An Adventure Part 4

~Alice tries to comfort a blindfolded Marcus as they approach the gates of a cemetery~

Welsh: Why is it so chilly out here? Where are we, Alice?

Alice: I’m sorry, Marcus.

~She removes the blindfold and Marcus finds himself in a spot no person wants to be~

Welsh: No.

Alice: I’m afraid you have no choice, Marcus. You have to go inside.

~The gate slides open~

Welsh: I don’t want to.

Alice: You have to.

~Welsh looks inside…a thick fog. Uncertainty, dread~

Welsh: Will you come with me?

~Alice frowns~

Alice: I can’t.

~Welsh nods. He sucks it up and heads on in. His image vanishes into the fog. Immersed in mystery…in the unknown, Marcus hears laughter. He flinches. He hears mockery, he jumps~

Voice: Haha what a loser!

Voice: That shit is so lame!

Voice: It’s a fuckin JOKE

~Welsh turns to run, to escape. But the farther he runs, the deeper he buries himself into the gray abyss. The Earth reaches out and trips him. He faceplants and quickly picks himself back up…his eyes turning upward, his mouth falls agape~

Welsh: What the?!

~He looks up and sees a jarringly familiar face~

Welsh: You.

~It’s the face of a woman. A ghostly woman looks down upon him with an emotionless, unnatural expression. Slowly, her finger comes to her lips. They listen. More ridicule, mockery, and derision~

Welsh: What are they talking about?

~No response, so Welsh continues to listen.  Laughter...haunting laughter~

Welsh: …

~Welsh reaches out, grabbing at her torn, white dress~

Welsh: What’s going on? Why are they laughing? Is it because of…us?

~She slowly tilts her head. Within her eyes, Welsh sees himself standing, drunkenly in front of his room at the Hotel California on Draft Night. After a bit of a struggle, he shoves the door open and motions for the ghostly woman to follow him inside. The scene stops and Welsh cringes~

Welsh: That was a mistake. I wasn’t in my right mind. I…I don’t have the words.

~He stares at the ground~

Welsh: One mistake after another. I can’t seem to get anything right.

~He goes quiet. The voices rise back up~

Voice: Haha and then he purged everyone like a fuckin asshole!

~Welsh sighs, defeated~

Voice: Guy left Strader with the fuckin bag, bro. Set him UP to fail. What a dick!

~Welsh chews on the inside of his lip. His insides sting~

Voice: He fucked everyone in TRIAD over. He cut some deal without anybody knowing. Now Triumvirate is going to win the trials.

~Welsh almost doubles over~

Voice: Let’s face it. He’s a washed-up loser. He fucked OCW. He fucked the community. And he’s fucked TRIAD. He fucks everything he touches.

~Welsh raises his brow and looks at the ghostly woman hovering above~

Welsh: No more, please.

~She remains silent. The voices chuckle. Welsh points at where he thinks the voices are coming from~

Welsh: That’s so one-sided! It’s not even half the truth. They’re just taking the very worst of things and using that as the lead into whatever narrative they want to spin about me.

~No response. His arms extended, pleading for sympathy. But, the laughter only heightens~

Welsh: There’s got to be some way to make up for this. If I can just get the Wit Trials right, then…

~The spectress points down. Light shines, revealing an open grave. The tombstone reads “Marcus Welsh: January 2017 - ______ 2024” The laughter stops~

Welsh: What the hell is that? What’s that supposed to mean?

~Her attention focuses back on the confused, pitiful Welsh. She leans in, staring into his core. The voices return~

Voice: Guy just needs to get out now.

Voice: No shit. He’s washed. Let PIC and TLS find someone to help them finish the Trials. He’s just gonna ruin everything they’ve built.

Voice: Yep. Fuck that guy.

Welsh: No, no, no…I’m gonna finish what I started. There’s nothing I can’t come back from…I’ve got this. You hear me? I can fix this.

~She leans in for a kiss. Welsh is overtaken by the moment, his eyes closing. His lips part as she just about makes contact…until her hand shoves itself into his chest, sending him crashing down into the open grave. Dirt pours on top of him, muffling his pleas for help as the ghostly woman vanishes into the fog~


~Welsh shoots up out of bed in his Cambodian apartment. He’s drenched with sweat~

Welsh: A dream?

~He feels around, smiling~

Welsh: Oh my gosh…it was just a dream, thank goodness.

~He feels something. Behind his ear, he finds some dirt. He turns and looks at his bedside table. A weird hourglass looks back at him. The top and bottom are elephant heads, connected by their trunks. Sand slowly trickles to the bottom~