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Description
Sometimes Madeline and I wander over to the bright side of the city. It is a mirror image of ours, but more disturbing, in a way.

The streets are polished diamonds and the buildings prim, flowering pearl. The children are gemstones, hair soft and bright. The parents are the source and wellspring, and there is a smile on every face.

Everything is sterile, reflective, white. There are no nightmares or gigantic snakes. There are no fleas and dirt. There are no bodies. There is not even a graveyard or a hospital.

Everything is upside down.

Madeline asked me if people ever die here, once. I said that I don't believe so. We both believed that was a tragedy, because then we didn't know the truth of this place.

Madeline and I tried to catch a bird, once, so we could rip it apart and defile this city that frightened us. But we couldn't. Everything stayed away from us, in fear, pupils dilated. Madeline and I were untouchable.

So Madeline and I wandered to the park that separates the city. It isn't an abrupt change, from light to dark. It is a creeping sort of change, that slinks up behind you, curls around your ankles, and pulls you in until you are swallowed and can never escape.

You become like us if you head to our side.

But if you head to the other side, it is also a creeping change that floats down from the sky, blinding your eyes with its beauty, until it suffocates you and you are like them, smiling and happy. Maybe that is better.

Once Madeline and I were seen wandering the bright side. We knew we were not allowed here. They chased us away with those smiles, wanting to take us in, cleanse us, strip us of everything we knew.

I asked Madeline once if she knew how the city began, and how this division happened. Madeline said that she didn't know. We both agreed that it was unimportant as long as we had our own source of fun. Ripping, tearing apart, destruction was our own concept of enjoyment.

To us life was of no importance. Those who live with death have no notion of life being precious. It is a natural order of life, and then death, and there is nothing that separates anything.

Death is better.

Madeline and I returned home. The phonograph was on, and our father had slumped to the floor.

We passed him by.

Description
Sometimes Madeline and I wander over to the bright side of the city. It is a mirror image of ours, but more disturbing, in a way.

The streets are polished diamonds and the buildings prim, flowering pearl. The children are gemstones, hair soft and bright. The parents are the source and wellspring, and there is a smile on every face.

Everything is sterile, reflective, white. There are no nightmares or gigantic snakes. There are no fleas and dirt. There are no bodies. There is not even a graveyard or a hospital.

Everything is upside down.

Madeline asked me if people ever die here, once. I said that I don't believe so. We both believed that was a tragedy, because then we didn't know the truth of this place.

Madeline and I tried to catch a bird, once, so we could rip it apart and defile this city that frightened us. But we couldn't. Everything stayed away from us, in fear, pupils dilated. Madeline and I were untouchable.

So Madeline and I wandered to the park that separates the city. It isn't an abrupt change, from light to dark. It is a creeping sort of change, that slinks up behind you, curls around your ankles, and pulls you in until you are swallowed and can never escape.

You become like us if you head to our side.

But if you head to the other side, it is also a creeping change that floats down from the sky, blinding your eyes with its beauty, until it suffocates you and you are like them, smiling and happy. Maybe that is better.

Once Madeline and I were seen wandering the bright side. We knew we were not allowed here. They chased us away with those smiles, wanting to take us in, cleanse us, strip us of everything we knew.

I asked Madeline once if she knew how the city began, and how this division happened. Madeline said that she didn't know. We both agreed that it was unimportant as long as we had our own source of fun. Ripping, tearing apart, destruction was our own concept of enjoyment.

To us life was of no importance. Those who live with death have no notion of life being precious. It is a natural order of life, and then death, and there is nothing that separates anything.

Death is better.

Madeline and I returned home. The phonograph was on, and our father had slumped to the floor.

We passed him by.