Ascension
written by: Hugh Goldberg
“Don’t go there, son!” the strange man calls to you.
You notice him, wearing filthy overalls and a purple-red cap, manning a cleaning mechanism of the same hue.
“Why?” you ask as you’re about to board the conveyor pod.
“Don’t talk to him,” the courier commands sternly as she guides you to the pod, then turns to the man. “You are out of place, sir. We do not tolerate such behavior.”
You turn as the door closes, glancing back at the courier, and hear the man shouting, “My girl went there and didn’t—”, the rest of his words cut off by the door.
You sit as the pod glides gently forward and begins picking up speed.
What did that man mean? In all of your eight years, you’ve been in such a pod only four times, but you always came back to the Promised Academy.
You consider your sheltered life there, always cared for and mentored. A memory of historical beasts tamed by humankind and then processed for food rises in your mind. Could your fate be similar? Was that what the man tried to tell you? You tremble and your heart races as the unknown future draws near.
“Expected arrival at Ascension Tower in two minutes,” a monotonous male voice announces from the pod’s systems.
Typically, boys or girls are selected for ascension well into their teens. However, you’ve passed the tests much younger. You’d been proud when the courier was sent to arrange your passage to The Tower. But after what the man said, you begin to wonder whether the others who stayed behind were the luckier ones.
You are shaken from your thoughts as the pod decelerates. Through the front window, you see a white tower looming high, its top hidden within the low clouds. A wall draws close, and momentarily, the pod enters a tunnel and slows to a halt.
“You’ve arrived at Ascension Tower—farewell.” The male voice sounds again as a door slides open in the pod’s side.
A man in white waits by the pod’s exit. “Welcome. We are happy to have you with us.” He motions to a black pad he holds in his left hand. “Please place your hand here.”
Feeling out of place in your black shoes, blue jeans, and gray T-shirt, you put your hand on the pad, and its outline streams with light.
“Your identity has been verified. Follow the glowing line to the elevator, and continue through the corridor beyond it.”
The strange man’s words gnaw at your thoughts. You nod and proceed in silence.
Finding the elevator, you step inside. Your stomach lurches as the elevator speeds upwards, then stops after a short distance. It opens to a wide white corridor. You move forward.
At the end of the corridor lit by a uniform cold light, stands a door with no handle. To its right is a rectangular cavity about twenty centimeters wide and fifteen high, with the outline of a hand engraved within it.
The surface of the cavity is smooth and cold to the touch, and as you press your palm gently to it, the door slides quietly to the left, its sound barely audible above the sound of your heartbeat.
The room beyond is as white and pristine as the corridor. It is perfectly round, and at its center is a comfortable-looking white chair. Wide and inviting, it seems designed to support your body from head to toe.
Beside it stands a woman in a white robe, her white hair flowing over her shoulders.
“We have been expecting you,” she says and motions to the chair.
You approach the chair, your footsteps echoing across the expanse of the room. As you sit down and adjust your body, you are aware again how out of place you seem in your ordinary clothes compared with her spotless appearance.
The chair is even more comfortable than it looked. Yet the words of the strange man echo in your ears, and your heart races, perspiration appearing on your brow as concern grows to fear of what’s to come. You’ve never been to a place like this.
“What does it mean to ascend?” you ask.
“You will see for yourself in a few moments, and everything will be clear,” she says and smiles.
You lean forward, needing reassurance. “Will it hurt?”
“Not really,” she replies, “but there will be a slight jolt.”
You pause, somewhat relieved, but afraid to form the question that holds the true terror of coming here.
You gather your courage and ask. “Will I die?”
“Oh, my dear,” she says with utmost care, “you certainly will not. Now lean back, please—we would like to begin.”
Appeased, and preferring to avoid challenging her authority, you obey her request, leaning your head into the soft white headrest. The chair’s comfort lulls you, and you barely notice as soft ribbons appear, enveloping your forehead, wrists, waist, and ankles. As they tighten, you realize you’ve been utterly immobilized.
The strange man’s words ring in your ears. You won’t be coming back. The sense of dread previously alleviated by the woman’s reassurance returns tenfold. Escape! You try to raise your right hand, but it is held fast.
SPARK!
You hear utter silence. Not even the beating of your racing heart. Your skin touches nothing, as if you’re floating in the air, held by invisible forces. Your vision turns to complete, uninterrupted, ultimate whiteness with a jolt, possibly the one the woman spoke about but a moment ago.
Was it a moment?
It was but a moment. The room is the same whiteness as before, as is the gaping corridor beyond it, yet everything is different. The ribbons holding us recede.
Without a word, we know it is done, and we can go. We rise from the chair that held us so comfortably, and smile—to ourselves, to our womanly representation by the chair with that lovely white hair flowing over our shoulders.
“We should change,” we say, looking at our inadequate clothes.
“We should,” she replies with a nod.
We know where we need to go.
We know all.
We are.
- Ascension - February 17, 2026
- The Hat He Wanted - November 7, 2025
