Tristan Thompson could feel that he was lying down on a hard surface. Why would that be the case? The chances of him going to sleep somewhere so uncomfortable were remote. He decided to open his eyes rather than stubbornly keep them shut.
The sight that greeted his opened eyes was a beautiful, yet confusing, one. There was a perfectly smooth marble floor beneath him; above, a silver-clouded sky that was lit by an idistinct, hazy light. Grand walls of stone, occasionally broken by a cathedral-esque arched window, rose up until they disappeared into these placid clouds.
Next to him, there was a fountain whose jets of water arced gracefully into the air before splashing back down into a clear pool. Tristan stood up and dragged his fingers through the waters of the fountain, wondering if he was dreaming. If he was dreaming, it was the kind of dream that he wouldn’t mind spending an eternity in. Nothing could disturb the peaceful solitude of this place.
After spending several minutes sitting on the edge of the fountain, allowing its gentle burbling sounds to relax him, Tristan decided to start walking. The hall extended in front and behind him, and if it had endpoints, they were obscured by the haze. As he walked, he questioned whether he was making any progress; he would pass by a window, only for an identical one to appear, and then another, infinitely. The pervasive serenity of the hall was unassailable, however, and its strangely infinite nature did not bother him.
Finally, in the distance, Tristan could see a human figure coming towards him. When they met, the man handed Tristan a white robe with a golden tie-rope, and that was the first time that Tristan realized he was naked. Taking the robe and putting it on, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Carlos Delfino,” the man replied. “And, before you ask it, I will answer the question that is surely to follow: you are in the Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers.”
“The what?” Tristan asked.
“The Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers,” Carlos repeated. “The name should be fairly self-explanatory.”
“Thirty point scorers…” Tristan mumbled to himself. “I guess I did. I guess I scored thirty. For some reason it doesn’t seem that important right now.”
Carlos nodded. “That is the main perk of the Hall, complete detachment from the struggles and anxieties of your mortal life.”
Another question had occurred to Tristan. “But if everybody who scored thirty points in a game is here, why aren’t they all hanging out?”
“Think about it, Tristan. Do you want to hang out with other people right now?”
“I guess I don’t,” Tristan said.
“Exactly. The Hall is infinitely large, so the chances of encountering another soul are remote. As the appointed guardian of the Hall, one of my duties is to ensure that chance encounters are dispersed as soon as possible.”
Tristan was about to ask if there was any limit as to how long he could stay in the Hall, but was interrupted by a new voice from behind them. “Hey Tristan!”
Tristan cringed. He recognized that voice, and it was not a voice he wanted to hear right at that moment. “Hey Collin. You score thirty too?”
“I did a couple days ago, but this place was so great, I thought I’d come back!” Collin Sexton said enthusiastically.
“That’s against the rules,” Carlos interjected. “You’re not supposed to be able to return until you score thirty again.” He worriedly looked up at the sky and then back at Collin. “The overseers are already in a foul mood because of some…incidents…that we’ve had recently. You’ve gotta leave.”
“You can’t just, like, snap your fingers and send his soul back to Earth?” Tristan asked while Collins smile faded from his face.
“Believe me, if I could, I would,” Carlos said. “But if somebody willed themselves here, only they can will themselves out.”
Tristan’s gaze had wandered to one of the nearby windows. Walking over to it, he elbowed the glass right in the center, easily breaking it and the delicate wood framing that helped to hold it in his place. His elbow felt no pain; painlessness must have been one of the perks of the Hall.
Before Collin could protest, Tristan had grabbed him around the waist and dragged him to the broken window.
“I should probably stop this, but I’m not gonna,” Carlos said.
While Collin begged and pleaded to be let down, Tristan picked him up and tossed him out the window. His screams got quieter and quieter as he fell through the light-filled void, until there was only silence.
Tristan turned around to find that Carlos had vanished. All for the better, Tristan decided. He had tired of human interaction. All he wanted now was to enjoy the unparalleled harmony of the Hall. Picking out a bench that was adorned with gold-tasseled pillows, he lay down in solitudinous contemplation.