Ryland’s Exit

“My, must it always be cold in here? And would it kill you to hurry up the process a tad?”

An elderly man sat in a large, blank lobby, diagonal to a door. On his face sat two blue eyes, both containing an old soul, and a long, grey beard. He wore what appeared, at first glance, to be a light blue bathrobe; however, upon further inspection, one would find it was a light blue cloak, worn as a garment. Next to his seat was a sizable oak desk, behind which sat a woman of about middle age. The woman’s hair was a dark red, and she wore eyeliner so thick one would think she was some sort of prostitute, not a secretary. She, too, wore a robe, but hers was light red.

“You’re always in a rush, Mister — Pardon me, sir, but I don’t think I’ve ever learned your name.”

“Ryland,” the man replied, placing his small satchel off from the ground and onto his lap. “You think, with me coming and going so often, you’d remember my goddamn name.”

“I apologize,” said the secretary, speaking with no sign of remorse. “Many people walk into this room on a daily basis, not just you, sir. Now, please, be patient.”

Ryland grunted, and looked across the room to a small window, seated next to the door. The view out of it was nothing but a blinding white light, which the elderly man seemed to manage to gaze into with no problem.

“I’ve been waiting, though, for quite some time. And it’s always been like this; whenever I’m ready for the Exit, you always take your time processing paperwork, and sending the messages, and whatever the hell else you do. I never understand why I can’t just leave.”

The woman looked up from her desk for the first time since Ryland had entered, and stared at him. “Preparing someone for the Exit is extremely challenging. You don’t just say you want to Exit, and we let you pass through all willy-nilly. It takes time, and you, you’re the worst to prepare. You come in, unannounced, and say you’re ready, and bring all of your bags in and whatnot, and then proceed to complain about how it’s taking so long, or how the room is always cold, or how—”

“The room’s always cold, though!”

“Silence! You proceed to complain about all of this, yet you never understand how it sets me back! I have people who call months in advance, saying they’re ready for the Exit, and you’re Exits always force me to push back everyone else! You never seem to think of anyone else but yourself, and what you’re going to do next.”

Ryland remained silent.

“So, Mister Ryland, if you’d please keep quiet, I’ll go back to my work, and you’ll be out in no time.”

The elderly man turned his direction off of the woman’s words and on to the door. It was, like the desk, extremely big, with a refined, maple front. It had one large, golden knocker in the dead center of its woodwork. However, it wasn’t the door that intrigued the man’s interest, but rather what was outside of the door. When his Exit was cleared, and he was permitted to leave, he would open the door, and walk out into… Well, Ryland didn’t know exactly what he would walk into. You never knew, when you were Exiting. All you knew was just that: you were Exiting this world into a new one.

“So,” the man said, “can you tell me where I’ll be going? What I’l be doing?”

The secretary remained mute to Ryland’s question, glued to her typing. She pressed the keys on her outdated typewriter, an Olivetti Linea 98, as if her life depended on it.

“Ma’am?”

“I heard you, sir. I’m not allowed to disclose that information. You’ve Exited forty-five times, you should know policy better than anyone.”

“But not even a hint? Just a small hint, ma’am? I’m begging you!”

“I’m sorry, Mister Ryland. You’ll know your fate in about five minutes.”

That last sentence sparked the man’s interest, and he realized he could wait five more minutes. It was getting late; men and women walked out of the backdoors, and made their way to their homes, to their families. Ryland realized that these people, this room, would be the last memories he had before his Exit. He realized that his fate was dawning on him sooner and sooner, with every second slipping out of his hands. He started to contemplate on his Exiting. Maybe he shouldn’t Exit. Yes, maybe this Exit would be worse than the rest. Maybe he should stay here for once, and not be so anxious to leave. Maybe this whole—

“Mister Ryland, we’re ready for your Exit.”

The elderly man looked at the secretary, and got up out of his seat. Trying to remove the thoughts out of his mind, he gathered his things, and opened the large maple door. Like the window, the room flooded with a blinding, white light. Ryland gulped, and, not looking back, walked into the unknown. The light swallowed him whole, and, in seconds, Ryland had left the world.

The woman behind the desk smiled, and got up to close the door. She then returned to her work.

Years later, a young boy ran into his mother’s bedroom. It was very late at night, and the mother had just dazed off into a dream when her son awoke her.

“What is it?” she asked, slightly irritated.

“It’s extremely cold in my room,” said the young boy. “Could you raise the temperature a tad?”