Deadly Part Six: Sloth (Revelations)

Milton hated his job. He worked as a fraud intake specialist for a bank, taking reports from customers and sending them to be investigated. He exerted minimal effort in doing his job, cutting corners and not worrying too much about those little details. He often got chastised for missing important information in his reports, but he knew they wouldn’t fire him because they needed all the bodies they could get to do the job.

After work, he always went straight back to his apartment, which was actually his parents’ basement, to eat a microwave dinner and then play video games until he got tired.

One Friday, he was at his computer, a can of cola near his right hand, on a raid with some of his teammates. He realized that he did not have any cheese puffs, which was his favorite snack. He told his companions to wait for him, and drove to the convenience store three blocks away. Cheese puffs in hand, he went back to his car, but something happened that caught his attention.

Right in front of him, trying to cross the street, was a stooped old man walking with the aid of a cane. He was right in the middle of a lane, when a bus came along that did not seem to be slowing down. Without thinking, Milton ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast, to push the old man out of the way. He knew he wouldn’t make it, but maybe the other man would. Finally reaching him, Milton reached out and placed his hands on the old man’s  back, just as the bus hit. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain.

It never came. When he opened his eyes again, everything that had been around him had disappeared, leaving a dark void. Before him was a creature that looked like the pictures of an extinct kind of giant sloth that he had seen on the internet. It was draped in moss like a cloak, stood upright, and seemed to be smiling gently.

“We…need…to…talk…Milton Andrew Washington,” he heard in his mind. The beast’s mouth did not move.

Milton turned and tried to walk away from it, but somehow now it was right behind him, and he walked directly into its arms.

“I…am…Sloth…Which…you…have…become,” it managed to project right into Arthur’s brain. “I…am…here…to…offer…you…one…chance…to …redeem…yourself. Come…with…me.”

Behind the apparition there suddenly appeared a set of double doors that seemed on the verge of collapsing into dust. The wood was a dingy grey, as if it had been exposed to sunlight for too long. Splinters stuck out all over it.

Sloth opened the door, revealing the street they had just  been on. Another Milton was slowly crossing the same street, and a city bus ran him right over before he could get out of the way. He watched it happen in slow motion, seeing all the wounds inflicted upon his out-of-shape body before he died in agony.

Milton couldn’t look away. Tears came streaming down his face as he watched his mangled form thrown to the ground, already dead, when the bus was finally able to come to a stop. Somebody was calling for an ambulance, even though it was obviously too late; his skull had been fractured, pieces of bone sticking out from his head like a grotesque kind of crown. His eyes were open but empty.

“Now…I…will…show…you…your…ultimate…fate.”

The scene around them dissolved, replaced by a knee-deep lake of some viscous brown stuff. His other self was wading through it in a panic, but what caught Arthur’s attention was the thing he was trying to get away from: the Jabberwock, the one from the illustration in Alice Through the Looking Glass.

The creature that had terrorized Arthur’s childhood dreams and remained unnerving even after he grew up.  It was always slowly gaining on his other self, and he didn’t even want to think about what might happen when it caught up.

“Here…is…what…will…happen…if…you…accept.”

Now they were on a street in Milton’s neighborhood, and he saw himself walking next to a man he recognized as his colleague Charles. They were talking animatedly and laughing now and then. His doppelganger was thinner than Milton was, and smiled more often.

As they drew closer, he heard his voice saying “I finally started that book I’ve always meant to write. I’ve already got it outlined. I’m committed to three thousand words a day, minimum.”

“I heard you volunteered for that training pilot program, too. Didn’t you get a raise for that?” Charles asked.

“I sure did! About five percent. And this program is proving really interesting. I’m glad I put my name out.”

“This really is a one-eighty for you, Milton. I’ve never seen anyone grow so much in only one year.”

“I know. Something just inspired me to do better.”

They moved outside of Milton’s earshot. Sloth turned to him, and once again he heard the thing’s voice slowly intoning in his head.

“What…say…you…Milton…James…McDonald? It…is…your…choice,” it said, and brushed Milton’s forehead with the tip of one claw.

He had made up his mind when he saw his personal Hell. “I can do better. I don’t want to be chased by that thing forever!”

Five years later, Milton had been promoted to Training Director, a position he enjoyed immensely. He loved shaping new hires into the best intake specialists they could be. He worked closely with managers and trainers to ensure that the training program was comprehensive without being overwhelming. He was proud of himself and his accomplishments, but most of all he was relieved that he had escaped his worst nightmare.