Beyond the reflection

An early summer morning, cool and soothing. The sun, its rays still too weak to provide warmth, was slowly crawling up the sky. The city was gradually waking up, anticipating a new day, one of the last days of summer. Occasional cars sounded smooth and quiet, blending into the overall atmosphere, and the few pedestrians seemed to float slowly. But not everyone shared this idyllic moment. "I'm late!" - anxious thoughts raced through my head. "Late again, how many times can this happen?" I was the only drop of chaos in an abyss of calm and tranquility. A person who, in his usual manner, was trying to catch up with lost time. I ran down the street towards the bus stop, hoping that at least the bus would arrive right away. "I even went to bed early for this, planning to wake up on time. I just can't be late," - thoughts swirled in my head as I approached the stop. Having reached it and stopped, I began to catch my breath; my muscles burned like hot coals. The people around stood calmly, only occasionally throwing glances of incomprehension my way. Straightening up, I began to wait; now everything depended on how quickly the bus would come.

No sooner had the fire in my body subsided than a bus with illegible numbers in the lower corner of its windshield appeared from around the corner. It was the right bus, approaching leisurely, in the rhythm of this morning. It stopped so that the doors were right in front of me. My gaze fixed on them in nervous anticipation. I saw a striking picture: there were drawings on the glass. One depicted something unreal - floating islands with cascading waterfalls and white towering structures surrounded by lush greenery, connected by bridges. The second depicted the same landscape in an opposite manner: the islands, bridges, and buildings were destroyed, the water flowing from them had turned black as pitch, and they were shrouded in a dark green mist. "Probably an advertisement for some movie or a new bestseller," I thought, "but it's strange that there are no words or other pictures." Not giving it much thought, I boarded, paid the fare, and sat down.

For some reason, I remembered a lecture from our philosophy teacher last year; it seemed there was something about the structure of the universe. He said that according to this theory, there are many worlds that make up the universe, but they originated from one or several initial ones. The center is either one world from which all others originated, or the very concept of light, illuminating all worlds. Following this judgment, the primary worlds, reflecting the primal light, created likenesses of themselves but with minor changes, and after some time, this reflection became so distinct that it could itself reflect light. He was a fervent adherent of this theory; I remember him saying: "A reflection? What does that mean? Everything has a reflection; that which doesn't, doesn't exist, right? Or is that a misconception? Maybe our world is also a reflection, among thousands of similar ones, invisible in others? A mirror reflects the world, but is that really true? It simply shows what each of us sees. But a reflection is something else..." He spoke about this with fire in his eyes, literally burning with this idea. These thoughts left me as quickly as they came, as soon as I noticed that you couldn't see through these posters from the inside. "Probably just my imagination," I thought at first, "although the pictures were too clear for a simple trick of the eyes. Okay, never mind. I hope I make it, since everything has worked out so well," I thought. "I wonder who's already there?" - an unanswered question flashed through my head.

For a weekend morning, there were surprisingly few people, and not many cars on the road either; apparently, the city was just waking up. Taking out my phone and headphones to play some music, I didn't immediately notice that little wolves were running across the snowy slopes of my wallpaper. Though it was strange, I chalked it up to a phone update and, despite everything, turned on the music. My usual style was melodic, slow, and measured, or rhythmic sounds, usually without words—something in which you could settle, wrap yourself up, and find inner peace. I relaxed and closed my eyes; now there was little I could do, since I couldn't hurry the bus anyway.

It didn't immediately dawn on me that after some time, during which I had gotten lost in the music, a bright light began to hit my eyes. At first, it seemed like the sun, but it became almost immediately clear that the sun couldn't emit such colors. I slowly and cautiously opened my eyes. It seemed like the same bus, only there were no people. Lifting my eyes further, a beautiful picture presented itself to my gaze: outside the windows, instead of the usual cityscape, stretched boundless expanses. The space on the other side was cosmic, shimmering with different colors, flowing, taking shape, and scattering. I enjoyed this view, while a thought screamed in my head, "This doesn't bode well!" Suddenly, my vision darkened, and a stabbing pain began to throb in my temples. Feeling something get into my eye, I bent over from the general pain and started blinking. The pain began to subside as I realized the bus had stopped. "How long have we been standing?" - a silent question raced through my head. Lifting my head and opening my eyes, a terrible sight met my gaze. Outside the broken windows, buildings lay in ruins, with parts of them levitating, defying gravity. Instead of the sun, a black hole gaped in the sky, its darkness seemingly staring with a devouring gaze right into my soul, sucking in a pale green light. The bus itself was in a state as if it had been standing here for many years—half-destroyed, rusty, the seats peeling, and the passengers... Their bodies lay in their former places; they were all dead, desiccated and torn. Slowly and imperceptibly, I began to be surrounded by the same pale green mist. It was heavy and poisonous; I felt its acrid and viscous taste. It was like the metallic taste of blood, or was it my blood? I began to feel myself suffocating in this thick, lifeless fog until my eyes finally darkened completely...

I jerked my eyes open and jumped up from the chair, trying to draw as much air into my lungs as possible. Before me was a work desk cluttered with things; I was at home, in comfort and warmth, but the shortness of breath still lingered with me, and the viscous metallic taste on my tongue wouldn't let me forget that dream. I had fallen asleep right over my work, finishing gifts for my friends. "That's right," it dawned on me, "we're meeting today." The soft setting sun was slowly rolling towards the horizon, letting me know I still had a little time left. For this occasion, I had decided to make keychains with small drawings for everyone who would be present. Before leaving, I decided to have some tea, one of my favorite activities, even when I'm running late. While putting the kettle on, I thought about what to wear. The evening promised to be cool, so I decided to go with jeans, a T-shirt, and a big, light sweater I could get lost in. I love that style—when clothes are big, loose, and breathable. Of course, it's not very formal, but I've never been known for my style in a crowd, showing up almost anywhere in what's comfortable for me.

I decided to prepare everything right away, and while heading to my room, I noticed the clock... "I'm late!" - was the only thought that flashed. I dashed into the room like a bullet and started getting dressed, grabbing a couple of rings and bracelets—an integral part of my look. A screech came from the kitchen—the kettle had boiled. I rushed there, made tea, ran back, almost forgot the keychains. Decided to drink the tea later. The commotion subsided as I looked in the mirror. I looked clearly at a rather grown-up guy who was neither athletic nor bulky. Blue eyes with a dark outline, slightly covered by a long, blond fringe that always fell forward, were looking at themselves. "Comb my hair! Right!" - I remembered the action my parents had tried to drill into me like a mantra: comb your hair before every time you leave the house. Putting on my shoes and practically flying down the stairs from the second floor, almost falling, I ran out of the house. "I need to sleep more at night," my inner voice scolded me as I ran to the bus stop, "then I'll be late less often!" The meeting I was heading to was organized among the camp counselors, which I was also part of. It was a festive gathering to celebrate a successful anniversary session. "I'm sure everyone is already there, and I, as usual, will be the last to arrive" - unpleasant thoughts churned. Getting on the bus that had pulled up, I decided to listen to music to calm down and relax a bit.

The sun was no longer visible when I reached my destination. Evening darkness and coolness had descended upon the city. I had to walk to the place through one of the most beautiful streets in the city. It was paved with neat, even red and gray bricks. Five- and six-story buildings painted in different colors and national patterns lined the street. The ground floors of these buildings housed numerous shops, souvenir stores, restaurants, cafes, and fast-food outlets. This street always seemed to be celebrating, especially in the evenings when all the lights were lit and people, after the work week, came out here in crowds for a walk. It was nicknamed "The Street of Burning Lanterns." I walked along this beautiful place under the lanterns and couldn't stop being nervous; my breath was uneven, and my legs felt tangled. The people around me, mostly couples and groups of friends, were living in a completely different world. They had already immersed themselves in the atmosphere of the surroundings and begun their festive strolls without a care. I caught their glances as I tried to navigate past them. There's an Eastern cuisine restaurant nearby; that's where we decided to meet. A banquet hall on the second floor and a small terrace accessible from it had been rented.

Every time I'm late, it fills me with shame and guilt; I'm holding people up. Why do they still put up with it... These thoughts were interrupted by the fact that I was already standing in front of the entrance to the building. The entire surroundings were filled with Eastern culture: doors made of mahogany, red paper lanterns hung, and above it all, a sign with a golden dragon and the name "Lin-Wei" towered. It seemed like not too much time had passed.

Before entering, I decided to check my phone; it's like a ritual of sorts. There was a notification about twelve missed calls and about twice as many messages in the messenger. "Yeah, I'm definitely a master of being late!" I thought, as if confirming the obvious. Standing in front of the door, I exhaled, gathered my thoughts, and went in.

The aroma of Eastern spices hit me in the face as the doors opened, so pungent it made my nose itch. Inside, on this floor, everything was bustling; crowds of waiters weaved between tables and each other as if in a dance. From the kitchen came the sounds of metal clanging against metal, water boiling, and the sizzle of hot oil. It's always this hectic here on weekend evenings. The work was in full swing. Among all the figures, one stood out, just starting to move away from the staircase. A silhouette a head taller than anyone else in the room, moving in my direction, deftly passing through the crowds of people despite the breadth of his shoulders. He was distinguished by his bright, short hair, the color of a red sunset. A couple of seconds later, my old and close friend Yan stopped in front of me. He stood out not only because of his hair color and height but also because of his athletic build and bright clothes, which, surprisingly, suited this place better than anyone else's. One look into his eyes, the same color as his hair, was enough to know what was coming.

"You're late again?" he asked a question that clearly didn't need an answer.

"No,I'm on time!" I replied with annoyance and pent-up anger. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just nervous and angry. At myself."

"Don't worry,I understand," he replied calmly. "Well, you at least set a record—only a couple of minutes late, not an hour or so, like usual," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yan!"I exclaimed, slightly indignant at the poorly timed joke. "Ugh, I'm so tired of this. People are always waiting for me, and on top of that, for events like this, and I can't even arrive on time!"

"It's alright,don't be upset. All our friends are already there, chatting and passing the time waiting for the latecomers," he clapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go, I'm sure everyone will just be happy that you finally made it. We're friends, and friends wait for each other as long as it takes!"

"I guess you're right,"I replied uncertainly. "Okay, we really should go. Let's go."

Passing through the halls, we went up to the second floor and entered a corridor leading to several private rooms; one of them was ours. It was noticeably quieter here; light was on only behind one of the doors, and we headed there. We walked down the corridor; I was still a bit nervous, while Yan, as usual, was energetic and moved with ease. He entered first, and I followed. Inside, bright decorative flowers adorned the table, walls, and even the ceiling. The interior was in a soft Eastern style, made of the same mahogany. Besides the beautiful surroundings, the room was filled with equally beautifully dressed people, all our friends in elegant, festive attire. Only I was in casual street clothes, disrupting the harmony.

The group was small, just the camp counselors, thirteen people in total, not counting the two of us. I greeted everyone and handed out the gift keychains I had almost forgotten at home. After that, everyone sat down at the table in the center of the room, and the celebration began. A wide variety of dishes and drinks were at our disposal, mostly Eastern cuisine, of course. Even though we had only been apart for a week, conversations on all sorts of topics never ceased. Having returned to the city, each of us had plunged into its hectic and active life, managing to gather stories to tell. After a couple of minutes, Yan stood up and addressed everyone.

"Ahem, may I have your attention for a minute," he said, clearly drawing attention to make a toast. "Friends, I want to say that I'm glad we all work together. Each of us complements the other's work, and only through our collective efforts do we achieve the results that other camps can't..."

My vision suddenly blurred, and my head started crackling like a cricket on a night street. I felt I was starting to run out of air; panic filled my mind. I could no longer hear what Yan was saying; everything around me seemed to be swimming, but I tried not to show that anything was wrong. It was hard to cope with the mounting pain when, suddenly, through it all, I heard the saving clinking of glasses. Standing up, I quickly mumbled that I needed to step out and headed for the terrace. Every step was difficult and sent a pulse through my body up to my head, making it only more painful. Leaving the room, I let my body take over, taking a couple of quick steps and, almost unconscious, leaned my body against the terrace railing. My breath involuntarily quickened upon feeling the cool evening air. I slowly started to come to my senses, not understanding what had just happened. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard:

"Are you okay?" a familiar voice sounded.

"Yeah,just..." I turned around and saw Yan.

"Uh,no, that's clearly not a good sign," the familiar voice said with a kind of gentle smirk. "So I decided to postpone the festivities and come out with you. God forbid something happens."

"Th-thanks,Yan," I said in a trembling voice. "My vision just suddenly blurred, and I couldn't catch my breath. I think ten minutes in the fresh air will be enough to recover. It's nothing serious."

"Are you sure you're not sick?"he asked.

"No,of course not, I just need to sleep more," I tried to joke with a smile.

"Health is no joke,"he saw right through my attempt. "But you really do need more sleep. If it gets worse, tell me; I'll call an ambulance."

"Okay,Mom," I replied sarcastically. "But thanks for coming out. I probably ruined the festive atmosphere; we should go back soon."

"Calm down,sit," he sat down at the nearest table. "Get your breath back first, pull yourself together, and then we'll go. The party can wait. I told everyone you had an important phone call."

Nodding in gratitude, I sat down next to him, noticed a stylized flute on the table shaped like a Chinese dragon, and involuntarily stared at it.

"Oh,you know how to play, right? Maybe play something to calm down?" Yan asked.

"I don't think it's functional;it's probably just part of the decor," I assured him, shaking my hands. "And right now, I don't think I could play anything decent."

"As you wish,"he replied.

We sat for a few more minutes in the silence and tranquility of the clean night city streets. The night was taking over, releasing the moon into the sky; it was supposed to be a full moon tonight. Gradually, the tension and pain faded, dissolving in this atmosphere. It was starting to get chilly, and after sitting a little longer, we decided to go back inside.

Entering, we took our seats and continued socializing. To questions, I said it was a call about a potential job I'd been waiting for, so as not to spoil anyone's mood. Soon, a large cake was brought in, big enough for fifteen people. The top was decorated with a lotus flower with multi-colored petals, most likely symbolizing that only together do we form such a beautiful flower. It seemed strange to me that the flower on top appeared to be entwined with thorny branches at the bottom when viewed from above. It was as if the patterns of each part of the cake harmoniously transitioned into one another, forming a circle of thorns beneath the lotus. Before I could dwell on these dark thoughts, the cake was already being cut and served. Watching it being cut from the top, I got a little lost and started feeling nervous again. It felt as if it wasn't being sliced, but rather chipped away.

All of this felt more like a bad dream, a continuation of that nightmare. My mind grew clouded again, but now it was as if I were in a semi-trance. I vaguely saw the shadows of the people around me, and the hall resembled a wet, blurred painting. The only thing that remained clear was the shattered lotus on top of the cake. The thorny branches from the cake began to entwine and push apart the fragments, and the thorns on them grew and changed color to a painfully familiar pale green. When they pierced the parts of the lotus, indistinct cries and whispers reached me. The thorns didn't just entangle the flower; they began to slowly descend and wrap around my legs, digging their spikes into my flesh.

"Hey!" a voice from reality reached me; it was Yan. "Why are you frozen? Take the plate."

I hadn't even noticed that I had been sitting motionless for a couple of minutes while someone was handing me a plate with my piece.The images of my surroundings abruptly snapped into focus, becoming clear, the pain receded, and the lotus, divided into pieces, was being distributed along with the cake. Coming to my senses, I took what was being offered to me and pretended I had just been lost in thought.

"Th-thanks,again," I whispered almost inaudibly to Yan. "I was just thinking and…"

I realized I had stopped hearing my own voice, just like all the sounds around me; everything blurred again. Slowly, the hall was covered in darkness, and I found myself in a completely empty space. Suddenly, a white, seemingly marble, majestic throne appeared in the middle of it, as if beckoning me. Before I could comprehend anything, the throne began to turn black, crack, and become overgrown with thorns. And when it was completely transformed, a wave of green energy emanated from it, throwing me aside. I felt an impact and pain in my back, as if I had crashed into a wall, just before voices and screams began to reach me.

Gradually, the darkness receded, and it became clear that this had happened in reality. Some of the counselors lay unconscious, some were bleeding, and those who remained conscious and relatively unharmed began providing first aid to others. For work like ours, knowing such things was necessary. Someone had already managed to call an ambulance, and several waiters came running at the noise. Naturally, they initially blamed us for the destruction and, despite everything, called the police. We had no choice but to wait. The medics arrived first, and thanks to the first aid provided, no one was seriously hurt, but a couple of us were taken to the hospital with fractures, although the medics eyed us suspiciously because we couldn't explain how we got such injuries.

Yan, myself, and seven others remained to wait for the law enforcement. The entire festive evening had turned into a nightmare. "Is this really connected to me?" - the same thought repeated endlessly in my head. "No, I probably just overworked myself, and what I took for a vision was a dream on the edge of wakefulness. But the explosion was real..." No one wanted to talk; everyone just waited in silence, answering only the restaurant staff who accused us of causing an explosion. After a couple of minutes, the police arrived; we gave our statements, but the officers thought we were delirious and were about to pin it on psychotropic substances. But first, they decided to see what happened for themselves; fortunately, there were cameras here. Although, it might have been better if there weren't, because the shock and confusion were visible on the face of everyone who was there at that moment. The video showed a perfectly ordinary festive evening, everyone having fun, talking, when suddenly everyone was thrown back by a powerful air blast.

The senior police officer, realizing the situation was dead-end, put on the most confident face he could muster at that moment and said:

"The case is undoubtedly strange,the first in my practice," he said as confidently as possible, "but there are no inexplicable situations! We will start an investigation, and for now, you are free to go. If we need any information, we will contact you. If you remember anything, report it urgently."

We exchanged contact details, and they let us go for now. For another thirty minutes, we stood on the street almost motionless, without uttering a word. The cool summer evening had turned into a cold, winter night, pricking with its unpleasant claws. When everyone had come to their senses and were ready, we said goodbye and went our separate ways home; there was neither the strength nor the desire to discuss anything now. I got home without any incidents; my family was already asleep, so I tried to be quiet. Slowly and carefully making my way to my room, I changed clothes and decided to take a shower to unwind; it's not for nothing they say that water washes away all the bad things. Only now, under the stream of warm water, did the tension in my muscles, which had lasted the whole evening, finally ease. I had been in a nervous state and, despite my cowardice, was ready to fight back against anyone. Then I was ready; now I just wanted to dissolve like phlegm. Getting out of the shower, I remembered that I had forgotten to write that I got home safely; Yan had asked everyone to let him know they were okay. Taking my phone and quickly opening the chat, I didn't see any messages like "Is everything okay? Are you home yet?" which was unlike him. I wrote to him:

"Still awake?" I wrote, thinking about what to say next. "How are you?"

"No,"came a surprisingly quick reply. "Some people haven't checked in yet, so I'm still waiting. It could have been worse. I'm tough, I'll manage. How was your trip? Everything okay?"

"Yeah,that's what I wanted to write about. Honestly, I've been home for a while now, just spaced out, so I didn't message right away," I was even ashamed to write, let alone face this person again soon; I felt guilty for forgetting to write on time, "So, sorry…"

"Not the first time,"he replied, as usual, "and I've already told you, you don't have to apologize for that. Everyone forgets things sometimes. Anyway, get some rest. Good night."

"Good night,"I replied.

I picked up the tea I had left; its taste, like the evening, had transformed from a pleasant, strong, and warm drink into a disgusting, ice-cold liquid that made my face contort. Out of habit, I drank it even like that, washing away the residue of one unpleasantness with another. There was less than a week left before the start of the school year; I needed to catch up on sleep during this time. With these thoughts, I got into bed and sank into a deep, relaxing sleep. On the edge of my consciousness, barely audible voices were rhythmically and monotonously repeating something indistinct, but I was too tired to care, and I plunged into the abyss of sleep.