The Interview

A short story

I tighten my tie, take a deep breath, then open the door. I’m early to the interview. I need to show The Company who I am. The office is sterile with a metal desk in the center. I sit in the chair in front of the desk and wait.

Suddenly, the lights shut off. The darkness jolts me up. I find the wall and run my hand across it until I find the switch. When I flip it, there are several people in the room. My stomach drops. They all look exactly like me and are even dressed identically.

“Hello,” the closest one extends a hand. His eyes are shut. “I am Sleep."

“I’m…Marshall,” I manage to say as we shake hands. All the others chuckle at this.

I sit back down in the chair, mind spinning. One of them takes a seat behind the desk. He has no pupils or irises. His eyes are just glossy white. Pain bolts through my head. Sleep begins to snore from the corner.

“Who are you?” I ask softly. He pulls a necklace out from underneath his shirt. He shows me the gold pendant on the chain. The edges look like a picture frame. In the center, there is a book with a musical note on the cover. He leans toward me seriously. If he had pupils, they would be boring into mine. “I am Lost.” He nods as though satisfied with his introduction. I notice that he never blinks.

I sit in silence for a few moments, overwhelmed. I wonder if this is a dream, if I’ve had a psychotic break. A third me rests a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s just us here,” he reassures me. “We’ve met before, but you probably don’t remember me.” He removes his suit jacket, lays it gingerly on the desk, and rolls up his sleeves. His skin is covered with scars and burns. He rotates his forearms for me to see. “It’s like this everywhere,” he says solemnly.

He gets down on one knee and tilts his neck back. A line of stitches travels from behind one ear, down under his jaw, and back behind the other ear. Then, he cranes his head forward and pulls his curly brown hair back to reveal that the stitches outline his entire face. Now that he’s this close, I can tell that both of his eyes are glass. A crushing feeling overtakes me. He smiles weakly at me, “I am Void.”

My head is pounding in my ears. I glance at Sleep, annoyed by his loud snoring. The thought of escape arises, but somehow I am certain that the door is locked.

Void takes my hand. “Let me introduce you to Dark.” He leads me to the me standing to my right. He’s slumped with his forehead pressed directly against the wall. Void pulls Dark around. Dark’s eyes are like Lost’s, except inky black. A black tear drops off his chin. “He’s always like this,” Void whispers to me.

“Uh, hey.” Dark wipes his face and straightens up. He smells like body odor and cigarettes. “Are you dead?”

I avoid his creepy eyes. “I don’t know…” Dark’s lips twist into a cynical smile. He lights a cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke in my face. His eyes continue to bleed black. I get the sense that they always do that.

“Well, that was fun,” Void remarks dryly. He pulls me toward the last me on the other side of the room. This one radiates joy. When he sees me coming his way, he rushes toward me with a wide smile. “Welcome back!” He exclaims while vigorously shaking my hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while! I see you’ve re-familiarized yourself with the others. I would have greeted you first, but the last time I did that it was too much for you. We’ve tried various sequences. Sleep is easiest to meet and Lost is friendly enough. Void is distant, but he’s good at getting you to Dark, who is always a downer, of course, but still an equal member of our little community.”

I rub my temples, trying to process all this. “Umm…okay. Who are you?”

He raises a finger and slowly blinks. The finger bursts into flame. The flame grows, surrounding his hand, but it does not burn him. The heat wicks my face. I stare at the light enraptured. The flames dance into my memory. I have been here before.

I raise my hand next to the light and nod. My skin is dotted with the same symbol, an empty black circle with a diagonal line extending across it.

He blinks slowly again and the flames disappear. “I am Fire,” he says, “but you remember.”

“Yes,” I respond. The pain in my head is gone. “Fire, I am Nothing.”

Immediately, I’m transported back into the hall. The room I was in is now locked. The sign on the door reads, “Marshall.” I walk to the next room where the interviewer awaits. “Glad you could make it!” He flips some papers. “And, let’s see, you are…” He looks up at me for an answer.

“I am awake.”