[F W] Submission

Guertena's Treasure

Antony wandered through the strange art gallery, his hand wrapped tightly around his dictionary. Occasionally he would reach up with his other hand, his right, to push his golden hair from his eyes. Despite the fact that the gallery was full of people, Antony felt like he was the only one there. He could hear his own footsteps echo on the polished floor. Then he glimpsed a strange painting out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity got the better of him and he went down the hallway to look at it.

The hallway was deserted. This time, Antony was truly alone. A shiver went up his spine, but he dismissed it as the chill that had been in the air all year long. Then he inspected the painting.

The painting seemed to be only a large splattering of color, causing Antony to flinch. His eyes drifted to the plate identifying the painting.

'Fabricated World'.

Hurriedly he slipped the dictionary from his pocket, flipping through the pages madly. Fabricated, fabricated… where was it? Ah, there.

'Fabricated, adjective. Formed or conceived by…'

Just then the light flickered, and then went out, encasing Antony in a cocoon of darkness. Antony blinked, trying to reorient himself. The darkness seemed to perpetual, lasting on into infinity. Antony slammed shut his dictionary and grabbed it tightly. The lights would be back on in a few minutes. Everything would be fine. Everything.

The lights stayed out.

"Hello?" Antony called into the darkness, every muscle tense.

"Hello?" The empty halls called back.

Cautiously, he braced his hand against the wall, feeling his way back through the exhibit. Just then, his toe caught on something, making him stumble. Fumbling in the dark, he reached down. Antony's fingers closed around a round tube that felt suspiciously like a stem. He lifted it from the floor and held up. Even with no light, the silver rose seemed to emit a small glow. He shivered when his fingers grazed the petals. The petals were lined in frost.

"How'd this get here?" Antony wondered aloud.

Figuring he wouldn't be needing it, Antony threw the rose to the ground. He took a couple steps forward, only to trip on it again. He carefully stepped over it and kept walking, but tripped on it again.

"I get it, I get it. You can come with me." Antony muttered, stuffing the chilly silver rose into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Inside, he was panicking. What was going on? He couldn't explain a rose that stalked him and lights that wouldn't turn on. Or that weird scent of salt water…

The scent made Antony gag, and he put his hand over his mouth. If there was one scent he couldn't stand, it was salt water. His eyes began to water, so he shut them. In the dark void that the museum had became, sight wouldn't help him much anyway. Antony had broken into a cold sweat. He was shivering.

With some trepidation he reached forward, shuffling until his hand settled on something. He grabbed it tightly, smelling salt water stronger.

The object he was gripping collapsed. Antony fell forward, plunging into salt water. His dictionary and rose drifted out of his pocket, but he snatched them back and held them tightly to his chest.

'Will this ever end?'

Just as soon as Antony had that thought, he fell onto a dark green floor. Wincing, he stood up. Strangely, he wasn't wet. Neither were his dictionary or his rose. The smell of salt water had dissipated as well. He shoved his dictionary and rose into his pocket, then dusted himself off.

Antony's head was spinning. Where was the museum? Where was he? Why was everything a dull shade of green? The color alone was making him feel sick, plus all that had happened. His hand drifted into his pocket and clenched the stem of his rose tightly.

Wherever he was, whatever this was, didn't matter. It was just another puzzle he could solve. And he would solve it. He surely would.