True Colors: The Inter-dimensional Tragedy | Teen Ink

True Colors: The Inter-dimensional Tragedy

June 23, 2019
By ObtuseRectangle, Grass Lake, Michigan
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ObtuseRectangle, Grass Lake, Michigan
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Author's note:

I've had this story in my head since middle school, until one night I took my focus meds, instead of my sleeping meds, now I have a morally complex goldmine of content that I hope you can all enjoy.

The author's comments:

This is the inner monologue of the main antagonist as he claims the Wretched Eye for his own. If only he knew, it was the Wretched Eye that would claim him.

A stranger, cloaked in shadow entered a large room, his torch the only light present. The place is heavy with undisturbed air and priceless artifacts untouched and unseen for generations. Painted on the walls, forbidden knowledge known only to a long dead race. The stranger is not here for the lost relics nor the damning knowledge, he is here for what the knowledge speaks of, in hushed terrified whispers.

The Wretched Eye

The stranger repeated the name in his mind, knowing what he could achieve with such power, and what would become of him if he would dare use it.

He shouldered his guilt over every step in that forsaken tomb. The stranger stopped before a large stone door that blocked his way to damnation, he destroyed it, like every obstacle that dared to stand against him before. The physical ones. Ones he could crush under the blows of his once holy weapon. Not the obstacles responsible for his many sleepless nights, when the only thing breaking the deafening silence are the cries of those who he once believed were his foes, and the love he couldn’t save.

But not for long, he thought to himself. He will fix everything.

But to make something, something else has to be destroyed.


The Disciples will be no more.

A little boy is sitting alone in the daycare, it was free time, and while everyone else scrambled to door rushing to the playground, screaming the whole way, leaving only the echo of their voices ringing off the walls, he stayed inside. Drawing intricate doodles, of battles, of heroes, of-

“H-hey!” he yelped, someone snatched his plain white baseball cap right off of his head! He whips around to see the glowing smile of a pretty young girl, Rose, she’s the only friend Owen really had back then. She had long red hair, green eyes, and a bright, contagious smile, she seemed to have a confident aura clouding around her, following her everywhere she goes. She can light up a room just by walking through the door.

“What-cha drawing?” She asked, glancing over Owen’s shoulder. Feeling immediately self-conscious, he hastily tries to cram it into his bag, but Rose was too quick for him, pulling it out of his reach she closely looks it over.

“Wow, this looks really cool! Where’d you get the ideas for these?” She says pointing at one of the many sketches.

“Can you please just give me my hat back?” Owen pleaded to try to bring the subject off his work.

“Where did you get it?” She asked, pulling her hair back to try on the cap.

“It looks a little big for you!” She giggled as it slouched down the side of her head.

“It’s my mom’s, she told me to hold onto it for her,” Owen stated proudly.

“Why can’t she watch over it? What? She can’t get out of bed?” Rose teased, removing the cap and handing it back to Owen.

“That's what the doctor said.” He said softly.

Silence rang throughout the room as Rose realized the weight of the situation, crushing the previous feelings of happiness and fun, leaving only silence.

“Did he say anything else? Is she going to get better?” She asked trying to lift the situation out of this dark pit.

“I don’t know,” Owen responded. “He said that momma’s not going to be able to take care of me anymore, that I’m gonna have to move away.” Both he and his voice started to tremble, struggling to get each word out without sobbing, failing he drops his head into his hands. Rose sat down next to him and tried to comfort him, but she had no idea what to do.

“What about your dad?” she asked. Owen solemnly shook his head in response. Drooping his head even lower in defeat.

“Mr. Sketch said he went missing before I was born,” Owen responded in tears. Looking up to see Rose reaching out her hand.

“Here.” She said, placing a shiny object in Owen’s palm.

“What is it?’ He asked, his voice steadier, yet still morose.

“It’s a necklace dummy!” she exclaimed. He looked it over in his hand, it was a small simple necklace, it had a chain with two tiny metallic cylinders on each end of the cord that made a soft click behind his neck. The real wonder was the pendant attached to it, the pendant is in the shape of a small, golden rhombus, about the size of a quarter, with countless tiny, strange letters that all swirled into one red gem in the center of it. Owen let the necklace fall to his chest, Owen looked to Rose for an explanation for the sudden gift.

“It’s so you can remember me.” She explained, “I know you might not come back, but at least you have something to remember me by.” Owen nodded.

“Where did you get it?” A curious Owen asked. Rose shrugged in response

“I don't really remember, but it’s pretty!” Rose responded. Owen knew it was true, palming the pendant as he stared wide-eyed at the illustrious gem. Little did he know that this may have been his last moment of innocence.

They both jump when they hear a knock on the classroom door. The door slowly swings open, revealing a tall, thin man in his late 30’s, unkempt dark black hair and a pair of well cleaned, slim glasses. It’s Owens therapist, Dr. Sketch.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! Whenever you're ready to head out-” He begins only to be interrupted by Owen.

“I’ve said my goodbyes.”

Ten Years Later

He stood there, frozen. He couldn’t think, and most importantly couldn’t move. The main subject of most the what if’s in his life is standing right behind him

“Owen?” the voice pierced the crowd, ran through his mind and rang through his soul. Owen turned to see the glowing smile of his old friend. Bittersweet was the smile Owen flashed back, hiding the pain her presence brought him. He wanted to tell her, he yearned to reveal the pain that he’d endured. But alas, his thoughts fell on mute tongues.

Rose rushed over, surprised to see Owen once again, her thoughts racing for explanations and answers for questions she didn’t know how to ask. Once she reached Owen, they both stopped in prolonged silence, not knowing what to say after such a long time.

“How have you been?” Owen asked, breaking the silence.

“I’ve been,” Rose paused, “fine, I’ve been fine.” Owen’s silently stared back, unconvinced. “How did you get here?” Rose asked trying to change the subject, her glowing demeanor slowly changing, Owen met her sympathetic gaze.

“Oh I just broke in, how else would I get here.” Owen jokes. Rose chuckles slightly, then points a thumb over her shoulder.

“Look I got to get to class, but I’ll see you later,” Rose says. She waved, turned around, and started to walk away.

“Rose?” Owen blurts out, before he could take it back she’s already turning around.

“What do you need?” she asked, obviously confused. Owen fishes through his bag and pulls out her necklace.

“Oh! You still have it?” Rose exclaimed Owen put his hand out towards her, necklace in hand.

“I want you to have it.”

The next morning, Owen woke with a cold sweat, the contents of his dream freshly stripped from his mind. He looked around to see what woke him.

Squinting at the near-blinding light of his phone he made out what the notification so boldly proclaimed.


Owens heart sunk like a stone. This can't be right, this can't be real! It seemed like reality was crumbling around him, he just saw her how is she gone! He took a deep breath and-


He jumped at the sound of someone pounding at the door, his eyes darted towards his alarm clock, 4:35, who the hell would be pounding on some kids door at 4 in the morning!?

“H-hello?” Owen called into the darkness, no reply. Letting out a nervous sigh, he slowly gets out of bed and lightly tread towards the door, his bare feet sticking to the wooden floor as Owen passed. After what seemed like an eternity he finally shot his hand towards the door handle and twisted.

Nothing but cold air, and the night sky.

Owen looked left and right and all he saw was an empty parking lot. Until he looked down, he feels like he needs to puke.

The necklace was placed at the foot of the door. A taunt, some psychopath took Rose and placed her necklace at his door. Owen didn’t know if he was terrified, angry, sick or some horrible mix of the three.

In a few minutes he was already outside, and as usual in deep trouble. Owen had tried to bike to the school to find at least something in this mess, but he was being followed. After some investigation, he was terrified to see the thing that was following him was not human. This thing now has him cornered in an alleyway, his only defense was his mangled bike.

It was a tall, pale humanoid, it seemed skin and bone but it had enough gusto to cleave his bike in half with its monstrous claws, Its sharp teeth were bared due to the lack of lips, He had no idea what it was but it was horrifying.

Owen felt his back hit the brick wall behind him, no escape.  He grits his teeth and stood, ready for the inevitable. But then, out of nowhere a green light streaked from behind the creature, embedding itself into the creature's shoulder, letting out a horrible screech, The abomination turned to its new assailant and to Owens surprise, (and confusion.) it was Dr. Sketch! After a violent, swift fight, Owen is now sitting even more confused on a spaceship with his therapist. Just your average Tuesday.

The hatch to the cockpit closed behind Dr. Sketch as he looked at Owens expression, He sat down and was about to say something before stopping himself.

“What?” Owen asked, leaning forward with his arms crossed. Sketch clears his throat and sighs then shakes his head and smiles.

“I guess there really isn't an easy way of explaining this without confusing you, huh?” Sketch joked as Owen looked up at his godfather.

“Well,” he began sarcastically, “I am currently flying through space with my therapist that just a few minutes ago just stabbed a crazy monster to death with magical green glowing knives, try me.”

Sketch chuckled to himself,

“How about this: in this universe, there are twelve dimensions, each an alternate version of the other,” Sketch says, pulling out his knife, carving a circle onto the table. “They all exist in a loop, meaning you can only travel from one dimension to the other in order like you can go from Dimension One to Dimension Two, but not from Dimension One to Three.” Owen nods his head in somewhat understanding.

“So we technically aren’t going through space, but to different dimensions?” Owen asks. Sketch nods.

“In the beginning, there was only Dimension One, this paradise was filled with tall, strong, and most importantly smart individuals called The Ones. They were always curious and testing the limits of science. Until one day, they found a way to create a portal between dimensions. So began the golden age, The Ones traveled from dimension to dimension, sharing their knowledge with their natives. Within a blindingly short 2 years time, they had an entire empire of peace, and for decades they focused on the perfection of the sciences. That's until The Ones found the last dimension, Dimension Twelve. The Ones said their goodbyes and together leaped into the unknown, never to be seen again. The other dimensions tried in vain to try to return to Dimension One, only to find the dimension was closed to any type of portal. They have lost their teachers and protectors.”

“What’s in dimension Twelve?” Owen asked.

“You should know, you lived in it.”

“Wow,” Owen whispered. Awestruck at this revelation, like the whole history of the universe just rewrote itself right before his eyes.

“And that's not the end,” Sketch adds, “with the lack of protectors all seemed lost, until the Disciplines appeared. People with strange powers started popping up from dimension to dimension, and if they could focus hard enough, they could control it like me,” Sketch says while summoning, then twirling a glowing green knife in his hands.  “The people needed the discipline to sharpen their new abilities, and so the Disciples were born. Protectors of the realms, keeping the peace in each dimension with skill and prowess previously unseen. This was the Silver Age. But that all ended when the unthinkable happened. After a horrible tragedy, a Disciple betrayed the oath and killed another Disciple. To right the tragedy the betrayer found an ancient artifact in a temple strictly forbidden by The Ones themselves, to retrieve the Wretched Eye.” Owen tilts his head,

“What's so forbidden about an eye?” he asked. A sad expression drew across Sketch’s face.

“The Wretched Eye has a large arsenal of horrible power, it’s main ability is its power to open a portal to the forbidden realm, Dimension 13, in this horrible realm lays an endless army of mindless automatons, known only as the Legion, now at the Fallen One’s command. Not only will his monsters lay waste to armies, but the Wretched Eye will also lay waste to the realm by using its second power, it can strip away the resources of the entire realm, the trees, the rock, the steel, and the Aura. Making the forbidden realm more and more powerful. But it’s most potent power is its effect on the mind.” Sketch said tapping his head. “It gives the user a promise of any wish you could ever want, for a price. Once you make that wish and your demands are given, it will consume your mind, slowly corrupting you, turning you into a mindless tool for its will. The Fallen One is only more- dangerous. But its effect does not stop with the user, any Disciple within the Wretched Eyes gaze will find their powers unable to function, their minds are read and their focus shattered. Making even the strongest Disciple helpless. This was proven in the Battle of Broken Fire.” Sketch stopped, those words tore at his soul, no matter how long ago it was.

“What happened at the Battle of Broken Fire?” Owen wondered. Sketch winced at the words again, like salt on a wound. He took a deep breath and collected himself, then responded calmly.

“The Festival of Fire was an honored Disciple holiday, all of the Disciples from across the Realms flocked to the Temple of The Sun to celebrate the initiation of trainees into Disciplehood.” Sketch had to pause again, he was reliving the memory, a rebirthing of the pain.

“Then what?” Owen asked softly, feeling the intensity of the situation.

“Only two of us survived.” he solemnly replied.

“In your group?” Owen responded, trying to find light in the situation.

“No! We stood no chance, The Fallen One murdered his way through crowds of helpless warriors, and what wasn’t destroyed was burned!” Silence rang throughout the room, a sound so familiar with the two wanderers. “I and Crimson are all that's left of the Disciples,” Sketch continued, steadying the shake in his voice. “And the Realms, without their protectors yet again, were beset upon in the Hopeless war. He butchered every man, woman, and child living in dimensions 6-10 in almost an instant. Their souls and their homes lost inside the glare of The Wretched eye.”

The door to the cabin slid open as a somewhat short warrior walked through, he wore what seemed to be a custom piece of high tech Roman-like armor adorned with a tattered crimson cloak, half of his face was covered by an angular mask that looked like it was probably used for respiration, due to what looked like two small rebreathers that for some reason we're pointed forward. He had long yellow/blonde hair, reddish eyes and held a spear on his back.

“We're approaching the Dimension of angel hippies.” His rough voice sounded blunt and unimpressed. The room was met with silence until the warrior turned his piercing gaze to Owen, sending chills down his spine. Until the Warrior laughs, his rough voice mixing with shrill exhales.

“This is the one huh?” His voice cracking with laughter “the one that will bring us salvation” he says mockingly.

“What is he talking about?” Owen asked Sketch.

“So those 'angel hippies’ my crimson friend is talking about are the Druids,” Sketch says, glaring at Crimson, who is now leaning on the doorframe “There is an ancient family in the Druid tribe that is an old ally of the Disciples.”

“They can tell the future, which would be fine if it weren't in stupid cryptic riddles.” Crimson interrupts.

“So they tell prophecies?” Owen asked. Both Disciples nod in response. “What does that have to do with me?” Owen continued. Crimson starts to respond but is wisely stopped by Sketch.

“Only one Druid woman carries the torch every generation, and for the maiden prophecy of the new Soothsayer, she revealed the key to defeating the Fallen One.”

“What?” Owen asked. Crimson pointing at Owen and responding.

“You, kid.”

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