Trick of the Light
by Dan Caine
He woke up in a white room. It was white for only a second before he felt something brush against his legs, blinked, and beheld the forest he now stood in. He rubbed his eyes, blinking again, almost as if to test to see if the land would change again.
Nothing happened.
The white must have been an optical trick of some sort.
“Where am I?”
“You don’t know?”
The boy jumped, looking around for the source of the question. The trees remained empty, no birds filled the sky. He lowered his eyes to the ground, finally locating the black cat, a small creature sitting upright.
“You’re wherever you want to be.”
Shaking his head, the boy ignored the cat and began to walk into the forest.
The horizon was hazy and he couldn’t see what lay beyond the woods. There was a path, a curious thing as it seemed to sparkle and shimmer. The boy shrugged and began to walk it, hoping it wouldn’t lead him astray.
The cat followed.
“So where are you going?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, I’m just curious. That’s my job, isn’t it?”
The boy didn’t deign to respond, breaking into a run instead. The cat kept pace, its legs blurring together with a speed more akin to a cheetah or a leopard. The landscape changed, the forest now a distant memory. Replaced instead by a sprawling city, no entrance in site. The boy was simply inside.
It was soulless.
“Where is everyone?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“There should be people here.”
“And there are.”
And there were.
The boy smiled.
The fur on the cat’s neck began to rise.
