Terms
*These are all real buildings and monuments that were at Delphi on the way to see the Oracle. Some of their archeological remains can still be seen today if you visit the site.
Peely-wally – unwell, someone with a sickly complexion.
Da – Dad
Bairn – child
Author’s note: As far as possible, all historical details about buildings, symbols, and attire are historically accurate.
Script
I must’ve mentioned these hundreds of times. They are always there in the shop, like Chronos and the Madam, but do a lot less talking. No one ever looks at them for more than a second, and that includes me. They stand against walls, tucked away in corners, hidden behind smaller items, but they’re always there, like huge flies on the wall. No one’s ever bought one, to my knowledge, and I’d never really given it much thought. Until one day, I got curious.
It was just Fionn and Chronos in the shop with me, Reid had a hospital appointment to remove the last of his stitches. In order to get out of taking part in the world’s most intense and competitive card game, I took a wander around the shop, hoping to find anything to entertain me. A book that mysteriously fell from the ceiling, a puzzle collection that timed you and gave you a score once you’d finished, or if I was really lucky another prison book that I could liberate someone for and regret for months.
Not that day. As I was meandering down the aisles, my eyes passed over a wardrobe I’ve seen so many times we should be on first name terms. It’s sandwiched between a vanity table and an old record player. It’s not grand by any means, and doesn’t stand much taller than myself. It’s quite slender and made of a light-coloured wood where the whorls and lines are visible in the grain. I can imagine it in the corner of a small boarder’s room in the early 20th century, used to house a few pressed shirts and their best suit. I wondered what was inside. If there was anything. I’d never checked in any of the wardrobes in the shop, but what if there were more things inside? Would people still find them?
Curious, I wound my way across a typewriter case and a few paintings propped upright against other things, until I stood in front of the doors. Two ring pulls were at waist height and as I curled my hands around them, I hesitated. This was the shop. What if a monster was inside? What if I got sucked in? I wasn’t stupid, even if Narnia did exist, it wouldn’t be a land full of talking lions and noble warriors. It’d be hell where the lion would rip your head off, and then someone’d scavenge your corpse.
Then again, this was the shop, where not every item was enchanted. This could be an empty wardrobe and I was fretting for no reason. Steeling myself, I flung open the doors, ready to face the horrors of the interior, only to find nothing. No clothes, no ravenous lion, not even an odd shoe. It was just a wardrobe after all.
I let my hands slacken from the ring pulls, inspecting the marks imprinted on my hand I was gripping onto it that tightly. Disappointed, I searched the inside of the wardrobe, hoping I’d missed something, a hidden doorknob, a false back or sides. After my inspection I bitterly concluded it was, indeed, just a wardrobe. Of all the things in the shop, it would be the one with the most potential that was mundane.
As I was about to close the doors and go in search of something more interesting, I saw a piece of paper wedged between the floor and the back wall of the wardrobe, as though someone had made a temporary fix. The wardrobe itself was deeper than it looked from the outside, so I knelt on its floor and reached back to the paper, managing to get it between my thumb and index finger.
As I pulled something pulled back, like there was someone else on the other end of that paper who’d had the same idea as me. I tried to shimmy the paper out, pulling from one side to the other, but nothing worked. It was time for brute strength, and with all my might I pulled on that paper, only to find myself being pitched forwards, straight into the back wall of the wardrobe.
I closed my eyes, expecting to smack my face into the wood, but when I opened them, I found myself stumbling forward on dry ground, catching my balance before I sprawled out. It’s sunny, heat lapping against my bare arms. The sky is bright blue, the occasional cotton white cloud swirling in the distance, chasing each other across the horizon. There are a lot of people about, some walk past me, others pause to take in the view to the distant mountains, or the many statues that line the pathway where we are. It’s a built-up area, but these buildings aren’t inhabited, they’re no houses or shop fronts. A single wide path cuts through them at sharp angles, leading people up to the top of the mountain that we’re on where the largest building looms.
Glancing around there are statues everywhere, on top of tall plinths, down on the ground, made of brass or stone, carved or moulded into shapes of animals and people. The statues wear the same clothing as the people around me, light linen tunics fastened by buttons or brooches, sandals on their feet, glistening jewellery on their fingers and around their necks. The stone statues are painted in vibrant colours, emeralds and sapphires, scarlets and yellows. It feels as though they could come to life at any moment, have a conversation with a passerby.
I walk up the incline, following the designated path, past buildings that remind me more of mausoleums but appear to be something else. Initially I thought this place was a graveyard, these luxurious stone buildings with shields hung on the walls and frescoes carved above the stone columns nothing but crypts to someone of note. As I began to walk past them, to peer inside, to try and read the foreign script, I thought they were more like temples, places of worship, but rather than praising a deity, they were praising a nation, or a previous triumph. The statues had the same feel to them, rather than honouring the dead, they were dedicated by the living in memory of some great historic moment.
It was as I passed one of these buildings, with shields hanging up inside, that I recognised a symbol painted on the front. The Greek letter lambda was emblazoned in coal black against a scarlet background. I’m not a 300 fan, but wasn’t that the symbol Sparta used to use? The more I gazed around the more I noticed. The Athenian owl was carved into a building or two, the winged horse of Corinth. Finally, the statue that explained it all was a large one, at least 8m tall. It was a column made up of three twisting ropes of copper that wound around each other until the top where they splayed into three snakes’ heads. Laid on top of the heads was a brilliant golden tripod and cauldron that sparkled in the sunlight. That was the Serpent column, the one dedicated to the Delphic oracle*. This was ancient Greece.
Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve been yeeted back into the past. Was this the real past? Could I interact with people?
The universe decided to answer my question by getting someone to shout at me. It was a woman standing behind a wooden stall full of trinkets and medals and other offerings. Looking directly at me, she beckoned me over. Believe me, I turned around and everything just to check. It was definitely me she wanted to see. I gingerly walked over to her and as soon as I got within speaking distance she began to surmise that I must be there to see the Oracle. Pointing further up the incline, following the path past even more wonderful and lavish buildings and statues, to the grand temple that towered above everything else, she ushered me in that direction. I go to ask her something, open my mouth, but I can’t. I simply grunt a reply to this woman, and she then tells me if I want any more advice to come and see her.
I start to glance down at myself and realise I’m dressed the same way as everyone else. Layers of linen, buttoned together at the seams and belted at the waist. My skin is a golden sun-kissed olive, far away for the peely-wally reality. I’m evidently not myself here. I’m a lot fitter too, I can see the muscles pushing against the skin on my forearms.
No really knowing what else to do, I follow the path up to the temple of Apollo, the grand edifice in the centre of this labyrinth of offerings. My Da’ loves a good documentary, so I watched a lot of them growing up. It’s the only reason I recognised the Serpent column. Another name for the Oracle at Delphi was the Pythia, and along with the tripod the oracles used both as their symbols.
The main temple is dedicated to Apollo who, amongst other talents, was the God of foresight or prophecy. Three women at any one time could hold the title of Oracle, and they were usually chosen from the local population, as Delphi is the name of the local town. People would travel far and wide to see the Oracle, asking her advice, and some nations put a lot of stock in what she said. Most are vague, and shockingly only make sense after the fact, but fake or not, the Oracle had copious amounts of influence in ancient Greece. Whether or not to colonise, whether or not to start a war, the Oracle would be consulted.
I continued following the path until I came out at the wide expanse surrounding the temple itself, by far the largest and most imposing building in the entire complex. Many carved stone columns supported a tiled roof, with a fresco of the founding myth of the oracle carved in brass around the edge. Too far up to truly see.
This place was packed with people waiting to get into the temple, and on the outskirts were stall owners selling everything from coins to small live animals that you could sacrifice to Apollo. I always hated that bit. As I glance around the crowd, I hear someone else hollering at me and waving me over to one of these stalls and I hesitate, afraid that a poor chicken will be foisted onto me and I’ll be expected to kill it. Eventually I go over to this man, dressed in as much finery as there was space on his arms and neck. He tells me the Oracle has been waiting for me, and that because I have priority I can go straight in, past the queue. Again, I open my mouth to say something, to ask why, but I can’t.
It looked like I was about to see the Oracle for myself. In the documentary my Da’ and I watched, no one really knew for certain what the inside of the temple looked like, or even how the Oracle worked. Would I get to see it now? How was I supposed to ask her anything when I couldn’t open my mouth?
The grand doors to the temple are pulled open and as soon as they’re closed behind me silence descends. Rather than an open space, like a church or mosque, with high ceilings and natural light, there’s another door a few metres in front that leads to a smaller chamber. I’m escorted through this one into a musky, hot room, not unlike a sauna. The silence in the main temple echoed, the slightest shuffling of feet or sandals as loud as the crowds outside, but in this sacred place there were only the crackle of candles. I’m not alone. There are attendants scattered around this space, holding bowls, writing utensils, or standing on ceremony. I make my way past them and up to the top of the room where a woman sits on a tripod.
This woman, dressed in pristine white linen, jewels and beads hung on her necklace and wrist, brooch sparkling in the candlelight, must be the Oracle herself. One of them, at least. I approach, and the Oracle asks me what I want to know. I don’t say anything in reply, but everyone reacts like I did, nodding in understanding. I’m left to glean my answer from the words she says next.
Raising her hands to the low ceiling she praises the god Apollo and tells me I have a great destiny to fulfil should I choose to accept it, that I could be the next hero of legend. It all depended on the choice I made when I left the temple. My destiny, she said, was waiting.
It’s good to know that psychics haven’t changed much in two thousand years. That was the end of my slot, and the attendants ushered me out the way I’d come. The cacophony outside felt like emerging from a sound booth. There was a rush of noise and a flood of people. The sunlight caused me to squint for a few seconds as my eyes adjusted to the brightness from the peaceful gloom of the temple interior.
I don’t have long to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do next when across the courtyard, through the queue, is a commotion. Steel clangs ring out and taunts are exchanged as a group of three scruffy looking men circle a scrawny looking one. I start moving towards the noise, only to realise I suddenly have a sword and shield in my hands. I didn’t even realise I had these on me.
I make my way through the crowd as the blazing sun watches until I’m upon this group where it’s clear the three armed men are trying to steal from the smaller one. Now, I know sometimes I can be a bit confrontational, but I swear I’ve never been in a proper fight. Punched a lad, aye, but he had it coming, and I was a bairn, but a full-on, swords out, try not to die fight, not once. To my dismay, instead of throwing a few sarcastic insults at the three to make them piss off, they just attacked me instead, didn’t even give me a chance to open my mouth. Not that I probably could’ve.
By Apollo’s luscious locks of hair, these bastards were actually trying to kill me. The more amazing thing was that I knew how to use this sword and shield. I was giving as good as I got, and I managed to incapacitate one, but as I was about to deal the finishing blow, one of the other two got straight past my guard and plunged their short swords right through my chest.
Do you ever do something, be it cut yourself with a knife whilst you’re cooking or burn yourself on some overdone toast? It doesn’t hurt immediately, it’s like your brain hasn’t caught up yet, but you know what you’ve done, and you know that in less than a second you’re going to be in immense pain. Being impaled through the chest was like that. Except the moment of pain never came. I felt myself begin to crumple, my legs buckling and giving way, but I was in no pain. I didn’t think I was dying.
Before I could greet the stones on the ground everything went black for a second, apart from me, and I was in limbo, unable to move. There was text in the blackness, floating there in English, handwritten in cursive red.
GAME OVER.
Before I knew what was happening the world reverted to colour and blistering sunshine. I was standing outside the temple, as though I’d just come from the Oracle. The temple doors were just about to close behind me. The world had reset, the vendors were in the middle of saying the same thing as they’d been before, the same goat I’d seen be sacrificed a few seconds ago was just about to be so again. Squinting through the crowd, I even saw the small group who’d done me in the first time, their swords drawn and their taunts becoming loud enough for me to hear across the courtyard.
Was I…in a game? Was this wardrobe some kind of VR? I knew a few people who’d love VR to feel this real. All this talk about a great destiny, these helpful strangers pointing me in the right direction, and my inability to speak all reminded me of the many games I’d seen my pals playthrough on a casual Friday night in.
All of this was a bit modern for an antique wardrobe, if that’s even what it was. They didn’t have RPGs back in the 19th century. As I hear the taunts of the men who killed me, I’m tempted to have another go, but as much as being stabbed didn’t hurt, I wouldn’t want it repeated. Even remembering how it looked makes me feel ill.
Instead, I return to where I woke up in this bronzed demi-god’s body at the entrance to Delphi and find the original woman I spoke to. She waves me over and asks me if I’m sure I’m done. I decide being impaled once is enough and tell her I am, the first time during this whole ordeal I’ve been able to speak for myself.
I feel the same sensation of being pulled forwards, losing my balance and about to land face first, except I overcorrect and lean backwards, eventually toppling out of the wardrobe and onto the narrow path, taking a few magazines with me. Reid appears to help me up, meaning he’s back from the hospital. How long was I in there for?
He glances at the wardrobe, nods his head, and tells me he found it a few weeks ago. He’s been meaning to go back in and try it again. I know Reid finds cool things in the shop when he’s not playing games with Fionn and Chronos he’s usually rifling through the antiques. When he finds one, he comes to me to gloat, like a bairn during show and tell at school.
I ask him why he didn’t tell me about the wardrobe. I tried not to let the sting show in my voice, but I’m not sure I was that successful. Reid, curt as always, said that even though I’m in the shop, I’m not really there, I’m somewhere distant. I barely speak unless it’s to a customer.
I laugh it off, make a joke, something stupid, all the while barely being able to look at him because all I can think of is Fate and the car accident, and how it was all my fault.
Script – Scots
I mustae mentioned these hundreds ae times. They’re always there in the shop, like Chronos and the Madam, but do a lot less talkin’. No one ever looks at them fae more than a second, and that includes me. They stand against walls, tucked away in corners, hidden behind smaller items, but they’re always there, like huge flies on the wall. No one’s ever bought one tae ma knowledge, and I’d never really given it much thought. Until one day, I got curious.
It was just Fionn and Chronos in the shop wi’ me, Reid had a hospital appointment tae remove the last ae his stitches. In order tae get oot ae takin’ part in the world’s most intense and competitive card game, I took a wander roond the shop, hopin’ tae find anythin’ tae entertain me. A book that mysteriously fell frae the ceiling, a puzzle collection that timed ye and gave ye a score once you’d finished, or if I was really lucky another prison book that I could liberate someone fae and regret fae months.
Not that day. As I was meandering doon the aisles, my eyes passed over a wardrobe I’ve seen so many times we should be on first name terms. It’s sandwiched between a vanity table and an old record player. It’s no grand by any means, and doesnae stand much taller than maself. It’s quite slender and made ae a light-coloured wood where the whorls and lines are visible in the grain. I can imagine it in the corner ae a small boarder’s room in the early 20th century, used tae house a few pressed shirts and their best suit. I wondered what was inside. If there was anythin’. I’d never checked in any ae the wardrobes in the shop, but whit if there were more things inside? Would people still find them?
Curious, I wound ma way across a typewriter case and a few paintings propped upright against other things, until I stood in front ae the doors. Two ring pulls were at waist height and as I curled ma hands aroond them I hesitated. This was the shop. Whit if a monster was inside? Whit if I got sucked in? I wasnae stupid, even if Narnia did exist, it wouldnae be a land full ae talkin’ lions and noble warriors. It’d be hell where the lion would rip your heid aff, and then someone’d scavenge your corpse.
Then again, this was the shop, where no’ every item was enchanted. This could be an empty wardrobe and I was frettin’ fae no reason. Steelin’ maself I flung open the doors, ready tae face the horrors ae the interior, only tae find nothin’. No clothes, no ravenous lion, no even an odd shoe. It was just a wardrobe after all.
I let ma hands slacken frae the ring pulls, inspectin’ the marks imprinted on ma hand I was grippin’ ontae it that tightly. Disappointed, I searched the inside ae the wardrobe, hopin’ I’d missed somethin’, a hidden doorknob, a false back or sides. After ma inspection I bitterly concluded it was, indeed, just a wardrobe. Of all the things in the shop, it would be the one wi’ the most potential that was mundane.
As I was aboot tae close the doors and go in search ae somethin’ more interestin’, I saw a piece ae paper wedged between the floor and the back wall ae the wardrobe, as though someone had made a temporary fix. The wardrobe itself was deeper than it looked frae the ootside, so I knelt on its floor and reached back tae the paper, managing tae get it between ma thumb and index finger.
As I pulled somethin’ pulled back, like there was someone else on the other end ae that paper who’d had the same idea as me. I tried tae shimmy the paper oot, pullin’ frae one side tae the other, but nothin’ worked. It was time fae brute strength, and wi all ma might I pulled on that paper, only tae find maself bein’ pitched forwards, straight intae the back wall ae the wardrobe.
I closed ma eyes, expectin’ tae smack ma face intae the wood, but when I opened them, I found maself stumbling forward on dry ground, catchin’ ma balance before I sprawled oot. It’s sunny, heat lapping against ma bare arms. The sky is bright blue, the occasional cotton white cloud swirling in the distance, chasing each other across the horizon. There are a lot ae people aboot, some walk past me, others pause tae take in the view tae the distant mountains, or the many statues that line the pathway where we are. It’s a built-up area, but these buildings arenae inhabited, they’re no hooses or shop fronts. A single wide path cuts through them at sharp angles, leading people up tae the top ae the mountain that we’re on where the largest building looms.
Glancing aroond there are statues everywhere, on top ae tall plinths, doon on the ground, made ae brass or stone, carved or moulded into shapes ae animals and people. The statues wear the same clothing as the people aroond me, light linen tunics fastened by buttons or brooches, sandals on their feet, glistening jewellery on their fingers and roond their necks. The stone statues are painted in vibrant colours, emeralds and sapphires, scarlets and yellows. It feels as though they could come tae life at any moment, have a conversation wi’ a passerby.
I walk up the incline, following the designated path, past buildings that remind me more ae mausoleums but appear tae be something else. Initially I thought this place was a graveyard, these luxurious stone buildings wi’ shields hung on the walls and frescoes carved above the stone columns nothin’ but crypts tae someone ae note. As I began tae walk past them, tae peer inside, tae try and read the foreign script, I thought they were more like temples, places ae worship, but rather than praising a deity, they were praising a nation, or a previous triumph. The statues had the same feel tae them, rather than honouring the dead, they were dedicated by the living in memory ae some great historic moment.
It was as I passed one ae these buildings, wi’ shields hanging up inside, that I recognised a symbol painted on the front. The Greek letter lambda was emblazoned in coal black against a scarlet background. I’m no a 300 fan, but wasnae that the symbol Sparta used tae use? The more I gazed roond the more I noticed. The Athenian owl was carved intae a building or two, the winged horse of Corinth. Finally, the statue that explained it all was a large one, at least 8m tall. It was a column made up of three twisting ropes ae copper that wound aroond each other until the top where they splayed intae three snakes’ heids. Laid on top ae the heids was a brilliant golden tripod and cauldron that sparkled in the sunlight. That was the Serpent column, the one dedicated tae the Delphic oracle. This was ancient Greece.
Noo, this isnae the first time I’ve been yeeted back intae the past. Was this the real past? Could I interact wi’ people?
The universe decided tae answer ma question by gettin’ someone tae shout at me. It was a woman standin’ behind a wooden stall full ae trinkets and medals and other offerings. Looking directly at me, she beckoned me over. Believe me, I turned roond and everythin just tae check. It was definitely me she wanted tae see. I gingerly walked over tae her and as soon as I got within speakin’ distance she began tae surmise that I must be there tae see the oracle. Pointin’ further up the incline, followin’ the path past even more wonderful and lavish buildings and statues, tae the grand temple that towered above everythin’ else, she ushered me in that direction. I go tae ask her somethin’, open ma mouth, but I cannae. I simply grunt a reply tae this woman and she then tells me if I want anymore advice tae come and see her.
I start tae glance doon at maself and realise I’m dressed the same way as everyone else. Layers ae linen, buttoned together at the seams and belted at the waist. My skin is a golden sun-kissed olive, far away fae the peely-wally reality. I’m evidently no maself here. I’m a lot fitter too, I can see the muscles pushin’ against the skin on ma forearms.
No really knowin whit else tae do, I follow the path up tae the temple ae Apollo, the grand edifice in the centre ae this labyrinth ae offerings. Ma Da’ loves a good documentary, so I watched a lot ae them growin’ up. It’s the only reason I recognised the Serpent column. Another name fae the oracle at Delphi was the Pythia, and along wi’ the tripod the oracles used both as their symbols.
The main temple is dedicated tae Apollo who, amongst other talents, was the God ae foresight or prophecy. Three women at any one time could hold the title ae Oracle, and they were usually chosen frae the local population, as Delphi is the name ae the local town. People would travel far and wide tae see the oracle, askin’ her advice, and some nations put a lot ae stock in whit she said. Most are vague, and shockingly only make sense after the fact, but fake or no, the oracle had copious amounts ae influence in ancient Greece. Whether or no tae colonise, whether or no tae start a war, the oracle would be consulted.
I continued followin’ the path until I came oot at the wide expanse surroundin’ the temple itself, by far the largest and most imposin’ building in the entire complex. Many carved stone columns supported a tiled roof, wi’ a fresco ae the founding myth ae the oracle carved in brass around the edge. Too far up tae truly see.
This place was packed wi’ people waitin’ tae get intae the temple, and on the outskirts were stall owners selling everything frae coins tae small live animals that ye could sacrifice tae Apollo. I always hated that bit. As I glance roond the crowd I hear someone else hollering at me and waving me over tae one ae these stalls and I hesitate, afraid that a poor chicken will be foisted ontae me and I’ll be expected tae kill it. Eventually I go over tae this man, dressed in as much finery as there was space on his arms and neck. He tells me the oracle has been waitin’ fae me, and that because I have priority I can go straight in, past the queue. Again, I open my mouth tae say somethin, tae ask why, but I cannae.
It looked like I was aboot tae see the oracle fae maself. In the documentary ma Da and I watched, no one really knew fae certain whit the inside ae the temple looked like, or even how the oracle worked. Would I get tae see it noo? How was I supposed tae ask her anythin when I couldnae open ma mouth?
The grand doors tae the temple are pulled open and as soon as they’re closed behind me silence descends. Rather than an open space, like a church or mosque, wi high ceilings and natural light, there’s another door a few metres in front that leads tae a smaller chamber. I’m escorted through this one intae a musky, hot room, no unlike a sauna. The silence in the main temple echoed, the slightest shuffling ae feet or sandals as loud as the crowds ootside, but in this sacred place there were only the crackle ae candles. I’m no alone. There are attendants scattered roond this space, holding bowls, writing utensils, or standing on ceremony. I make ma way past them and up tae the top ae the room where a woman sits on a tripod.
This woman, dressed in pristine white linen, jewels and beads hung on her necklace and wrist, brooch sparkling in the candlelight, must be the oracle herself. One ae them, at least. I approach, and the oracle asks me what I want tae know. I dinnae say anything in reply, but everyone reacts like I did, nodding in understandin’. I’m left tae glean my answer frae the words she says next.
Raising her hands tae the low ceiling she praises the god Apollo and tells me I have a great destiny tae fulfil should I choose tae accept it, that I could be the next hero ae legend. It all depended on the choice I made when I left the temple. My destiny, she said, was waiting.
It’s good tae know that psychics havenae changed much in two thousand years. That was the end ae ma slot, and the attendants ushered me oot the way I’d come. The cacophony ootside felt like emerging frae a sound booth. There was a rush ae noise and a flood ae people. The sunlight caused me tae squint fae a few seconds as ma eyes adjusted tae the brightness frae the peaceful gloom ae the temple interior.
I dinnae have long tae gather ma thoughts and figure oot what tae do next when across the courtyard, through the queue, is a commotion. Steel clangs ring oot and taunts are exchanged as a group ae three scruffy lookin’ men circle a scrawny lookin’ one. I start movin’ towards the noise, only tae realise I suddenly have a sword and shield in ma hands. I didnae even realise I had these on me.
I make ma way through the crowd as the blazing sun watches until I’m upon this group where it’s clear the three armed men are tryin’ tae steal frae the smaller one. Noo, I know sometimes I can be a bit confrontational, but I swear I’ve never been in a proper fight. Punched a lad, aye, but he had it comin, and I was a bairn, but a full-on, swords oot, try no tae die fight, not once. Tae ma dismay, instead ae throwin’ a few sarcastic insults at the three tae make them piss aff, they just attacked me instead, didnae even gee me a chance tae open ma mouth. No that I probably couldae.
By Apollo’s luscious locks ae hair, these bastards were actually tryin’ tae kill me. The more amazing ‘hing was that I knew how tae use this sword and shield. I was givin’ as good as I got, and I managed tae incapacitate one, but as I was aboot tae deal the finishin’ blow, one ae the other two got straight past ma guard and plunged their short swords right through ma chest.
Do you ever do somethin, be it cut yourself wi’ a knife whilst you’re cookin’ or burn yourself on some overdone toast? It doesnae hurt immediately, it’s like your brain hasnae caught up yet, but you know whit you’ve done, and you know that in less than a second you’re gonnae be in immense pain. Bein’ impaled through the chest was like that. Except the moment ae pain never came. I felt maself begin tae crumple, ma legs bucklin’ and givin’ way, but I was in no pain. I didnae ‘hink I was dyin’.
Before I could greet the stones on the ground everythin’ went black fae a second, apart frae me, and I was in limbo, unable tae move. There was text in the blackness, floatin’ there in English, handwritten in cursive red.
GAME OVER.
Before I knew whit was happenin’ the world reverted tae colour and blistering sunshine. I was standin’ ootside the temple, as though I’d just come frae the oracle. The temple doors were just aboot tae close behind me. The world had reset, the vendors were in the middle ae sayin’ the same thing as they’d been before, the same goat I’d seen be sacrificed a few seconds ago was just aboot tae be so again. Squinting through the crowd, I even saw the small group who’d done me in the first time, their swords drawn and their taunts becoming loud enough fae me tae hear across the courtyard.
Was I…in a game? Was this wardrobe some kindae VR? I knew a few people who’d love VR tae feel this real. All ae this talk aboot a great destiny, these helpful strangers pointin’ me in the right direction, and my inability tae speak all reminded me ae the many games I’d seen ma pals playthrough on a casual Friday night in.
All ae this was a bit modern fae an antique wardrobe, if that’s even whit it was. They didnae have RPGs back in the 19th century. As I hear the taunts ae the men who killed me I’m tempted tae have another go, but as much as bein’ stabbed didnae hurt, I wouldnae want it repeated. Even rememberin’ how it looked makes me feel ill.
Instead, I return tae where I woke up in this bronzed demi-god’s body at the entrance tae Delphi and find the original woman I spoke to. She waves me over and asks me if I’m sure I’m done. I decide bein’ impaled once is enough and tell her I am, the first time durin’ this whole ordeal I’ve been able tae speak fae maself.
I feel the same sensation ae bein’ pulled forwards, losin’ ma balance and aboot tae land face first, except I overcorrect and lean backwards, eventually toppling oot ae the wardrobe and ontae the narrow path, takin’ a few magazines wi’ me. Reid appears tae help me up, meanin’ he’s back frae the hospital. How long was I in there fae?
He glances at the wardrobe, nods his heid, and tells me he found it a few weeks ago. He’s been meaning tae go back in and try it again. I know Reid finds cool ‘hings in the shop, when he’s no playin’ games wi’ Fionn and Chronos he’s usually riflin’ through the antiques. When he finds one he comes tae me tae gloat, like a bairn durin’ show and tell at school.
I ask him why he didnae tell me aboot the wardrobe. I tried no tae let the sting show in ma voice, but I’m no sure I was that successful. Reid, curt as always, said that even though I’m in the shop, I’m no really there, I’m somewhere distant. I barely speak unless it’s tae a customer.
I laugh it aff, make a joke, somethin’ stupid, all the while barely bein’ able tae look at him because all I can think of is Fate and the car accident, and how it was all my fault.