#6
‘The Blue Light’
It seemed to shimmer in the sunlight; a beacon of some sort, tentatively reaching out and pleading with me. Soon enough we were entwined in a tango, thoughts twisting together in the short space between our minds. All barriers had long since vanished, leaving only peace, harmony and - most important of all - absolute potential for trans-communication. And we were deep in it now. Far beyond conscious thought in a place without language or matter. We were speaking colours and dreams and what appeared to be a second was actually a lifetime and vice-versa.
There was something unspoken, unthinkable, unintelligent - yet universal and omnipotent - pulling my soul towards it while leaving my body exactly where it was. We were becoming one, transforming into a single entity. I felt a surge of adrenalin as it consumed me and then suddenly I felt panicked. In a split second, my soul was sucked back towards my body and I felt a wall materialise around me, seperating me from everything else. Logic and reason had shattered both my faith and curiosity.
As quickly as I could, I tried to force an explanation out of thin air, convinced that somehow there was a perfectly rational explanation. I took a deep breath and calmly reminded myself that everything is not what it seems. I had hallucinated before and the object in question might just be another mind fuck. Another rung on the ladder slipping beneath my grasp. In fact, that must be what it is, a projection from my mind; a mirage appearing to one who is well and truly lost.
I stared at the thing and blinked heavily, holding my eyelids closed for what seemed like hours, hoping it wouldn’t be there when I re-opened my eyes. But there it was, every time. Pretty fucking convincing delusion, I thought to myself as I walked around it, admiring it's three dimensions. Every angle was perfect. It was the most convincing hallucination I had ever seen. But then again maybe not. With my memory these days, I didn’t know what I’d seen and what I hadn’t.
Besides which, I still wasn't sure if it was real. But it wasn’t. I couldn't have been. It was just floating there, as if tied to a piece of string or something. And I couldn’t allow myself to believe in it 'cause then I’d officially be losing my mind whereas up to that point, insanity had only been a consideration.
“Hello Christopher,” the object said with its twisting brainwaves, “I am delighted to have materialized in your presence.”
In response I let out a bout of hysterical, nervous laughter, with an expression of sheer terror printed across my face in big, bold letters. Fucking hell. This is some good acid - I mean, that’s got to be it, you know? - I’d heard stories about this sort of thing. Of inexplicably realistic visuals. But then again maybe crazy shit actually happens to people on acid… like it’s not your perspective that changes but rather you become some sort of magnet for the weird, the supernatural. Things just start to collect around you, wherever you go. Lights, distortions, windows into parallel universes. That sort of thing.
“I have read your mind,” the object continued, “and I understand that you are inebriated and confused. You have consumed a large dose of recreational drugs. That is why you are one of the few thousand people on the planet that can see me at this point in time and that is why I am here. I need your help.”
It hovered silent, a foot or so above the ground and I stared in disbelief, opening and closing my mouth, smiling and frowning, getting up and then sitting back down again. The experience had started taking a turn for the worse and I could sense that there was no stopping it now. It had that horror movie dejavu stink all over it. All I wanted to do was escape, like a crazed pyschic on a doomed airplane. There was something wrong here and it wasn’t fun or fascinating anymore. Fear began to cover me like a lead blanket, draining the rush and pushing me down towards the floor. I looked up at the thing above me and tried to speak but I had no voice.
“I can hear your thoughts,” it said to me, “and I know the future - there is no need to speak,” to which I finally lost my composure, made a sound like that of a dying cat and scrambled from my knees onto my feet, ran out of the room and slammed the door behind me.
My breath heavy and my eyes wild, I pressed my back up against the door, flattening my shoulder blades against the beveled wood and flexing the muscles in my legs. Time stopped and I listened intently for some sign of it; for that unnerving fucking sound that it makes. But, nothing, sweet nothing… I held my breath for so long I forgot to breathe. Finally I exhaled too fast and coughed violently. The tears in my eyes bent the dark shapes around me, twisting them into unrecognizable shapes. But at least there was no sign of it. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, I thought to myself, or at least if it does it's not the same bolt. It’ll be something else now, some new and equally horrifying nightmare conjured up by my sadistic brain... I let out a sigh of relief, finally convinced that it had disappeared and then just as a smile started to appear on my face, I heard it again. The exact same fucking sound. Like a drill with a silencer on it, or a mix between a sports car and a fly. That fucking humming.
My heart started beating heavily and I became overly aware of my own mortality. No, not mortality - that's not the right word. I felt fragile, like a china doll reflecting in the eyes of a bull. I was terrified of having a heart attack or a stroke. I put a shaky hand on my chest as if to stop my heart from bursting through my rib cage and realized I was more afraid of dying of fright more than anything else, which made me even more afraid and on it went, spiralling down into a paranoid frenzy. Eventually was beating so fast I couldn’t hear it. It had mixed with the silenced drill, creating a horrible shrill war cry and as my head filled with sand, I realized that for quite some time I had forgotten to breathe again and then, before I had time to do so, I passed out.
I dreamt of Elwood Dowd and Harvey, of The Fisher King and Tyler Durden, of the boy who cried wolf. I deamt of armies of toothless prophets lining the streets claiming divinity and ascension, of John Shooter, of the Wizard of fucking Oz… and then when I woke up it was there, floating directly above my face, scanning me with a triangular ray of blueish light.
Protruding neatly out of its shiny black shell was a thin metal arm cocked to one side and projecting a laser directly into my line of vision. It felt warm like it was going to melt through my eyeball and I tried to flinch away from it but soon realized that I couldn’t move. I was either paralyzed by fear or by this thing… or maybe by the acid itself. Whatever the cause, I couldn’t move an inch. All I could do was lie there while blue lights went back and forth across my retina.
I suddenly wished I was dead or sober - in that order - and without hesitation I sent out an open prayer to anyone who might be listening (God, Satan, Krishna, Buddha, Untitled) begging for an escape route in exchange for my absolute abstinence and unrelenting devotion to whoever happened to save me. But, having fallen for this one too many times in the past, they called my bluff and ignored me. After less than five minutes of waiting my paper thin humility transformed into outrage. Well, fuck you then! I thought as loud as I could, aiming my indignation towards the heavens.
The blue light dimmed and turned itself off as the egg moved back a couple of feet. It then started swaying backwards and forwards in mid-air, convincing me more than ever that it was tied to a piece of string… which began to terrify me even more. The puppet is probably nothing in comparison to the puppeteer, after all.
“Don’t be afraid,” it said to me, “I am your mother and your father. I am your grandchildren. I am the collection…” at which point my comprehensive abilities ceased to be, along with whatever other insane and illogical messages it was trying to force into my brain. This was all a little too much for me and I wasn’t going to just sit there and deal with it - I was going to flip the fuck out.
So I jumped to my feet and grabbed the egg with both hands, tackling it to the floor and smashing it repeatedly into the ground. As I looked around on the ground for a suitably dull implement to whack it with, it flew up into the air, taking me with it. Seconds later I was suspended in mid-air, still holding on to the egg which had now risen almost all the way to the ceiling. After a few minutes of hanging there, from a black metallic egg suspended in mid air, I failed to come up with a rational explanation. Even a bad one. The only thought that recurred was the horrible notion that it was actually real. Reluctantly I let go of the egg and gently dropped to the floor. It spoke again in thoughts as it slowy lowered itself back down to eye level.
“I am everything that ever has been and ever will be. I am you and the four children you are yet to conceive. I am the caterpillar on the plant outside your window and the butterfly it will become. I am the earth and the sky, the forests and the mountains. I am every book ever written, every blade of grass, every planet in the universe. I am the collection; an amalgam of everything that has ever existed since the dawn of time.”
Thoughts began to race through my head at lightning speed. If what it said was true, and it was a combination of everything, including me, then how could it possibly need my help? The shiny black egg, having read my thoughts, responded instantly.
“I am no longer complete. There are a few details that have been corrupted over the centuries. That is where you come in. You are an aquiantance of the last piece of the puzzle. I need you to scan him for me and retrieve some of his memories.”
Aha, I thought. If it can read my mind, then why can’t it just visit this puzzle piece directly and scan him itself?
“The man in question does not and will not consume what you refer to as hallucinogenic drugs and therefore, I am incapable of communicating with him. I require a medium and you are the most likely candidate according to my calculations.”
I started to feel as if I was of supreme importance and chills ran through me in different directions, causing me to shake. I stared at the thing floating in front of me and realized that subconsciously I had already accepted the quest. But there were a few questions remaining in my mind. Who is this person I’m supposed to scan? And how am I expected to read his mind?
As the egg answered, I felt a warm rush of adrenaline permeate throughout my body. This wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, it was going to be damn near impossible.
My father was undoubtedly a good man but labelling him as a conservative was an understatement. He had outlined his position on anything even remotely illegal countless times. There was no room for debate as far as he was concerned. The laws were there for a reason and that was good enough for him.
When I had first admitted to taking drugs, as a teenager, he had transformed before my eyes, changing from the loving, supportive man that I had always looked up to into a Mr Hyde of sorts, red faced, nostrils flaring and a crazed look in his eyes. From that moment on I was, at least on some level, a dissapointment. He never said so directly but I could see it in his eyes. I knew he silently regarded me to be one of the few failures in his otherwise perfect and successful life.
As time went on, I became more pro-drug and he, in turn, became more and more anti-drug. Eventually it got to the point that he wouldn’t even discuss anything remotely associated with illicit substances. If the topic came up, he would just stand up and walk out of the room with that raging bull expression on his face.
Soon enough, he developed what can only be described as a sixth sense. He could smell the slightest amount of weed from the other end of the property even when he was sleeping. I would be smoking somewhere out near the garage at two o’clock in the morning and he would just silently appear out of the shadows, teeth clenched and eyes twitching. He was so good at it that he could’ve worked for the D.E.A. as a sniffer dog.
Anyway, after graduating high school and moving out of his house, I had been careful to show no sign of my usage. As far as he was concerned I did some experimenting in my teens and I was over it, living a decent life with a good job and remaining completely sober 365 days a year. Until now, that is.
Now I had no choice but to pay him a visit, in the week leading up to his 60th birthday and, while peaking on acid, forcibly scan through his memories. And I had to do this because a floating egg appeared to me in a drug-induced haze and told me to do so. No matter how this happened to play out, it wasn’t going to be good.
Before picking up the phone I smoked a joint and masturbated to some lesbian porn, in an attempt to relax. By the sixth or seventh ring I let out a sigh of relief and was just about to hang up when he answered, his deep monotone voice reciting the exact words that he always says when he picks up the receiver.
“Hello. Swanson residence, Colin speaking.” Upon hearing his voice, I panicked and in the split second before I started speaking, I almost hung up the phone.
“Uh… Hi Dad.” I said as coherently as I could.
“Chris, is there something wrong?” he asked with a sense of urgency in his voice, sounding genuinely concerned - as if I was dying or something. In my mind’s eye I saw a sniffer dog on the other end of the line, wearing my fathers glasses and rubbing the receiver across it’s snout while taking deep, thoughtful breaths.
“No. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound too good,” he said, which really meant, “You sound high” and he was right, I guess, but it annoyed me anyway. He could have just skipped the inquisition and had a conversation with me. I felt very small, like I was sixteen years old again.
“I’m fine.” I repeated, clearly emphasizing the full stop at the end of the sentence while trying to sound sober, though at the same time careful not to sound like I was trying too hard to articulate every syllable. I started to feel exhausted already. It’s no wonder I was fucking paranoid living in that house I thought to myself as I waited for the next line of questioning.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, apparently satisfied with my act.
“Do you mind if I come over for dinner?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, I’ll see you around six?”
“I look forward to it, Chris,” he said, as if he was speaking to a business associate and promptly hung up the phone. No goodbye. Just my name and then click.
I decided it would be best to eat the acid on the way over to his house, that way it’d just be kicking in when I got there and then, hopefully, I’d have more chance of controlling it. Arriving at their door while peaking didn’t seem like a very good idea and, in the state I was going to be in, I didn’t want to have to stay any longer than absolutely neccesary either.
So, as subtly as possible while stopped at a red light, I attempted to put a drop of acid onto my tongue. But by the time I was in the middle of it, the light changed to green and the guy behind me honked his horn, causing me to jump and involuntarily squeeze the entire contents of the dropper into my mouth. Maybe six or seven drops, maybe ten. It was hard to tell. I pulled over onto the curb, leant out the window and spat ferociously into the gutter. After checking that nobody was watching, I got out and shoved my fingers down my throat, vomitting all over my hand and the bottom of my pants.
As I watched the chunky liquid go down the drain I couldn’t help but think of its value. Lucky fucking rats. It had to be, without a doubt, the most expensive mouthful of vomit I’d ever projected… assuming that all of the drops hadn’t dissolved on my tongue, of course. Time was going to have to tell on that one. I crept into a suburban front yard and sprayed my hands and pants with a garden hose.
About a block or so from my destination, I noticed something in the rear vision mirror. The egg was floating in the back seat, about a foot off the cushion. It spoke with sweet re-assuring words. The messages no longer seemed alien to me. They felt like my own thoughts, flowing freely inside my head.
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to plan,” the egg said, “You’re doing the right thing.”
With a smile creeping onto my face I stopped the car and got out. The day seemed unusually bright and hopeful. Everything was charging with energy, chock full of potential. This is going to be easy, I thought to myself, as I cheerily approached the enormous metal gate and pressed the intercom.
I turned to smile at the egg floating directly beside my head. I am doing the right thing, aren’t I? I thought to it. Yes, you are, it thought back. At which point, a voice came through the intercom. It was my mother.
“It’s open,” she said, followed by a click, and the gate swung open slowly. What a wonderful day, I thought, having forgotten about the drug already coarsing through my veins. My eyes idly wandered around the exotic plants in the Japanese-style garden as I walked towards the door. Birds sang from the trees - indescribably beautiful songs. I could spend all day in this garden, I thought to myself as I reached the house. It's a shame I have to go inside.
The door opened to reveal my mother, who stood for less than a second in the doorway before letting out a sigh. Her eyes sharpened into fierce points, she drilled through me with her gaze, piercing the blissful little bubble I was floating in and reminding me all of a sudden that I was soaking wet and probably smelled a bit like vomit. This was going to be impossible to explain. I looked at the egg floating beside me but it didn’t offer any advice. Panic replaced the serenity I was feeling moments earlier and I became aware of what I had gotten myself into. I followed my mums gaze down to my trouser leg, which was soaking wet and seemed to have a piece of carrot stuck to it. She just stood there with her hands on her hips waiting for an explanation. I had to say something.
“I.. er… stepped in a puddle,” I said, ecstatic that I had come up with something that spontaneously logical. I was going to do alright after all. This was doable. I almost let out a laugh.
“It isn’t raining, Chris,” she said and walked through the house, leaving the door wide open. I looked angrily at the egg and thought 'thanks for helping me back there' before entering the house.
The hallway leading to the lounge seemed unusually dark, as if the sun had gone down upon my brief encounter with my mother. Then I realized it was because I had stepped inside. The difference between artificial and natural light is astonishing. Keep focused, the egg said to me, or maybe it was one of my own thoughts. (You don’t have ownership over thoughts, like you do body parts. They aren’t so easily identifiable.) Keep focused, it said again, and this time I was sure that it wasn’t me. I began to become concerned that this was a bad idea. This is a good idea, the egg said. You’re doing well.
When I entered the lounge my dad didn’t look up, and when he spoke it sounded as if he was speaking to himself. This was typical of him. I hadn’t seen him in over a month and he couldn’t even throw me a glance.
“Can I get you a fresh pair of pants?” he said with his face pressed into his newspaper and I chuckled nervously. I sat down in the chair beside him and looked at the huge television mounted on the wall, which was broadcasting a golf tournament. Well, I thought, at least he isn’t angry. He’s making a joke.
“Cup of tea?” my mum called out from the other room, to which I said ‘yes please’ and my father completely ignored, his face still covered with black and white type. Meanwhile, the egg floated patiently beside my head, humming away.
Becoming hypnotized by the slow movements of the golfers and the silence of the house, I sank into my chair and half closed my eyes. When I turned back to look at my father again, he was staring intently at me with a disapproving look on his face, the paper neatly folded on the armrest next to him. I almost jumped out of my seat when I saw him.
“Jesus!” I screamed, “Don’t do that!” as my mother returned with a tray full of biscuits and hot drinks.
“Do what, Chris?” he said, remaining in the exact same position, staring at me in the narrow gap above the lens of his glasses.
“Nothing. Sorry, you startled me.” I mumbled and clumsily reached out for a biscuit, knocking over a tiny cup of milk which my mother proceeded to mop up.
“Shit. Sorry.” I said, making a feeble attempt to help her clean. When she handed me the cup of tea, my hands were shaking so much that I couldn’t hold on to it, so I put it back down on the table, clattering the china together.
“I’ll let it cool down a bit.” I said and leaned back in my chair. I looked at the biscuit in my hand and realized that I didn’t have an appetite. Then I looked at my parents, who were both staring at me expectantly, so I took a bite and struggled to chew it, eventually forcing myself to swallow. I remember thinking that it tasted like sandpaper and that I was going to die. I thought I could taste a trace of the vomit from my hand or mabye it was just the smell.
“It’s very nice.” I said, “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” my mother replied, but I got the impression that I wasn’t. “So Chris, what have you been up to?” As she said this I noticed her peek another glance at the cuff of my pants and I felt like letting it all out, telling her about the egg, trying desperately to explain myself. I didn’t want them to think I was like this for no good reason. I hated being in this position. I looked at the egg and it told me to stay calm and say nothing.
“Nothing much, you know? Same old, same old. Paying the bills, working hard, watering the plants. Nothing terribly exciting.” I smiled and glanced sideways at my father, who was still staring me down with that D.E.A. interrogator look he had perfected over the years. I felt the heat from his stare on the side of my face as I continued to speak. The golf players walked slowly across endless green fields.
“What about you guys? Have you been painting much, Dad?” I asked, forcing him into the conversation. He went on to un-enthusiastically describe his latest canvas and my mind drifted to other things. A moth flew behind his head as he was speaking and I wondered to myself if moths came from caterpillars, like butterflies. Yes they do, the egg said inside my head. Stay focused. Forget the moth. Stare at his eyes.
Wow, I thought, still pondering the moth, you know everything don’t you? I mean you know everything. Stare into his eyes, the egg said to me. Stare into his eyes.
So I did. I forgot about the insect and looked deep into my father’s eyes. Upon doing so, a beam of bright blue light shot out of the center of my pupils, filling the whole room with an eerie sci-fi like hue.
My fathers brain was open in front of me, with everything exposed as if I’d flicked the bonnet of a car. Before I could think, I felt myself being pushed forward and becoming infinitely smaller, spiralling further and further into the bright blue open wound in front of my eyes. I became overwhelmed with sensations. Sounds, images, feelings. I saw my mother as a teenager. I saw myself being born and myself as a young boy. I saw and felt everything that my father had experienced throughout his entire life, from birth onwards; all of it in fast forward. It was like an army of tidal waves. I felt like my brain was in a cement mixer. I felt my father’s youthful joy slowly fade. I watched through his eyes as his drug addict son continued to disappoint him, and I felt that disappointment. For the first time ever, I truly understood him. And then the blue light disappeared, along with the egg, and I was left shaking on my armchair staring at my fathers astonished face.
“My god, Chris, are you alright?” he said, “you looked like you were having some sort of fit.” I stared at him hopelessly for what probably seemed like a lot longer than it was and just as I was about to speak, the tears started to flow.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” I started blubbering like a little boy, which clearly terrified both of my parents, “The egg came and told me to speak to you and I didn’t know… I didn’t know what it was like for you until I was inside your head.” I started wailing even louder and slumped my face into the palms of my hands, feeling the tears slip through the gaps between my fingers.
“Chris…” my mother asked in a soft voice, “are you on drugs again?”
“I had to take the acid because the egg told me that was the only way the blue light would work.” I spoke through a waterfall of tears, getting shakily to my feet. My parents looked at each other and silently asked "When is this nightmare going to end?". They sighed in unison.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice jumping various octaves. Frantically I made my way to the door. I could hear my mother dialing the police as I left. Before I managed to get outside, my father cornered me, demanding my car keys.
) and told them how interesting of a story it was. The description of doing that first line after so many years made me feel a bit crazy...