Chapter 2 – Ascension

  Arriving at my humble residence, the first thing I do is open my text. I don't change, I don't take a shower, I don't even look for anything to eat. I have to finish this project. I can't give up. I had already entered the depths of the art, and now I should live in it. I stare at the blank space and start typing.

  This day was horrible and it got worse exponentially, with every minute that passed, with every word typed and deleted.

  I attribute the failure of my creative process to the tiredness I feel due to my long day at work. Tormented by my own incompetence, I shut down my computer and sigh heavily, saying to myself:

  “Tomorrow is a new day, be calm, patient and persistent, with time everything will work out.” As I get ready for bed, I affirm this thought over and over in my mind.

  If I get a good night's sleep, the next morning I will feel renewed, I will be able to write something that best portrays the message I am trying to convey, yes, I cannot lose heart, I have to follow the road that takes me to my goal and overcome the obstacles along the way. After my meal, I take a shower and go to bed, a few seconds later the strong tiredness makes me fall asleep.

  I wake up suddenly, it's already dawn, cold sweat is running down my body, my state is catatonic, I feel like something inconceivable has happened. This night, something from the depths of my subconscious has visited me; the Gray Goblin, manifested itself.

  A few seconds after waking up, I remembered the dream; I was floating in the darkness, in the void. Strangely, I knew I was dreaming, because I felt my body paralyzed, lying motionless on the bed. I just floated aimlessly through the unchanging void, until the moment the creature began to manifest itself. I watched as it, the Goblin, crawled out of the shadows.

  The last image I remember is his distorted face, familiar and alien, disproportionately similar to a human face, with two long ears and a yellowish smile of malformed teeth, covered by light gray skin, like smoke from a chimney.

  I spend a few hours reflecting on what I had seen, until morning arrives. With it comes another day, another repetition of the same endless routine I live in. I try to forget this strange event, it probably happened due to tiredness and everyday stress.

  Throughout my working day, I follow my routine automatically. Even with the same complaints and irrelevant conversations from my “superiors”, I feel that something has changed, not in the outside world, but inside me, something has been reborn from the depths of my subconscious, something that I have not experienced for a long time; creativity.

  When I get home I go straight to the computer and when I look at the blank page, for the first time in a long time I understand the state I am in. I finally understand the way society operates:

  We are all conditioned to obey someone who is called superior. We are manipulated by the masters, who hold the strings, defining every movement that we can or cannot make. Even though we hate this manipulation, it is impossible to break these chains, because we need the money. Ah yes, capital, the reason why masters are untouchable and unchangeable. The only way to free ourselves from their control is to cut the strings that bind us to survival. The dream, a goal beyond the material, is the way! Even if it appears to be unattainable, impossible, in the end, we must always choose; live the dream, or the shit of survival. Only art can set us free!

  I went to bed filled with pride, I had finally finished something. The ideas seemed endless, after years of stagnation, finally creativity blessed me again. The obstacle that tormented me for years have been overcome. In this night, the well-deserved rest, gently descends upon me.

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  My eyes open and gaze into the darkness, I am once again in that place; the deepest region of my mind. I realize that I am sitting in an ancient chair, with strange symbols carved into its wooden surface, shining brightly in gold, illuminating a small part of the darkness in front of me. Through this breach of light, the Goblin manifests itself again. The being just stares at me, with its macabre smile.

  — W… Wha… What are you? — I manage to ask the being, stuttering. Even though I'm completely terrified by what I see, I have a strange feeling of comfort, of relief.

  — Vincent! It's so good to see you again! It's been twenty-five years... no, twenty-five years, six months, and fourteen days, to be more exact. — Says the creature. His macabre smile stretches beyond what can be considered possible. — We finally meet again. See, I thought you had abandoned me, forgotten me in the depths of the void. However, you have always called me, and I always heard all your pleas, proliferated while you fought against your greatest adversary, the blank page. Since the first time I heard you, I began to crawl from the depths of your consciousness. It took years, but finally, now I live again. Answering your question more directly, I am you! — Says the creature, his voice is similar to mine, however, it has a higher tone. Like a needle, each word pierces my mind, making me reflect; could this be my mind communicating with me? Or, my subconscious, communicating with my conscious? The only think I know is that I'm probably going crazy. — Now that I have been reborn, I come to offer you something: a pact. — Says the Goblin. Paralyzed, I observe him, trying to stop the countless questions bubbling through my mind. — I see that you can already feel the effect of my presence, your greatest enemy has been subdued, after years you have defeated him. The creativity and perseverance necessary to fulfill your goal, to achieve your dream, are buried deep in your mind, covered by the futilities of this society. These are the virtues that I come to offer you. — As the offer is made, the darkness that surrounds us takes shape. Now, surrounding me is all my work, everything I have created since I was little. All the stories, all the characters, all the worlds, were within my reach. — However, in exchange I will consume your life, after all this is my nature, to consume. This is the agreement, your vital essence is the price that must be paid for the narratives trapped in your mind to be freed. Do you accept these conditions? — His macabre smile stretches across his distorted face. I do not hesitate, I act on impulse, I feel the desire that the worlds have to exist. The answer is obvious.

  — Yes! — Immediately after agreeing to the terms of the pact, I wake up in my bed.

  I sit up in bed and try to organize my thoughts. Meanwhile, a cell phone starts ringing. Disoriented, I start looking for the source of this annoying noise. I realize that the sound is coming from the desk next to my bed. I open the bottom drawer and rummage through my clothes. Finally, after a few seconds of searching, I find my old cell phone, which I've had since I was seventeen. I've never used it as a daily accessory. I keep it tucked away in the bottom of the drawer, using it occasionally, only to talk to my family on special occasions, always keeping it charged, in case a family member wants to contact me.

  I turn on the phone and see that the number is unknown. It's already six o'clock in the morning, and I should soon be returning to my unwanted work routine. However, who could be calling me? Even though I'm suspicious, I answer the mysterious call.

  — Good morning, Mr. Vincent, this is David speaking. I am an editor at “Mysteries and Horror.” I found your poems and stories on your blog. The only contact information provided on your website is this number, so I decided to call you to let you know that we are interested in publishing your material. — Since I am still sleepy, it takes me a few seconds to understand what is happening. After years of creating, my work had finally been recognized, appreciated by someone. The largest publisher in the country had shown interest in my art. The thought that something of this magnitude could happen in my life was null, impossible, inconceivable, but it happened. Could this event, no, this miracle, be related to my strange dreams? — Mr. Vincent? — The voice says, cutting through the silence. I immediately turn my attention to this important call.

  — Yes! I'm sorry! I just woke up. Regarding the offer, I would be extremely honored to be a part of “Mysteries and Horrors”! — I say, unable to contain the enthusiasm in my voice.

  — Great! I'll just need to gather some information… — After David collected my personal data, I was asked to attend a meeting this afternoon at 3:00 p.m.

  I skip my old job and go to the meeting. Everyone knows where the publisher's office is, the big gray building in the city center. When I get there, I am extremely well received. Right after reading and signing the contract, I feel free, free from the chains of society, free from the survival imposed on all men. Creativity flows through my mind, smooth and continuous, like the waters of a calm lake.

  The next day, I return to the telephone company that had imprisoned me for so many years. When my superior sees me, he quickly approaches me; it is clear that the man is extremely angry. I do not allow him to say a word; when I see him, I say, “I resign.” The moment these words are spoken, the last link holding me to survival is broken. After a discussion, the superiors say they need me, they say I am a valuable employee for this establishment. Lies, a futile attempt, just like this workplace, to keep me bound to survival. After some time of arguing, I leave that prison and continue my journey.

  Just like me, people must fight against the “superior men” who occupy the top of society. My work seeks to inspire them to follow this journey. The most difficult path, among the possibilities, is the path of fighting for freedom. The fight for the dream must be fought, and know that victory is the only acceptable result, either we win, or we die fighting.

  Years go by and with them worlds are created and released for people to interpret. I have achieved the success I had longed for! The creativity, that I once lacked, is now inexhaustible. All the ideas I had in my mind come to fruition, filling the blank page. My greatest enemy had now become the canvas where my stories come to life.