Everfield

Year 2140

The boy looked down at the lily pads rising from the placid water holes that punctuated the playground. Rusted iron fences flaking with light blue paint surrounded them.

To the east, a lake of deep maroon seemed to be shrinking in the sun. The concrete walls ran down to the silt beaches below, as the water’s edge seemed to retreat further and further each passing day, revealing dark sediment, weathered bottles, crumbled bricks, and the occasional carcass. A weather-beaten sign reading ‘Albert Lake’ hung diagonally, secured to only one of two poles.

The concrete walls that encased the lake had crumbled on the far eastern side, and it could be seen that the lake -which had once been artificial- had since joined with the sea. The crumbling remains of what had once been the island of Pecklow could be seen in the distance, which had become a series of jagged rocks, punching up into the sky in rebellion against the merciless pounding of the waves.

This town -or what was left of it- had once been called Everfield. He knew that because of the great metal castle upon the hill, which he had heard was once called ‘Everfield Power station’. Once upon a time -as the elders told it- the castle had supplied power to the whole town and beyond. But then something went wrong, and now the castle was a broken shell with a monster living inside of it that burned anyone who went near it.

The lake smelled of burning rubber and caustic chemicals. After the thunderstorms –and the wail of the curfew siren- the lake gave off a bitter metallic smell -a bit like rust- that irritated the nostrils and burned the eyes. He wondered for a moment, how the lily pads survived in the water around Everfield.

On the edge of the lake, partially banked by the retreating water, a rusting red barge sat, emblazoned with thick plastic letters in yellow that read “COFFEEHOUSE ON THE LAKE”.

Once in a while, the boys would drop down the concrete sides of the lake and –using a wooden board as a ramp- climb up onto the boats, careful to avoid the rusted-out holes in the deck.

On the western side of the lake sat a large waterpark, dominating the skyline with crumbling stone walls, a large Ferris wheel that creaked and rocked in the wind, and an array of dry twisting tubes that had once been water slides. An archway above the boarded-up wooden gate at the entrance read “The Brazen Bull Water Park”. It was here they used to play hide-and-seek amongst the dry waterslides and upon the Ferris wheel itself.

The Phalari had decorated the interior of the waterpark with monuments to the lost; bizarrely shaped stones that seemed almost non-Euclidean in shape, with small brass urns beneath them.

His friend János had ventured so far as to touch one of these stones once, before scurrying away like a mouse that had put their nose too close to a candle flame. His hand had swollen with weeping blisters that same day.

Beneath the Ferris wheel stood a large metal bull with open nostrils; what remained of the paint had begun to flake away to the iron beneath, and soot surrounded the belly of the beast. A ladder had once existed, leading up inside the bull, but not anymore.

In his dreams, the great metal bull came to life, charging about Everfield, tearing what remained of the town asunder with its horns, indiscriminately trampling the scurrying populace into pulps of bloody gore.

The boy looked up at the metal bull, remembering Agnos as he’d ascended the ladder on an autumn evening, looking for a hiding place. The Phalari had sealed him inside and broken away the ladder. After that, they’d poured buckets of live rats in through the nostrils and built a pyre underneath the belly of the bull before lighting it up; a smouldering tower of dry wood.

The Phalari had stood in a circle around the metal bull, dressed in dark robes, stoking the embers as the flames rose in their intensity, heating the metal to a deep orange. The Phalari stood in a circle around the bull, their rhythmic chanting growing stronger and stronger, complemented by the deep exudations of pain which echoed from the nostrils of the bull, as though the bull itself bellowed with Agnos’ anguished screams, and the squeaking of roasting rats.

The boys had taken cover behind the gate, but they couldn’t stop watching. Afterwards, the Phalari had taken his bones and polished them up so they shone like pearls, bound them together and strung them around the neck of the metal bull like jewellery. They’d stopped playing in the waterpark after that.

János had been the second to go. After they had stopped playing in the waterpark, he’d climbed over the blue metal fence and fallen into one of the water holes. Underneath the lily pads, the smothering algae had swarmed him, covering his skin from head to toe in dark green, and dragging him down to the bottom of the water. Sometimes –when the thunder clapped through the sky and the algae retreated to the corners of the water hole- you could see his bloodless, bloated body drifting across the bottom, his neck twisted up as though looking up at the lily pads above.

In the shadow of the great creaking Ferris wheel, beside the shrinking lake, in the spot where the grass grew thick and wild, between two watering holes, sat the playground at the end of the world. The boys –there were only two of them now- came here most nights, before the droning wail of the curfew siren and the rolling smog.

The slides were riddled with puncture holes which had begun to rust and warp in the heat of the sun. Swings creaked in the whistling wind, their rubbery seats mostly melted or broken, hanging on rusted chains that groaned in protest when they were used. Beside the swings sat an uneven see-saw; this too groaned whenever it was used. At some point, the bolt holding it all together would snap under the pressure of use, and the see-saw would collapse.

A wooden sandbox had once existed, though the sand had long since been blackened with soot and sludge. Besides the remains of the sandbox, there sat a merry-go-round. Strangely, the merry-go-round stood out above everything else. It seemed almost anomalous; in that it still bore thick red paint which had not begun to peel away. When the merry go-round spun, it seemed let out a joyful whistle which changed in pitch and volume with the speed of rotation.

The boys walked forwards, climbing onto the merry-go-round at opposite sides in order to optimise weight distribution. A metallic smoky scent hung on the wind. The boys put one foot down, and began to spin the merry-go-round, listening to the whistle as it rose in pitch. Their heads lolled back as the centrifugal forced them to grip the handles tighter and pull themselves in closer, feeling the rush of the G-force as it spun their stomachs and pushed laughter from their lungs. The whistling rose into a squeal, which quickly collapsed into a droning wail.

At once, the boys were flung from the merry-go-round, unable to hold on any longer. The droning wail continued, screeching through their dizziness, as they rolled about on the floor. As their vision began to steady, the crack of thunder roared across the sky, and the rolling smog could be seen advancing, illuminated by forks of purple lightning.

The droning wail of the curfew siren continued to ring out, as robed figures emerged from the waterpark. Dizziness and nausea forced the boys to their hands and knees. A hot stream of reddish vomit erupted from the mouth of one of the boys, closely followed by the other. Pain gripped their stomachs like hot ash, and a deep, paralyzing ache spread through their limbs, forcing them to hold their rigid positions.

The rolling smog swept over the boys, the playground, and Everfield, until nothing more could be seen of them.