of the Golden World furnishings crated in the warehouse vessel, the Sanders certainly had a variety of choices with regards to the enrichment of their place of residence.

Following the beam of his light around the room, John happened upon a thick, golden, satin rope dangling beside the entrance like a gilded vine. Shining his light upward, towards its attachment point high above, he could see that it extended through a series of pulleys, terminating at a junction box attached to a metallic plate out of which wires of various colors trafficked across the ceiling and walls. Concluding from his minimal experience at the Education that it was essentially the actuator of an electrical circuit, he gave it a firm tug. In the blink of an eye the room was filled with a soft, white light that dropped its illumination from the brass fixtures attached to the bracing that crisscrossed overhead. The gentleness of the atmosphere was accompanied by a melody of brass horns with a woodwind instrumental backdrop that began streaming out from an ornamentally carved, wooden box. The beautiful sound machine was wired to another apparatus that housed a strange black, plastic disk spinning within it at a steady revolution. Beside it there were stacks of other licorice colored disks leaning against the wall.

Panning his light across the ceiling, following the traffic of wires, John traced them to their point of origin. The Sanders, through their incredible engineering prowess, had somehow wired the entire arrangement to the wrecked vessel’s power system, seemingly giving them a virtual supply of unlimited electricity.

With the comforting brilliance of the lamps, and the warm rain of auditory loveliness blanketing their senses, the gorgeously adorned room, now visible in its entire kaleidoscopic splendor, was a unique universe in itself. The wood flooring, deep and rich, that spanned from wall to wall, continued its spread into the adjoining rooms, an incredible witness to the constructive abilities that the Sanders had once possessed. The broad, flowery rugs displayed upon the floor were varicolored in hues in similitude to the natural world outside. By the way the furniture was situated, it was quite obvious to both John and Sofia that they were standing just inside the entrance to their newly acquired living room.

Off in the corner, a richly decorated, low profile table was placed in the center of a squared series of high-legged couches. A bookshelf carved with ornamental patterns, matching that of the wooden outer shells of the couches, rested against the arch of the wall, filled with a multitude of reading material. The trim that was fastened to the walls was of a carved floral arrangement, not unlike that of the rest of the finely crafted artistry of the rest of their
palace
. Waist high tables topped with brass works of art, completed the adornment, along with several paintings and a rather peculiar statue of a youthful male with a soothing ambience of expression, humbly walking with his eyes lifted to the sky.

“I wonder who this is supposed to be,” Sofia commented.

“I have no idea,” John said, looking closer at the detailing of the face. “He does look quite familiar, though, doesn’t he?”

“Strangely familiar, I’d say.”

As John continued to ponder on the identity of the stony image, Sofia passed through the next threshold. Pulling on the room’s golden rope, she opened it up to the same illuminating beauty and melodic symphony of the former parlor.

Standing in what appeared to be the home’s bedroom, the enormity of the sleeping quarters was oddly overwhelming. The cylindrical chamber was of equal size to that of the largest compartments of the
warehouse
vessel. But instead of housing a multitude of various sized crates, there existed but a single bed and a few makeshift rooms with only the interior hull of the ship, several meters above, substituting as the ceiling.

With much assumed difficulty, the Sanders had somehow managed to mount a steel railing across the diameter of the hull, situated between the ceiling and the floor. Energy transfer occurred from another junction box straddling the wall besides the railing. From this box, a rainbow of wires streamed along their pathways, with some terminating at a series of brass ceiling lamps just overhead.

Partitions of richly decorated wood, constructed at the far end of the sleeping quarters, housed a lady’s room and a separate men’s room, each adorned with a mirror of extraordinary reflective clarity and a bath of eggshell porcelain, pure and bright. There also existed a complex reservoir and drainage system designed using the plastic and metal pipes and clamps intertwined among the various fluid containers that were once part of the ship itself: another testament to the ingenuity of the creators of the project.

Taking into consideration the amount of work that had been performed at their home site, Sofia figured that the crash must have happened many years ago, perhaps long before she and John had even been born. It brought tears to her eyes to think of the happiness that Mr. Sanders and his wife had once experienced together while they were preparing this very room in anticipation of one day escaping from Labor. She felt as if she and John were too undeserving of becoming the recipients of another couple’s hard work.

Stepping through the threshold and into the bedroom, John could see that Sofia was deep in thought. Remaining silent so as not to disturb her moment of reflection, he watched as she walked alongside a wood framed bed that was ornamentally carved at the headboard and footboard, and matched to the artistic motions of the floral arrangements of the wooden furnishings of the previous room.

She was running her hand across the soft, satin-like sheet with its silvery sheen and colorful embroidery that was spread across the mattress. Although he was unaware of it, there was a soothing of her emotions in the action, as when one relaxes in the warmth of a bath. Picking up a pillow stuffed with a material so light and comforting that it was like holding a cloud in her arms, Sofia closed her eyes allowing her mind to come to terms with the reality of the events that had taken place over the past week.

Her radiance reflected off of his eyes like the brilliant reflection of the Savior off the mirrored stillness of a pond of water. Sofia’s beauty was not merely in her youthful skin, soft and smooth, nor in her hair, thickly flowing and yellowish-white. It was in the way she wore her heart on the outside, revealing the innocent, but discerning, young lady that was concealed inside the body of a petite
girl.

She was glowing under a golden reflective aura, saturated with the gentle mist of musical splendor. The image, like a black and white photograph, was captured forever in his mind. Incited by the portrait before him, the impassionate sensations within his own thoughts began tearing at his heart. Although their current situation was a reality, it felt more like a wonderful dream. One from which they could never awaken.

The emotional trauma of the past few days had caught up to Sofia and was now laying siege to John’s consciousness as well. Grasping and rending him in an incomprehensible number of directions, he could not find any way to pinpoint from where it began or where it ended.

Volatile and kindled, he was like an overloaded circuit, ready to burst into flames at any moment. But, he now understood why Sofia was so lost in her own world: Mr. Sanders was a friend, the shortest of which duration had no factor. It was eternal. They had only known him for a fraction of time within this world. He was there one moment and then he was gone. But in some ways he seemed to be continually keeping watch over them. He was the father that each of them had always wanted, the only caring soul within a city devoid of feeling.

He and his wife had attempted to create for themselves a paradise within a paradise, far from the suffocating enclosure of the City of Labor. Their self-sufficient home, with all the supplies that would be needed for several generations to survive, seemed to be an impossible episode within an environment where chance reigned supreme. Could they have just wandered upon it by accident, or was it essentially handed directly to them by way of a determined, causal series of unimaginable proportions?

The material items of which their home was furnished, and of which were crafted, crated and stacked in their warehouse, were neither destined from their originators for the City of Labor, nor were they meant for the Sanders themselves. Certainly they were not for him and Sofia. They were pre-labeled for Golden World and Red, wherever they may be found. But, in this time-space continuum as a whole, as can be seen by the fates of these inanimate objects, by the occurrences of all the events that had transpired over the past week, what appears to be one’s destiny in life can be altered within this causal nexus by sheer will, as well as by forces unseen, by a ripple effect initiated through a causal series set in motion by an action committed too long ago for anyone to remember. A simple, random throw of a rock, a left turn when one should have gone to the right, the seemingly minuscule actions in the lives of all people had profound effects in the world causing untold harm or benefit to innumerable others.

Whether he and Sofia were brought to this point by accident or purposeful design, John was not absolutely certain. But there existed that suspicion in the back of his mind that attributing everything, if not anything at all, to accidental phenomena was merely a baseless cop-out, a reason not to reason. Could there possibly be a valid framework to begin with chance interactions as the basis for the initiation of all causal events? Would their own hands now be required to carve their paths, or was there an Overseer of sorts, leading them onward? Were all the recent events merely a series of means pushing them towards a greater end, or was there truly an end at all?

As John stepped back into the material world, leaving behind that black-and-white, inner realm where self evaluates self and the cogs and gears of the mind attempt to keep a consistent perspective on all things, he found Sofia positioned upon the bed, curled up like a fragile infant. The slow, deep breaths by which her chest was rising and falling indicated that the exhaustion had finally overtaken her.

With the end of the musical score, a sliver of silence entered into the room, patiently awaiting the start of the next orchestral piece. As he made his way towards the bed, the creaking of the floor beneath his feet, which was previously inaudible, seemed out of sorts, adding an imperfection to the room’s comeliness, making a deduction from its overall beauty.

Approaching the bedside, John sat down beside her, brushing the thin strands of hair from off of her face. Sofia was his only friend, his lover and companion on their journey into the unknown. He would protect her with his life, for she was all he had… and the soft hum of brass instruments accompanied by the symphonic, smooth layers of a wood blown instrumental backdrop fell once again, like warm rain, upon them.