"He’s gone back for supplies," I found myself saying, pre-empting Paul's unasked question with a sense of resignation that seemed to permeate the air between us.
Paul's response, a simple "Oh," carried with it a depth of desolation that mirrored my own feelings. His shoulders slumped, a physical manifestation of the defeat we both felt. "What now?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hopelessness that seemed to echo across the vast emptiness of Clivilius.
I could offer no plan, no words of encouragement. "No idea," was all that came out, a verbal shrug that did little to disguise the growing sense of futility.
Watching Paul move towards the pile of boxes, the supposed beginnings of our 'shelter' here in this alien landscape, I couldn't help but question the point of it all. "What are you doing?" I called after him, more out of a reflexive need to connect than any real curiosity.
Paul's answer was as lost and aimless as we felt. "I don't really know," he admitted, the weariness in his voice matching the defeated gesture of rubbing at his brow. It was clear we were both grappling with the reality of our situation, struggling to find purpose in the actions dictated by our predicament.
My reaction, a scoff followed by a loud snort, was involuntary—a response born out of frustration and a refusal to succumb to despair. As I turned my gaze back to the Portal, the symbol of our imprisonment and the focus of my determination, I resolved that Paul's resignation would not be my own. The thought of him attempting to assemble the tent without my help didn't move me; to assist would be to accept our fate here, and that was something I was not ready to do.
There had to be a way back, a solution that eluded us. The vast expanse of Clivilius, with its endless stretches of soft, brown, red, and orange dust, seemed to mock us with its tranquility. Yet, it also fuelled my resolve. The landscape, so foreign and yet so indifferent, was a challenge—a puzzle that I was determined to solve.
As I stood there, staring out into the barren horizon, the desire to return home became more than just a wish; it became a mission. The stark beauty of Clivilius, for all its desolation, was not my world.
"This is shit," the words slipped from me, a whispered testament to the frustration boiling inside as I confronted the Portal once more. Its presence, a bizarre anomaly in this desolate landscape, commanded attention despite my growing resentment towards it. The Portal, with its large, clear screen rising eerily from the ground, stood as a silent challenge—a gateway that had so far only mocked our attempts to understand or control it.
Curiosity overcame my frustration for a moment as I examined the oddity before me. It was an impressive sight, roughly three meters wide and five meters high, its dimensions suggesting a door to infinite possibilities, now a barrier to our return. The screen, transparent and seemingly fragile in its dormancy, was a contradiction to the force it wielded.
I reached out, my fingers tentatively tapping the screen, half expecting a reaction, any sign of life from this enigmatic barrier. But there was nothing, no sound, no vibration, just the cold, unyielding surface under my touch. My bewilderment grew, and with it, a reckless need for some form of acknowledgment, any indication that this thing was more than just an impassive wall.
Tapping harder yielded no different result, the silence around me becoming a mocking companion to my efforts. Driven by a mix of curiosity and defiance, I slammed my hand against the screen with all the force I could muster. The lack of noise, the absence of any reaction from the Portal, was infuriating. The only feedback was the sharp pain that raced through my palm, a physical retort to my aggression, leaving me with nothing but my own soft grunt.
At least I know it's something physical, I mused, the dull ache in my palm serving as a bizarre confirmation of its reality. The logic was simple yet irrefutable—if my hand couldn't pass through it, then it must be real. With this thought anchoring me, I began a methodical search around the perimeter of the screen, hoping to discover some hidden mechanism, a power button perhaps, that could be the key to activating the Portal and returning us home.
However, my search yielded nothing but more questions. The large, transparent screen stood mute, unyielding, and utterly devoid of any discernible features that could hint at its operation. The lack of any interface, any point of interaction, was baffling. There has to be a way, I thought, refusing to accept defeat.
Driven by a mix of desperation and hope, I attempted to command the Portal into action. "Portal activate!" I called out, half-expecting the dormant screen to spring to life with the swirling colours that signified its activation. Yet, it remained unchanged, as silent and transparent as ever.
"Take me back home!" I demanded, the urgency in my voice betraying the fear that perhaps we were truly stranded. When that too failed, I tried a more specific command, "Take me to Earth!" hoping for any sign of acknowledgment, any indication that we were not entirely at the mercy of this unresponsive monolith. But the Portal remained indifferent to my pleas.
In a moment of sheer frustration, I lashed out. "Activate, you fucking piece of shit!" The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted in a scream, my foot sending clouds of dust into the air—a futile gesture against the impassive structure.
The silence that followed my outburst was a stark reminder of our isolation. The Portal, our only apparent hope for escape, offered no response, no hint of a way forward. It was then, in a moment of quiet desperation, that a new thought struck me. "The dust," I whispered, a glimmer of hope piercing the growing despair. Maybe the key to unlocking the Portal's secrets lay not in the screen itself but in its surroundings.
Dropping to my knees, I began to dig along the bottom edge of the screen, my hands moving frantically through the soft, red and orange dust. The possibility that the solution to our predicament could be buried here, just beneath the surface, lent a frenzied urgency to my actions. The dust, which had been nothing more than a backdrop to our confinement, suddenly held the potential for salvation—or so I hoped.
"Jamie!" Paul's voice cut through my focus, pulling me away from my desperate search at the base of the Portal. My head snapped up, irritation creasing my forehead as I spotted him on a small hill in the distance. What does he want? He's interrupting me! The frustration was palpable, a physical entity in itself, as I glared back at the Portal. In that moment, I wanted it to feel my anger, to understand the depth of my resolve. I am going to find a way home!
"Come over here," Paul's voice carried again, his figure outlined against the stark landscape, arms flailing in an attempt to grab my attention. His beckoning, likely meant as a distraction from the futility of arguing with an inanimate object, only served to deepen my reluctance. Yet, despite my annoyance, a sliver of curiosity wormed its way through my resolve. But then, I thought, it is Paul, and it wouldn't take a lot to get him excited. The thought was a mix of skepticism and a begrudging acknowledgment of Paul's typically optimistic nature.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, the dust clinging to my hands serving as a gritty reminder of my failed efforts. The walk towards Paul felt longer than it should have, each step a testament to the weariness that had settled into my bones. The Portal, that mocking gateway to an uncertain fate, remained at my back—a silent sentinel to our plight.
"Hurry up," Paul's voice, tinged with excitement, broke through my contemplative trudge, injecting a sense of urgency into my steps. His enthusiasm was contagious, even against my better judgment.
"What is it?" I called out, my curiosity piqued as I neared the gentle incline that Paul had effortlessly scaled. The prospect of discovering something, anything, that deviated from the endless expanse of dust and desolation we had encountered thus far was enough to quicken my pace.
"There's a river," came Paul's response, his voice bubbling with a hopefulness that had been in short supply since our arrival in Clivilius. He didn't wait for my reaction, instead turning and disappearing over the hill's crest, eager to explore this new find.
My face lit up. A river, I echoed in my mind, the words carrying with them the possibility of life, of a respite from the unyielding aridity that surrounded us. The thought that there might be a hint of civilisation in this barren world, a sign that we were not as isolated as we feared, sparked a flicker of hope within me. A small smile, involuntary and revealing, tugged at the corner of my mouth, tempting me to embrace this discovery as a sign that our situation might not be as dire as it seemed.
But as quickly as the smile came, I checked it, a reminder of the resolve I had been clinging to. Not yet, I admonished myself. The discovery of a river, while promising, was not enough to make me surrender to the notion that our fate was to remain in Clivilius. This place, for all its mysteries and dangers, had not yet defeated my determination to find a way back home.
Catching up with Paul required a burst of energy I wasn't sure I possessed, but the promise of discovering something new in this desolate landscape spurred me on. By the time I reached the spot where he had called out to me, Paul was already making his way up another dusty hill. I pushed myself, my legs burning with the effort, curious and eager to see the river he had discovered.
As I crested the hill and descended to where Paul knelt, the sight that greeted me was unexpectedly serene—a wide river, its waters flowing with a clarity that seemed almost out of place in Clivilius. Dropping to my knees beside him, the soft dust cushioning my landing, I leaned forward to get a closer look at the water. It was pristine, untouched, and inviting.
"It's so clear," I remarked, the transparency of the water offering a stark contrast to the omnipresent dust and desolation that defined much of Clivilius. The thought of clean, drinkable water in such an environment brought a sliver of hope. "Do you think it's safe to drink?" I asked, turning to Paul for his opinion.
His shrug was both expected and somehow disappointing. My question had been impulsive, born out of hope rather than reason. Paul's nonchalant response reminded me that we were far from the comforts and certainties of home. I chided myself silently for the oversight. Paul's life in Broken Hill, a place I had often jokingly referred to as the "arse-end of nowhere," had undoubtedly accustomed him to a lifestyle far removed from the urban conveniences and safety nets I took for granted.
Throwing caution to the wind felt reckless, yet irresistibly compelling in that moment beside the river. As I dipped my fingers into the crystalline water, the sensation that coursed through me was unexpected—a rush of exhilaration that seemed to blur the lines between the coolness of the water and a warmth that tingled through my veins. "It feels cool and fresh," I remarked, my voice betraying a hint of my astonishment at the water's strangely invigorating effect.
Encouraged by my actions, Paul followed suit, submerging his hand into the river. I couldn't help but watch him intently, curious to see if he would experience the same peculiar sensation. The visible shiver that ran through him confirmed it; the water's unique properties affected him as well. It was a small, shared discovery, momentarily lightening the burden of our situation.
My initial resolve to remain stoic, to not find joy in anything Clivilius offered as a silent protest against our entrapment, wavered. The smile that broke across my face was spontaneous, a genuine reaction to the momentary pleasure and Paul's reaction.
"I could totally jump in right now," Paul mused, his voice carrying a lightness that had been absent since our arrival. The idea was tempting, a brief escape from the reality that awaited us beyond the riverbank.
"Well, you'd have to do it skinny," I found myself saying, laughter bubbling up with the words. It was a moment of levity, a brief return to the camaraderie that seemed distant.
Paul's quizzical look in response to my comment was almost comical. "Huh?" he asked, momentarily puzzled by the suggestion.
"Well, we don't have any towels or spare clothes," I explained, grounding our whimsical thoughts back to practical concerns. His acknowledgment, a simple "Oh. Of course," was accompanied by a shift in his gaze back to the flowing water, perhaps contemplating the river's beauty or the fleeting thought of what could have been a carefree plunge.
As Paul and I lingered by the river, the simple act of immersing our hands in its waters became a brief respite from the weight of our predicament. The sensation was undeniably invigorating, a momentary escape that allowed us to forget, if only for a while, the uncertainty that loomed over us.
"Do you really think we're stuck here?" Paul's question broke through the tranquility of the moment, his gaze meeting mine with a mixture of concern and hope. It was a question I had been asking myself since we arrived, the answer to which I feared more than anything.
My immediate reaction was one of tension, the worry that had been simmering beneath the surface manifesting in a tight frown. "I don't know," I admitted, the words heavy with the burden of our unknown fate. "I hope not." It was the truth, a simple yet profound wish that we could find our way back to the world we knew.
"But what if we are?" Paul pressed, his question hanging between us like a dark cloud threatening to burst.
Frustration flared within me at the thought, pushing me to my feet in an irritated huff. "If Luke can get out, I don't see why we can't too," I declared. The idea that we were somehow less capable of navigating this challenge than Luke was infuriating. Without another word, I turned on my heel and strode back towards the Portal, the large, enigmatic screen that was both our hope and our curse.
I didn't look back to see if Paul followed; his optimism, though usually a source of light, felt misplaced in our current situation. Over the years, I had come to recognise the impact of Paul's unwavering positivity on Luke—and by extension, on situations like ours. Paul's optimism, while admirable, often veered into the realm of fantasy, encouraging Luke's already scattered focus to chase after impractical dreams. Their dynamic, though fuelled by brotherly love, sometimes strayed into the territory of distraction, pulling Luke further away from reality.
As I marched towards the Portal, determined to find a way back, I couldn't help but reflect on the influence Paul had on Luke. It was an influence that, in moments like these, felt more like a hindrance. Paul's presence, his encouragement of Luke's wilder ventures, only compounded the challenge of finding a solution. In my heart, I knew that to navigate this ordeal, to truly find a way back, we needed more than optimism—we needed a plan grounded in reality. The task ahead was daunting, but my resolve was firm. We would find a way home, no matter the cost.
