The ascension

 I find myself at the bottom of a set of stairs that should not be here. 

An open field. The morning dew wet on the grass, and the smell of pollen and spring. 

Birds chirp. A bunny hoops paste, looks at me, like I am the oddity here, then continues on.

This abomination is metallic, shiny silver at the sides. Black treads climb upwards.

I look behind me. Left. right. There is nothing but field and grass and warm sun and a gentle breeze. 

I have no desire: No inclination: no WANT to step on this monstrosity. 

But I do. 

I scold myself but am interrupted by movement. The stairs are an escalator. 

The steps hum beneath my feet, low at first, almost imperceptibly. Each one feels alive, carrying me upward whether I want it or not. I glance down: the field stretches infinitely behind me, calm, forgiving. Ahead, the escalator stretches into the clouds.

Names appear on overhead arcs as I begin passing through them. The glow like molten iron poured into stencils burned into the metal: Private…Corporal…Specialist…Sergeant… Each  a whisper of responsibility, a whisper I can’t refuse. I try to step aside. I try to turn back. But the escalator laughs, and lifts me anyway.

I feel eyes. Faces behind glass panels, glancing down, passing judgment, giving commands I cannot hear. Yet their authority weighs on me. I rise past Lieutenant…First Lieutenant…Captain…Commander… The arches widen.  The hum grows louder. The scent of waxed floors and bureaucracy fills the air, clinging to me.

Halfway up, I glimpse the end. It waits. It does  I press my hands to the railing, but it is not there to hold; it is there to carry.

The escalator moves faster. 

I turn to run down but there is nothing behind me. The step dissolve as they pass through the arches and the arches, fine brick, crumble and fall apart.

Major…Lieutenant 

Faster now.

Colonel…Colonel…Brigadier…Brigadier Major… The letters glow less, shifting like mercury. I try to count, but counting is meaningless. Each step is a step I have already taken, a step I cannot undo.

 The arches turn from brick into steel as I rise higher, past General…General Major…Marshal General…Marshal…Lieutenant Marshal…Comadant… The sun fades; clouds gather like watchful officers. I am small. Yet I am moving. I am going somewhere.

And at the top, I see nothing but fog and steel. No applause. No welcome. Only the end. 

I look behind. The stairs are dissolving still, catching me until the is nothing left of them and I am falling.

And I am falling. 

I land hard in a chair. Behind a desk. 

An old man looks at me and says, “well, that does it. Welcome to Central Continental Authority Armed Services.

Private Xavier Army. Go get your gear.”