Luke's return to Clivilius, met with our collective frustration and disbelief, marked a turning point in our ordeal. The air was thick with tension, a palpable mix of fear, anger, and desperation swirling around us as surely as the colours swirled around the Portal. Paul's question to Luke, laced with accusation, was a reflection of the betrayal we felt. "Did you know?" he demanded, seeking some semblance of understanding, a reason behind our entrapment.
Luke's response, a blend of confusion and defensiveness, did little to assuage our concerns. "Know what?" he countered, his claim of ignorance clashing with the gravity of our situation. His assertion that he had been able to come and go freely only deepened the mystery, his previous visits to Clivilius now a source of envy and resentment.
The reality of our predicament was stark and unyielding. "So, this is it then?" My words hung heavy in the air, a stark acknowledgment of the severity of our situation. "This is our fate. To die in this godforsaken dust?"
Luke's response, however, was unsettling in its optimism. "Not fate. Destiny," he declared, his voice infused with a fervour that felt both misplaced and infuriating under the circumstances. The distinction he made, between fate and destiny, seemed a cruel twist of semantics when faced with the reality of our entrapment.
Paul's retort to Luke, a blunt dismissal of his romanticised view, echoed my own sentiments. "You're so full of shit sometimes," he said, his casual delivery belied by the underlying tension. It was a moment of raw honesty, a venting of frustration at Luke's seemingly delusional optimism.
The silence that fell over us was heavy, punctuated only by the shock of Paul's uncharacteristic outburst. My glance towards him was filled with a mix of surprise and understanding. It was indeed rare to hear such language from Paul, especially directed towards his younger brother, hinting at the depth of his desperation and fear. Luke's hurt expression was unmistakable, a tangible sign of the rift that was beginning to form between us.
The standoff between the brothers was palpable, a silent battle of wills that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Yet, it was Paul's face that eventually changed, the anger giving way to a profound sorrow. "What about my children? Am I ever going to see them again?" The words were a gut punch, a reminder of the life and responsibilities he had left behind, perhaps forever.
Luke's suggestion, offered with a naivety that was both infuriating and heartbreaking, was met with disbelief. "I can arrange to have them come here?" he said, as if the solution were as simple as extending an invitation.
Paul's response was a torrent of frustration and fear, a vehement rejection of Luke's proposal. "Are you fucking kidding me? I know you don't have the first clue about parenting Luke, but here's the number one golden rule for how to be a dad. You ready? Don't, under any circumstances, bring your children through a one-way interdimensional Portal to an alien wasteland where there is literally nothing but dust and a tent!" His words, though harsh, were a desperate attempt to inject some sense into Luke, to make him see the insanity of his suggestion.
The hopelessness that washed over Paul's face in the wake of his outburst was a mirror to my own feelings of despair. The realisation that we might never see our loved ones again, that we were trapped in this desolate world with no clear way back, was overwhelming. Luke's well-meaning but misguided proposal had only served to highlight the gravity of our predicament. The notion of bringing anyone else, especially children, into this uncertainty was unthinkable, a stark reminder of the responsibility we bore to find a way back, not just for ourselves, but for those we had left behind.
My frustration was at a boiling point, the reality of our situation sinking in with each passing moment. "I can't believe you've gotten us stuck in this bloody place!" The accusation flew from my lips before I could rein it in, the words heavy with accusation and disbelief. I needed answers, clarity on how we ended up in this predicament. "How long have you known about this?" I demanded, seeking some understanding of Luke's involvement and the depth of his knowledge about the Portal.
Luke's explanation, however, sounded more like the plot of a bizarre dream than anything rooted in reality. He spoke of dozing off and the so-called Portal Key falling from his hand upon waking—a narrative that would have been laughable under different circumstances.
"Portal Key?" Paul's incredulity mirrored my own. His comment, pointing out the absurdity of thinking we were characters in a sci-fi novel, was a brief moment of levity in an otherwise tense situation.
"Well, that's what it is, isn't it? A key to the Portal?" Luke's sarcastic retort did little to alleviate the growing sense of surrealism surrounding our discussion. His casual labelling of the object that had led us here, and his nonchalance about the entire affair, was infuriating.
"Yeah, but... Portal?" Paul's repetition highlighted the incredulity of our conversation, a discussion about Portals and keys as if we were indeed living within the pages of a science fiction story.
"What else would you call it?" Luke's question, posed as he faced the mesmerising wall of colours that had become the bane of our existence, prompted a response from me borne out of sheer frustration and despair. "A piece of shit," I said, the words tinged with bitterness. "One giant piece of shit." It was a crude but honest assessment of the situation we found ourselves in, trapped in an alien world by an inexplicable phenomenon.
Paul's unexpected laughter, a snort that broke through the tension, was a reminder of the absurdity of our situation. Despite the gravity of our predicament, there was a certain dark humour in the fact that we were debating the semantics of our unlikely situation—a debate that, under any other circumstances, would have been purely theoretical. Yet here we were, caught in the middle of what felt like a bad science fiction plot, with no clear way back to reality.
Paul's attempt to suppress his laughter with an apology only served to amplify it, his second snort resonating louder than the first despite his efforts. He turned away, perhaps out of respect for our frustration, or maybe to hide his continued amusement from our increasingly irritated glares. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of finding humour in our dire circumstances, giving Luke a contemptuous shrug to signify my dismay at the situation's lack of humour.
"I guess I'd better start bringing you some supplies," Luke said, his tone attempting to inject a semblance of normalcy into the surreal nightmare we found ourselves in.
My gaze, previously fixed on Paul, who was still consumed by fits of laughter, shifted back to Luke. "Is there really no going back?" I asked, the question heavy with an unexpected sadness that seemed to fill the space around us.
"I guess not," Luke's reply came, heavy and resigned. "I'm sorry, Jamie." His apology, though sincere, did little to quell the rising tide of emotions within me. A mix of disbelief, anger, and a profound sense of loss washed over me, the reality of our entrapment becoming painfully clear.
Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I sought to master the anger and frustration churning inside me. "Just go," I told Luke softly, my voice betraying the turmoil I felt. The request for him to leave was less about him and more about needing a moment to process the enormity of our situation, to come to terms with the bleakness of our new reality.
As Luke moved to fulfil his promise of supplies, leaving Paul and me alone with the dust and the silence of Clivilius, the weight of his departure underscored the finality of our predicament. The laughter had faded, leaving behind a palpable void filled with uncertainty and the daunting task of facing an unknown future in this obscure new world.
