Entanglement

You loom once more over the shrine and its congregation of frames.

"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm…

"..."

"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."

"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."

The chair waits before you, sagging and forlorn.

"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.

As you press down on the intercom button, a little light comes on.

Ramses' body, breathing softly.

The stereo is right where you left it.

You pick up the payphone's handset. A dolphin emblem smiles at you, its eyes wide.

You stand before Tempo's door once more.

"Hello again."

You return to the shrine under the stairs.

"Back again, are we?"

"How goes it, H?"

Three posters stare back at you from the wall. A watchful triad, ready to creep into your midnight's hour.

The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.

Looking out over the main hall, you try to imagine what it would have looked like thirty-six years ago.

"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."

The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.

The gate stands before you, still locked.

One more phone, one more voice.

Light refracts within your cornea; you are someone else, somewhere else.

"Operant."

The vendor won't look at you. He recoils slightly as you step closer.

The mould's tendrils rise gently as you approach.

"Spare me the bleating you call an accent and listen up: metoprolol, you eunuch-diddling Azzurri. That's what I paid for -- not atenolol!"…

"Back again."

"I believe... this is where I'm supposed to offer you a deal."

Think, operant. If you were you, what would you get up to?

A stethoscope, abandoned mid-procedure.

A hooded teenager steps back to admire her work.

A pilgrim stops to catch her breath, looking up at the summit far ahead.

A giant cat lazes on a mountainside, licking blood from its paws.

Cigarettes -- the remains of a habit put to rest.

The intoxicated artist was caught halfway through her masterpiece.

Living waters rush upward, stolen from the sea.

A school uniform once hung here.

The platform was built to accommodate a long-absent crowd of commuters.

Three engineers clustered on the viewing platform, staring into the depths below.

Clinks and chuckles echoing. Two shadows toasting to the abyss.

Workers filter out of Essilk's east gate as the Union band tune to a D sharp piano chord.

Small white flowers have opened up at the touch of a sunbeam, tight buds unfurling. Pale, fragile things.

"She's magnificent, truly. I've never had a subject with such poise."

A stonemason stops to admire his patterned brickwork around the new sapling.

Foxes run uphill, cutting desire lines through the undergrowth.

Revolving security guards lived here in shifts.

You emerge from the tunnel into darkness. It crowds around you for a better look.

People used to have a lot more fun here.