“There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go,”- Tennessee Williams

How Do I live?

Van stared, for a moment, at the small pile of papers he held in his hand before placing them in the stack of assorted stories in front of his English teacher, “Here. I’m sorry it’s late.”

His professor merely pushed up the glasses on her nose as she looked at her student. He has such promise, if he weren’t so distracted all the time. She wondered briefly what it was that caused his distraction but then dropped the train of thought as she decided it was most likely related to whatever gave birth to his creative talents with words.

As Vance left the room she took her glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose, sighed once, and then picked up her students story. The titles read: How Do I Live? and indicated that the story, as per his usual trend, was probably going involve some rather depressing themes. Still, it also promised to be a good read so the professor rubbed her eyes once more before placing her glasses back on and began to read:

For a moment, despite the booming music in the background, every teenager in the brightly decorated ballroom stood silent as they watched the approach of a young man, their fellow classmate. He wore a disheartened expression on his face, marred only by the few wild bangs that managed to escape his otherwise spiky brown hair.

Still silent, apparently lost in thought he made his way over to the table where his friends sat, watching him without sound, gentle concern in their eyes. Each wished to comfort him, to tell the young adult that it would be better soon but thy couldn’t, the pain was too fresh and they too were unsure of how well their own hearts would heal.

Soon however the dance floor beckoned them and the table emptied of all but the boy as his friends sought to lose their own emotional scars in the moment.

Three hours later found the young boy just beginning to stir from his thoughts, the senior prom was almost over and he had, he realized as he glanced at the clock, unfinished business to take care of.

At the thought he had to fight to push back unwanted tears, they would not impede what he intended to do but they were unessential and more to the point, the young man hated to cry.

Without a word he picked up the case he had entered the prom hall with and walked to the center of the room. As he did so an odd silence fell over the room. Not just a hush that seemed to steal away the voices of the students and teacher chaperones but the music, which had refused to retreat in volume, had seemingly finally acquiesced as even the DJ was captivated by the movement of this young man.

With all eyes in the room on him, the boy pulled out a violin from with in his bag and after a few tentative plucks, to see how it sounded, launched into full swing of a mournful ballad.

The odd thing about it was, as the first chair violinist of the school orchestra would later recall, he didn’t seem to be recalling any previously composed notes. Instead, the tune that emerged found its inspiration from the turmoil of his shattered heart, even as it broke all others present. He didn’t notice the tears that were streaming down the faces of his friends even as the girls tried to keep from ruining their dresses and boys unashamedly wiped their eyes with their arms.

Unaffected, the child continued to play, his eyes closed, lost in a world that he alone could envision and indeed, the longer he poured out his soul, the more sorrowful the melody became and the more intensely it was felt.

It was his brother who noticed first the alteration in his appearance first, but soon everyone had seen it, a shadowy version of the same boy, at first overlapping his physical form and then, playing side by side. In virtually every possible aspect this new boy was the same as the original, including the same expression, clothing, and tear streaked face. In truth, the only discernable differences in the features of the other, were quite obvious ones that could have been changed by the young man himself had he but the inclination. His hair was no longer the same brown and as the two opened the eyes the surrounding crowd of people could see that their eyes no longer held the same color either. The new comers eyes and hair were both a brilliant ice blue with dashes of silver, the silver only served to merely enhance the color difference.

As the new violinist became completely materialized, his tune began to change. The tempo had not altered nor had the intensity but the crowd, as they listened anew, found that he was now playing in counter melody with their classmate so that together their song soared higher and faster, with much more depth and emotion than it had previously. It spoke of falling in love, of heartbreak, of separation, communicating a sadness, a sense of unbearable lose, which, unfortunately enough, could be related to be a few poor souls in the room.

The untimely lose of a dearly beloved person.

It was... in every aspect of its performance... beautiful, hauntingly so, and in that simple truth, heart wrenching.

So when the song began to wind down and the two had fused into a single person once more a sigh, from a sense of relief as keen and intense as the sadness caused by the song, had rippled through the crowd assembled.

Thus it was only then, released from their musical enchantment, that the seniors noticed any difference. The light, which before had been generated by watts of electricity running through light bulbs in the ceiling, had been replaced by a softer, more intimate glow. A gasp was heard from somewhere in the masses as the first person to look up, whether boy or girl, noticed the source of this warm ambience. Above the young men and women, high school seniors all, with the occasional teacher thrown in, floated a sea of candles, only just out of reach, each glowing with a warm, golden light.

For a moment a stunned silence eclipsed every sound any of the teens would otherwise have made in the room as their surrounds were taken in. At this moment they stood, not in the room where, moments before, their prom had been held, but in a much larger, more ornate, almost to the point of being ostentatious but not, room... it was vast, elegant and majestic at the same time. Buttresses reached from the floor to the ceiling far above them even as pillars, lined with gold and silver, as well as precious stones, stood in each corner of the hall and at either end were hallways, darkened by a lack of light. Several students attempted to see how far the passages reached but were prevented by the lack of light, so as far as they were able to tell the twin hallways could have extended forever, which in fact, they did.

As the initial shock of their sudden change in surroundings, a question, the same question, began to form on the lips of almost every person there, exchanged by hushed whispers, it rippled through the teenagers assembled, “Where are we?”

“You... are in Aneles hall...? Why?” the question drifted from depths of the hallway closest to the violinist, where a young girl, no older than those that were among the senior class who now found themselves out of place in the wondrous hall, stood in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Surprisingly enough, she did not look at all out of place in the grand hall, despite her less than stately appearance. Perhaps, thought one of the teachers present, it was the way her piercing eyes seemed to look straight through you, so much so that it seemed as if you could hide no secrets from her, coupled with that was the imperial way she held herself and nothing else about her appearance seemed to matter.

Slowly, the crowd of seniors parted, revealing their classmate, the violin still at his chin, staring directly at the young girl with semi-curly brown hair, pulled up in a ponytail.

“Van...? Of course,” the expression on the young women’s face changed in an instant, from regally stern, to confused, and finally, to sad understanding.

“Why?” the origin of the young man’s voice was lost in the throng of seniors but it was evident that the others who surrounded him wished to know ‘why?’ as well.

The young woman turned to her friend, as did his brother, their gazes expectant, as if they too wish to know “why?” although it is clear that they, at least, have a preconceived notion that they were simply waiting to confirm.

Vance’s response was slow and, though much still lingered, some of the sadness had gone from his eyes as he too took in their surroundings. “Mai...ra...?” he turned to his friend, “We stand in Aneles Hall, correct?”

His friend nodded the confirmation, all but she and Leo, his brother, confused as to where Van was headed in his train of thought.

“Then the answer... is simple.”

He motioned the great hall around them, “This is Aneles Hall, otherwise known as ’The Realm of Gods’, ‘The City On the Edge of Forever’ or even as “The Hall of the Dead’. It has a thousand other names in a thousand other languages but I suppose, at this particular moment, that small fact happens to be irrelevant. Some say it came into being the instant the Universe was created. More will contest that it existed before the Universe and that it will stand until the end and further. And yet others will tell you that it is only there when it is needed. Whether these thoughts are truth or not, most of you shall never be certain, but know this... this hall and the hallway that runs through it may indeed be the only things in existence, this one or any other, that are truly immortal.”

For a moment Sylvan paused to recollect his now racing thoughts, “In our world, and indeed, any world, when a person dies, they’re dead, yeah? That is how they will remain for the rest of eternity, in that world. But what if,” and here he turned to face his classmates, so that his saddened eyes might be better able to take in their reactions, “there existed a place in which time had no meaning, where it’s existence was a moot point?”

A friend of his gave a startled gasp and she began to understand the point he was making, even as Leo and Mai both nodded, their suspicions confirmed.

“Aneles Hall does indeed exist outside both space and time and any other governing force of nature that exists in so many worlds and so many universes out there. Here, if you want it badly enough, one may meet the dead again, for a limited time.”

Once more he stopped his speaking, for a moment he contemplated his situation before he turned, walked to the center of the room, and placed his violin firmly under his chin for the second time that evening. For a moment he paused, took a deep breath to steady himself, and once more launched into a complicated melody. Unlike the last, devastatingly sorrowful, tune he had contrived, the new melody had subtle, but infinitely important, differences. True, it was still sad, however this new tune was tinged with hope, and another message.

Almost as if, realized a girl with shoulder length platinum blonde hair, he were calling to something, or, comprehension dawned, someone?

At this thought Van’s friend noticed something odd, even by this nights already unusual standards, happening.

A pale silvery mist had materialized above Van, at the top of the hall. As he continued to play the mist got heavier and heavier and slowly began to fall to the floor. However as it did so it began, almost as if filling different molds, to assume various shapes. The more the mist fell the more definitive the forms became and soon they were recognizable as human shapes, men and women. All wearing everyday clothing, no expressions on their faces, their eyes closed, almost as if they slept the sleep of the dead, which they did, quite literally. They were the ghosts of each and every person that the young man known as Vance, Van to his friends, had ever known. In life they were his friends, his comrades and even some, his enemy but upon death much of lives trivial emotions are forgotten until only the truest emotions are left.

Now they were simply his companions, but he did not wish for their company on this night. Tonight of all nights he was here for a single person and as he slowed his playing and the silver sea of ghosts disappeared it became obvious whom he was waiting for.

She too, was a ghost, but more distinct than the others for as they faded away to slowed tempo of his melody she gained more and more substance, to the point where, her friends swore, she might still have been alive were it not for the unearthly glow of silver around her and the slightly transparent look about her.

She wore a pale blue dress, which shimmered the same silver color as her aura when as it rustled in the candlelight of the silent hall. The young woman’s eyes were a light, sky blue and they twinkled with joy as she gazed upon the face of her beloved, while her dark blonde hair was done up in an elaborate pattern that caused a brief smile to play across Van’s face.

“Cristin...” her name escaped into the air as barely a whisper on his lips.

She smiled gently and reached out a hand for his, as he, all vestiges of his sadness now gone, took it without hesitation, after having carefully had his violin taken and placed his violin on the floor by his brother.

He and Cristin, they had not shared a dance in a long time and for this night, they would be happy again, if only for the short time they found allotted to themselves.

As if there were music only they two could hear, the two danced in silence, drinking in the presence of the other, wishing the moment would not end. As their solemn dance continued Maira noticed a faint sound emanating from an indistinct source all around the students. A knowing smile playing upon her delicate features, she nodded her goodbye to her friends and returned to the darkness of the halls from which she had emerged.

The only person to notice her disappearance, Leo, but as his friend was more than capable of looking after herself he decided against mentioning it and was soon distracted by the source of the melodious tune. Around the student body that had assembled in Aneles Hall, new beings were appearing, the same wraithlike composition as their predecessors but different. The previous specters had been ghosts of deceased humans whilst these new sprites were neither spirits of the dead, nor, as many realized to their shock, even human. Nonetheless, they were indeed the source of the soft, enchantingly romantic song that was being played as Cristin and Vance danced.

Captivated by not only the tune of the ethereal orchestra and the orchestra itself, but the entrancing dance the two lovers presented, the high school seniors gave way to form a circle around the pair as their musicians above floated aimlessly as they played.

As the teens watch, captivated by the dancers elegant moves and nostalgic melody of the specters in the air, the time slipped away and soon the clock above the northern hall was tolling the coming of the midnight hour, signaling the end of the Summer Solstice. For both lovers, time had flown far to fast and as the ancient air, that their otherworldly orchestra had created, started its final decrescendo tears began to form in the pair’s eyes.

They both knew that when the final note was played she would forcibly disappear into the other realm and it will be some time before they will see each other again. Even as the musician music faded so did Cristin, her body becoming less and less corporeal as the final stanza dissipated. Thus, when the last note faded, despite a desperate attempt by Vance to keep her in his embrace, she vanished into the silvery mist that had once more covered the wondrous hall with the name Aneles.

It was then, as Van stood in the center of the room, his arms still encircling the spot where his beloved had been, if only in spirit, moments before, that the students noticed they were back in the prom hall where their evening had started. Their classmate was still weeping, lamenting his loss and none of his friends can bring themselves to comfort him. Unsure of how to react to the night’s events the seniors left the ballroom and head to their respective limousines, leaving only a weeping Van and finally, after even his brother had left, he was alone in the empty hall, allowed to come to terms with his sorrow in his own time, in his own way.

Again the professor let out a sigh. The afternoon had faded away as she had read his story and somehow, the elder woman felt, it has taken much longer despite her ignorance of the passage of time.

Vance Yeung, a rather eccentric young man with sad eyes that sometimes seemed to let you into his sould. At times though, it was his tales of wonder that seemed, more often than not, to be a bit to intimate to be completely contrived in the allotted time he and his fellow student had to write them in. As she packed up her work and headed out the door, the professor wondered, not for the first time, what exactly went on in her students mind, if she really wanted to know.