Oscar’s trying to feed him what scraps of bread he can find. The stank of urine and sweat in the alleyway wafts in the lazy afternoon heat. His nose wrinkles and tears well up in his eyes.

“I don’t want to eat this! It tastes horrible!” he cries.

“Alan, we don’t get to choose. Just eat it if you want to survive.”

There’s some mold on one of the pieces Oscar’s trying to feed him. He eyes it in disgust. “No, it makes my stomach feel bad. I’m not eating it!” But he really is starving so he quickly asks, “Can I have your piece?”

Instantly, Oscar’s eyes frost over, and Alan shrinks back, terrified of the endlessly swirling blue depths.

“No,” Oscar replies. “And since you’re talking back to me, you’re not getting any today.” His brother chucks the moldy piece onto the ground, warm white bleeding to ink black from the puddles on the filthy streets. Alan watches on with a feeling of loss.

Oscar wolfs down his own larger piece, all fluffy and white without a single trace of mold to be found.

Oscar had changed. Something about him was different from before he started to bring back good food. He didn’t like how his brother had changed. It made him…afraid. But deep down, he knows Oscar is still the same Oscar.

Alan’s stomach howls and churns as he feels his strength draining. His vision ripples with a wall of black dots and the world slips away.

When he wakes, he finds himself bundled up in their muddy brown blanket in a dirty, seedy alleyway in London. Alone. There are older men with narrowed stares glancing his way, and terror tingles up his spine. He’d seen these types before, and Oscar had told him to stay away. Alan’s sure they’d pick him apart like crows to a carcass.

“Oscar! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” he calls desperately.

There’s no response.

“Please, Oscar, I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Please don’t leave me alone…”

“Achoo!” Alan sniffles, rubbing his nose.

“Sneezing first thing in the morning. You’re getting sick.” Oscar glances over as he fixes the buttons on his uniform.

Alan looks around blearily. “What?” Wasn’t I just—

“You look terrible,” his brother remarks. “What, you had a bad dream or something?”

Alan tries to remember, but the hazy dream slips away like vanishing droplets of light. “Probably,” he nods after a moment.

“It’s early. You can sleep longer if you’d like.”

Alan shakes his head. He doesn’t feel well-rested and he’s sure that sleeping won’t fix it. After all, it’s not just his dream that he doesn’t remember. He can’t remember most of yesterday, in fact. There was Sarah and her meat pie, and then nothing. Then there was Oscar, snowy streets, and piping hot sausages before bed. And there was something else too, something very important. But his head is empty.

“Heading out now.” Oscar smiles at him, bundled in the borrowed coat from last night. “Don’t forget to work on pages forty-six to fifty today.”

Ugh. More work. Alan nods reluctantly, and his brother leaves, satisfied.

Once more, Alan is alone.

He pulls back the curtains. The sky is still rather dim, morning light yawning sleepily amidst stormy blue clouds. Over the horizon, a steamboat whistles and the docks hustle.

His gaze wavers away from the window and towards the closet in the room.

Don’t use the closet anymore, his brother’s voice echoes.

He admits he’s curious. His hand hovers over the slender gold handles. What kind of work requires a closet? It’s odd. It’s really odd.

The closet draws him closer and closer, threatening to swallow him into the wood.

But memories of endlessly swirling blue depths stop him. A wall of black dots. A darkened alley. Bestial hunger. Fear. And the painful red marks on his neck. Reminders of what happens if he disobeys his brother.

Suddenly, Alan isn’t in his room anymore. His body feels weird, different somehow. The sky is bright tan, blinding even. Columns of light flash, gold hues and blue beams. They appear and disappear randomly against a backdrop of floating cities.

Alan gapes. How are they floating? Where is this?

Waterfalls pour downwards endlessly from the sides of the floating cities with crystal clarity. They pass by others on their way down.

He watches in awe and wonder, noting how each city is distinct, a mash-up of different cultures. Some are recognizable, colosseums and an ancient marketplace, but others are nothing like he’s seen before with buildings made of glass towering high above. Small outlines of floating steamships and mechanical contraptions float around.

Alan looks down. His breath stutters. An endless chasm, darkness as far down as the eye can see, makes him slightly dizzy.

It’s only now that he realizes there’s a particular positioning to these floating cities. They’re all positioned at varying heights, some disappearing into the darkness below, surely remaining unseen.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel a faint breeze. His white robes ruffle.

Wait, what—

There’s a knocking at the door.

Alan, shaken out of his stupor, slowly turns his head. He gazes back at the closet. The closet, in the very unimpressive room he calls home. No floating cities, no tan skies, no infinite chasm below.

What was I doing? What was that? He blinks owlishly. The strange images are gone, and the strange feeling with it. In its place, guilt seeps in and Alan berates himself for almost breaking a promise with Oscar.

The knocking comes louder this time.

“Coming!” Alan calls, running to the door. “Sarah—”

But there’s just an empty stairwell and the remainder of a meat pie sitting on the doorstep. And a little note.

Alan looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sarah. He strains his ears, hoping to hear soft footsteps. There is no trace of her. He picks up the handwritten note.

It takes him a while to decipher it, his stuttering, broken literacy biting him in the butt. But eventually, he understands it.

Dear Alan,

I hope this meat pie finds you well. To be honest, I wasn’t going to write you at all. Then I realized it would be a little cruel of me to leave you alone so suddenly like that. I’ve thought over things myself for a bit. It’s not my place to pry, I know, but sometimes, good people like you need a little push to wake up. Without that…well, you’d probably never take another step.

The truth is, you already know the answer to your questions. About me, about Oscar. About your memories. Nobody can really blame you for forgetting. Nobody would want to remember the ugly.

You’re a smart child, Alan. Perhaps too smart. That’s why you refuse to see it yourself, even if you know it in your heart of hearts. So, I’ve decided that this will also be the last meat pie. If this makes you sad or mad, I am glad. If this makes you hungrier, you’re still alive. If you want to stay alive, then find food yourself. Do something, anything. Do it even if your brother tells you not to.

You’re much stronger than people take you for. You’re braver than you think. That’s why I know you’ll be able to discover the truth for yourself.

And when you do, you will have the right to choose.

Thankful to have met you,

Sarah

Alan is silent for a minute, unsure of what to feel. But there is something about the words on the page that resonates with him, makes his little heart beat faster, induces tears he didn’t know were there. Then he tucks the note safely away, carefully lifting the meat pie and carrying it inside.

Outside, the sunlight brightens the moody skies, casting golden rays on the closet and spilling into the room, washing Alan in a soft glow. He brings up his hand to block the light, wincing.

But his eyes adjust, and when they do, he gazes longingly at the lively world outside.

When Oscar isn’t around, the world seems…different. Glittering almost, in the sun rays, in ways Alan finds strange that he hasn’t noticed before. The cracks in buildings that have been patched over and over again, weaving stories of time in their very bones. The rust on the ship hulls and the peeling paint that bring with them tales from distant seas. The way the light reflects off the glass windows of storefronts, playfully dancing around the people that brush by. The sound of the crowd rises and falls in distinct hums, and if he listens closely, he feels his own heart beat in time with its rhythm.

It’s not that Alan doesn’t enjoy the company of his brother. Not really that. He furrows his brows, trying to put his finger on why exactly he feels this way.

The smallest things suddenly become so curious when Oscar isn’t there. An imaginary weight seems to lift off of him when he is alone.

And it’s absolutely wonderful.

Spurred on by the bold words in Sarah’s letter and the blushing happiness of reading about somebody else’s belief in him, Alan eats with some semblance of joy for the first time. Nothing changed about the meat pie. In fact, it is the same as what Alan ate yesterday. Yet, it feels as if he is eating it for the first time, discovering all the juicy explosions of flavor and the warmth of the spices with each bite. Soon, he finishes it.

The bread Oscar left for him is on the table, but Alan doesn’t eye it with distaste anymore. He’ll eat it later. But for now, he’ll go outside again. As long as Oscar doesn’t find out, it will be okay.

Alan grabs his fraying, thin coat and thuds down the stairs, legs shaking with anticipation and nervousness. He turns the knob, throws open the door—

And the sweet air greets him along with the blue skies and bustling streets. Such mundane sights never made him feel this way before, but an impossibly wide grin breaks out on Alan’s face. His bright jade eyes glitter as people whirl past him, and along with them, the world.

 Alan doesn’t know where he’ll go or what he’ll do, but he skips off all the same. He’ll allow himself to wander and get lost just a bit. Excitement and adventure bubble in his chest.

I’m free!