The Edge of Oblivion

The person sits alone in a small abode on a windswept plain of rocks and sea grass. They know not how long it has been, nor how long it will be. The wind whistles through the cracks in the wood, the gaps in the stone. Somewhere outside, a lone seagull calls and receives no response. The person is unmoved, accustomed to the seagull’s unrequited squawks, they stare at a spot in the wall that appeared overnight. Which night, they are unsure, but it wasn’t there before. The wall is otherwise featureless, the same grey stone on the inside as it is on the outside. They stare and study, waiting for a change, a hint of its origin. Or its purpose. For now, nothing exists for them outside of this curious spot. They lean forward to scrutinize it when they see that it appears to be liquid. They reach a tentative hand towards it, touching the center with a finger and they feel that it is a warm liquid. Inviting. The push their finger into it and it expands, widening to accept it. They push further forward, their hand now disappearing into the void. Their arm follows, then their shoulder. They spot widens more and more until it accepts the person whole before closing up behind them, disappearing from sight. There’s a knock at the door and it opens. A person walks in and sits in the unoccupied chair facing the wall. The door closes behind them and the lone seagull squawks.

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