Perfect Day
Wishes can come true on your birthday. Unfortunately.
This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 (Attribution, Non-Commercial, No Derivatives).
Perfect Day
by Trevor Mendham
He awakens and awareness returns as it always does. And, as always, memory follows more slowly. For a few blissful seconds he stares into the darkness, not knowing where or even who is. In those moments he is aware only of his existence and of the sense of movement. He is content.
But that feeling never lasts long. Memory does return; it always does and always will. In a rush he remembers where he is and how he got here. He remembers every detail of his eighth birthday, now many years ago.
And as he remembers, he screams.
Everything about his eighth birthday had been perfect. It had been a Sunday, so no school. The sun had woken him early, shining brightly through the curtains on his bedroom window. Waiting at the end of the bed had been what he wanted most in the whole world: a new bike.
A wish come true.
His screams are the only sound in the dark emptiness. Eventually even they stop, replaced by his gentle sobbing. After that the eternal silence returns.
Nothing.
Nothing to hear. Nothing to see. Nothing to feel except the absolutely smooth metal down which he constantly glides. Even his speed is constant, no acceleration or friction to change it.
In the early years he had tried to escape, tried to get over the side and fall into the darkness below. Death would be better than this. But he was unable to get a grip, the surface is impossibly slippery. He’s given up trying that now. He knows that he has no choice but to continue his journey.
From nothingness through nothingness to nothingness.
After breakfast his mother had taken him down to the park with its small playground. There he played with the other children. Some were friends, some he had never met before. At eight years old it didn’t really matter. They had run, chased each other and soared daringly high on the swings. There had been a lot of happy shouting.
His mother had sat on a wooden bench, chatting with other adults. Occasionally she would smile and wave to him.
Everyone was happy.
He outgrew his clothes a very long time ago, the tattered remnants eventually flying off into the emptiness surrounding him. He feels no embarrassment, he is totally alone. Despite his nakedness there is no feeling of cold — nor of warmth. Even his skin racing along the smooth surface causes only the faintest of impressions, barely noticeable and possibly no more than a figment of his imagination. An imagination desperately grasping for something, anything, beyond the constant sensation of falling.
The sensation that has been with him for so very long now.
Birthdays were special days, he knew that. There were presents and cake and everybody was nice to you. It was a day when you could do anything. His mother had told him that birthdays were even more special than that. On your birthday, you could make one special wish and it would come true. But only ever once, only ever on one birthday — so you had to choose carefully.
He believed her. He could tell she expected him to save the wish for another year. But he wasn’t going to do that. It was his birthday and he was going to use his wish. He just didn’t know what to wish for.
Not yet.
Occasionally down the years his mind has switched off, retreating into a happy place where rational thought has given way to oblivion. For the days, weeks or even months that these periods last he doesn’t care. He just exists, a body falling into nothingness without awareness. Those are the only times he knows true peace, the closest he comes now to happiness, but they never last.
Eventually consciousness always returns.
He loved all the games in the playground: the swings, the roundabout, the climbing frame. But most of all he loved the slide. The feeling of being so high up then just sliding down. Out of control yet at the same time safe. It made him feel brave and excited. It made his mother proud and happy.
It was the best thing ever.
He slides and remembers. There is nothing else for him to do.
It was probably his fifth time on the slide that day. He sat at the top and waved to his mother who smiled back. Then he pushed off and began to descend. As he slid down the smooth metal he realised that he knew what he wanted as his special wish.
This.
Everything was perfect. He wanted to slide forever.
He wished.
He screams again.
The bottom of the slide came quickly. As it approached he looked at his mother who was still smiling at him. Then something changed.
He saw her frown, her eyes widening as her mouth opened. She began to rise from her seat, reaching out towards him even though she was many yards away. He didn’t know what was wrong until he realised that he wasn’t slowing down.
Instead of stopping at the end of the slide he somehow continued. Without even a pause he slid through the ground. As it closed above him he was left sliding into black nothingness. He tried to stop himself, tried to turn and clamber back up the smooth metal but with no success. He had cried out for his mother, then just cried, but there was no answer. With his birthday wish granted he had no choice but to continue sliding.
And screaming.
Forever.
The End
Author’s Notes:
This story first appeared in my self-published collection Rest In Fear 2.
“I wish this day could last forever” is a common desire but, as we all know, you need to be careful what you wish for. My original idea was to have a djinn offer some sucker a wish, however I decided it worked better without the trappings of logic. Apologies to those who find the lack of an explanation irritating.
The tenses in the flashbacks worried me a little. They start in past perfect then switch to past progressive. I don’t know whether or not that’s grammatically correct but it ‘felt’ right to me.