Chapter 13: Paradise Retained

"Why the hell are you calling?" "I wanted to talk." "Well, I don't want to talk, James. I'm cutting the phone." "Wait! I just want to talk, Laura." "After what you did? No!" "Can we meet. Today, at the bar, near the tree." "Why should I meet you, pray tell? You broke up with me over the phone, and told the world that I was the worst person alive when they called you out on it. You are the very definition of assh*le, dipsh*t." "I thought you would break up with me." "And you couldn't wait to check, or maybe, this is a crazy idea, ask your girlfriend if she loved you?!" "I know, I know. I was an idiot." "An understatement, I say." "Seven? Nine, maybe?" "Damn you! Well, you are buying drinks. And eight." Laura put down her phone, and static filled James' ear. He would come to regret this, he knew that, but did that matter? Calling his ex, as everyone said, was a dumb goddamn idea. James laid his head on his desk and closed his eyes.

When James opened his eyes, his first thought was that his sleep was dreamless, after checking outside the window if this was the dream. James stood up from his spot of slumber, groggy and tired, feeling broken inside. He stared into his reflection in the window, seeing the faint, gaunt lines that constituted his face in the glass. As he stared, the lines changed a bit, and light streaming through the window made the effect of a white head, which seemed to have the edges of a helmet. He stared into the blue eyes, behind the eye slits. Even though he couldn't see the shade's mouth, he imagined a smirk below the helm. He walked to his cupboard, and removed his clothes for the evening. He slipped out of his current shirt, the sleeve of which was stained with drool. He slipped on the second shirt, turquoise and luxurious in a way. It seemed to be one of his only old shirts which wasn't torn, or shredded, or surviving on it's final threads. He also wore his jeans, dark blue and tough. This one was just one of tens that were still intact from his days as a famous idiot. James walked back to his desk, to pick up his phone. He found countless messages on his phone, some from Kate, others from Grace. James swiped the messages away, without glancing. He instead glanced at the glass window, and the armoured reflection behind it. Dark ruled the sky now, and and the shade had adopted that quickly, his wrought armour black as midnight. He walked to his door, after he closed his eyes to the smirking black paladin. He found himself walk outside the door, and into the cold dark night, at about seven.

The cold brought goose prickles to James skin, as he ventured into the cold, grey, desolate night. He walked down the staircase, down the flights of stairs. He stopped for a second at Kate's door. But he continued without even glancing at it, his will as stubborn as a mountain. The world below was more black than grey, but still as unimaginative and boring. He felt his mind wander, to the flutter of bats, and the chirping of crickets, in the black night and yellow lights. Everything was bathed in the yellow of streetlights and white of the moon, a drab replacement for the flourish of the sun. The smell of dried leaves and the unrelenting night filled the air, and the cold of the world kissed a cold, bruising kiss on James' uncovered skin. The world was alive, yet as dead as it possibly could be. People streamed hither and thither, an unrelenting crowd with purpose in each step. The world was lit up, but as dark as it possibly could be, with the light of the moon dimly brightening the sky. In the dark of night, James wandering mind wandered to faraway lands, away from the cold earth, the lit up wonderlands where his beloved characters lived. How much ever the world spited him, they never hated his happy protagonists. He felt the whole world was living a dream, accepting fairy-tales instead of the cold, hard truth, that remarkables, knights and dragons, heroes and villains, didn't exist and never did exist. The world was a grey mess, with dark nights and bright morns, but no colour to be seen. It was a drab replacement for dreams, just like the moon was for the sun, but, just like the moon, it was all James had.

Unicorns and rainbows decorated the world in James' head, which spanned for miles of unending green. The nights in his dreams were bright, just like the days. Sleep was a useless fantasy, it wasn't a necessity to close your eyes and not experience what the world offered. If there was a heaven, then this was it for James. This was where his true print in the world, his characters, had traversed in countless adventures. And that world disappeared the second James opened his eyes to cold, dark reality.

The bar sign was a neon green, and it's building a mottled grey. James entered the ancient building. The world inside was alive, tens of people drowning their sorrow into alcoholic beverages, talking to their friends. In a corner, dressed in hot pink, was Laura, easily the most flashiest of the people in the depressing building. She smoked a cigar, a brown and thick thing, puffing dark grey smoke all over her little corner. James sat on the couch, a hard and tough thing, hardly a comfortable seat. Laura spoke, "Well, James. I travelled about twenty miles for this interaction. Was there a reason for that?" "You live that close from here?" "Don't act like you didn't know. But houses notwithstanding, what is the reason for this call?" "Can't a man call his ex for a chat?" "A man like you, no," She said, with a sly smile. James replied in kind, but with a more suave smirk, "I wanted to talk. It's been so long, hasn't it?" "Quit the chit-chat. We both know the last three years must have been hell for you, the fallen angel you have become." "Why, I would almost think you were stalking me as much as I was stalking you." "Oh, please. I don't think I have heard anything so unbearably ridiculous. You know news exists, and news with my name on it is quite spottable. Nowadays, you are more frequently known as Laura Goodwin's ex, then James Thomson, the connoisseur and innovator in the field of literature. Gods, you were over-hyped." "Well, I at least wasn't Laura Goodwin, the allegedly most beautiful woman alive. Gods, you really were over-hyped." "And yet you fell in love with me." "I was young and stupid." "You are still stupid. But I don't think you were ever energetic enough to count as young. But cut the chit-chat, are you coming back, grovelling, to beg for my hand?" "I never took you for such a dramatic," James laughed out. Laura didn't find it as amusing, "And I never took you for a man who begged." After waiting a second, taking a puff of her smoke, Laura continued, "Want a smoke?" "Is it hard." "Yes. Do you take me for an idiot, coming to you without being high off my mind?" "Then I do want a smoke."

The hour of midnight had passed a long time before James waddled back home from Kate's house. It was a deal more luxurious than James' own 'humble abode'. When he opened his own door, the retched feeling of dejection and sleepiness filled his mind. He stumbled up to his desk, and sat in the leather seat. The world outside the window was both dark and silent, but James' head was as bright and noisy as it could be. He closed his eyes to clear his head, and rotated his chair on it's stationery base. His head, spinned, like his body, and the evening's revelries muddled his brain. When he opened his eyes again, he was faced away from the window, with an entire Paladin in front of his eyes, as imposing as a man in white and cold armour reflecting rainbows from the light hitting on it, could be. The knight raised his helm's visor, to show his striking, blue eyes, and his not unkind smile. The mirage began to speak, "Creator, my master, I beg your pardon for such a surprising entrance." "Who, who are you?" "Why, I am your creation, the lord of the green, the hero of the peasants, the slayer of dragons and the giant amongst mere men, the Paladin." "No, you are the lord of the grey." "Grey? What is that? I must apologize, but I am not this 'lord of the grey' you speak of. I am your creation." "My creation? What, what are you doing here?" "I learnt of your distress in this godforsaken world," The knight gestured to Arthur's apartment, "and came immediately to assist." "What assistance can you provide?" "Whatever you wish. You deepest desire shall be my greatest goal in my life. So, what will it be, my master?" James, hearing the paladin's words, contemplated his decision. He knew wish fulfilment was, well, wish fulfilment, and impossible. But hell with it. He wondered what his 'deepest desire' was. Money, maybe, but that was fickle. Fame even more so. He might have asked for Kate to be his girlfriend again, but the morality of having her as a girlfriend by way of forceful fantasy was grey at best. But then it struck him, something almost tangible, something that would last forever, maybe even after his body fails him. Something this cruel world appreciated, and maybe the only thing the peasants cared about James. Something, that he craved for, something, that he required to survive.

"Imagination! I want, need, the gift of imagination." "That is easy." "How shall you serve it?" "The gift of the green. The land I rule. A land of unicorns and rainbows. You might find imagination paramount in such a land, as the very bread and butter my people live on." "Your people?" "The peasants. Boot lickers and their ilk. They never showed the power you and I display. We are giants, where they are mere peasants. But still, they worship, as the people in this world worship you." "They don't worship me." "But they do. They read your stories. You are like a priest. You write, and they follow like the vermin they are." "Huh. Well, where is my gift?" "In my hands. Grab them, and you shall grab absolute power, my lord." James stared at the palms of the white-armoured knight, a shining beacon of hope. His decision was simple, with no true risk attached to it. If he were to die, no one would cry for a failing author, dead on the floor of his poor apartment. But if this spectre was telling the truth, then heaven awaited this handshake. James saw his life flash through his eye, a useless thing, unfantastical, lacking any unicorns. He took the Paladin's hand in a firm handshake.

As his palm touched the gauntleted one of the knight, everything around James changed, but he was focused on the paladin in front of. The white knight's handsome face changed, and the blue eyes turned coal black. He was a spitting reflection of James, it's hellish features twisted in a hellish laugh. But James heard nothing, except the sounds of his own screams. A cold shiver passed through his body, beginning from his hands. The shiver also reached his neck, and the head on it. The coldness embraced him, and his neck felt some unholy feeling. He felt his head go numb to the cold, and finally felt something dripping down his left chin.