Blue

I am myself, although perhaps slightly younger, and standing on a beach of coarse-grain sand; nearby is a girl of approximately the same age as myself.

Looking out to sea I see nothing but endless sea; looking down the length of the beach, whilst there is a definite end to the beach, I fail to recollect how the beach ends; I do not look – and so do not know – what lies inland.

The sea is mostly still, with no discernible waves; but, although there are no discernible waves, the sea is not wholly still: running for the length of the beach, and set a uniform distance apart, are areas of turbulence in the water, as though a pump had been submerged, causing ‘hills’ in the sea as water is pushed above the surface and comes crashing back down again.

Submerged in the sea are sealed concrete containers from which I received the impression that they contain something living; these concrete containers are set a uniform distance apart, and run for the length of the beach.

The only life to be seen in this world is grass; not wild grass or weeds, but lawn-height grass which, like everything else here, feels drained of energy; there are no creatures in the sea or on the beach, no birds or insects in the sky; the only feeling of life comes from the submerged concrete containers.

I receive the impression that this place is very remote – not just that this beach is remote, but that this world is remote; the sky is cloudless, a grey-blue colour, and although it is day it is chilly, with only a single distant star to be seen – this world’s sun, and a blue dwarf; I receive the impression that this is a world between galaxies, remote in the truest sense of the word.

I set off towards the end of the beach, where there is a building which reminds me of a giant seashell.

I receive the impression that this world is in the process of being built.

Flicker

I’m an observer, disembodied, observing a somewhat picturesque scene: a field of grass, with green-blue mountains filling the horizon; a road runs along the perimeter of the field, as does a fence and telegraph poles; no living thing is in sight, and the scene feels wrong.

Suddenly, and silently, the wires strung between the telegraph poles begin to unhook themselves, and then to wind themselves up; the telegraph poles too begin to vanish, seeming to both fade away and to be swallowed by the ground; the same begins to happen to the fence, and I suppose the road too, but I’m no longer observing that scene – there is a scream and I’m looking down at a woman dressed as a peasant, children behind her, terror on her face; she is looking at me but through me, and I turn to observe what she sees – the sky is flickering between blue and a featureless black, as though a faulty fluorescent bulb, leaving the sun shining in a pure black sky.

I realise that, like the marks of technology upon the world had unravelled themselves and vanished, so too was the world now unravelling.

David Black

I’m walking downstairs; it is night, and the lights are not lit, but I feel safe; why should I not feel safe? I am in my home.

From the perspective of somebody walking downstairs, from my perspective, the stairs turn ninety-degrees to the left a few steps before the bottom of the stairs; I round that turn near the bottom of the stairs, and step off the staircase, step out into the conservatory attached to my home; the lights are not lit here either, but the roof of the conservatory is panelled with glass and, even on this moonless night, my surroundings in the conservatory are dimly lit by the hundreds – thousands – of stars that crowd the night sky.

In the distance, I can see the sea from the glinting of the waves in the light of the stars.

My dimly lit surroundings in the conservatory are not of interest except for two tables, with a body laid out on each – the nearer body, without legs, lays with it’s face towards the table; the further body, intact, lays with it’s face towards the roof of the conservatory, towards the stars.

Now I begin to remember that this has happened before, and I wonder how many times this has happened before, how many times that I’m unable to remember?

I walk towards the nearer of the two bodies, and see that a knife has been laid beside the body on the table.

This has not happened before.

More memories return – I know now that the dead, legless body before me is not truly dead; it has lived before, it has died before, and it may yet live again, as it lays waiting for the touch of a living body to return it to life; I know that whoever this dead, legless body once was, it is no longer; the body may live again, but not the mind, and this creature when awoken will know only mindless, murderous rage.

I know no emotion, only weariness, weariness and a memory of what I have done I before, what must be done now; with the knife from the table now clutched in my right hand, I push the face of the creature into the table with my left, pinning it to the table by it’s head; on contact with the living flesh of my left hand, the creature begins to writhe, to thrash with it’s arms, trying to twist itself around, trying to push itself off of the table; I bring the knife still clutched in my right hand down to the back of the writhing creature’s exposed neck, severing the creature’s spine; the creature collapses limply back on to the table.

I replace the knife on the table.

There is no blood.

The struggle between myself and the creature took place in silence.

The struggle between myself and the creature took place in only a few heartbeats.

I turn my attention to the further body, staring up at me from the table on which it lays; my memory tells me that, like the legless creature that I had fought only moments ago, I had fought this creature before also; my memory tells me also that this is a far more dangerous creature than the legless, mindless, murderous creature that I had dispatched only moments ago; but I have no time to fight this creature, as before I can touch the body, life flows back into it, and it seizes my arms; held in place by the now grinning creature, I remember that this too has happened before; the mud of the garden onto which the conservatory opens onto rises from the ground, and begins to coalesce into crude facsimiles of men – the mud-men walk towards me, and the mud-men envelope me, and I am sightless, and I am suffocating.

When I awaken, I am deep beneath the dark waves of the sea I glimpsed from the conservatory; that I shouldn’t be able to breathe beneath the sea, and that my eyes should be burning with the pain of the salt, seems of little concern at the moment, as the creature which had held me for the mud-men as they enveloped me, as they entombed me, floats before me in a standing position, the creature still grinning; my memory tells me that in the times before, I have followed the grinning creature to a destination beneath the sea, a destination I now cannot remember; I choose to fight my memory, and start for the surface, fighting the currents the grinning creature conjures to try to frustrate my escape.

I surface, and can see in the far distance the conservatory, the lights now lit, clinging to a cliff which overhangs the sea.

When I awaken again, I am back in the conservatory, the lights now lit; but the terrors of the night, rather than being repulsed by the light, seem to be attracted by it, and the grinning creature is before me again, but now with malice in it’s grin; and although I still feel as weary as when I fought the legless, mindless, murderous creature earlier in the night, some emotion is returning to me – I begin to feel fear.

The grinning creature speaks: “You are black!”

My weariness and feelings of fear and now infused with feelings of confusion, but I have no time to respond to the shout of the grinning creature, as it seizes me by the jaw, the fingers of the grinning creature inside my mouth, on my tongue; the grinning creature doesn’t seem to care that it has left my arms unfettered, but as I thrash and flail against the grinning creature, I realise that it doesn’t need to care – it is stronger than any creature has a right to be, and my thrashings and flailings against the grinning creature are futile.

The grinning creature speaks again: “You are black! You are black! You are David Black!”

My feelings of confusion have almost overwhelmed my feelings of fear; I know my identity, and I am no David Black; before the mad, grinning creature before me had uttered the name, I had never heard the name.

The mad, grinning creature continues: “You have spent your years trying to destroy me! But irony! You are my prison, and at the end of your years, I will be free!”

The sound of a sonorous bell rings throughout the house; the mad, grinning creature relaxes it’s grip for just long enough, and I bolt from the conservatory.

Synchronicity lost the cat

I shall now regale you with a short true story on the topic of cats, of synchronicity, and of waking up at idiotically early hours on Sunday mornings – the events of which having happened a couple of weeks ago.

I’d agreed to go jogging with somebody at the, as mentioned above, idiotically early time of half-past eight on a Sunday morning, so I’d set my alarm for six in the hope that I might be able to be up with enough time to have breakfast – so, I’m woken by the alarm at the appointed hour, and decide that it won’t do any harm if I doze for an hour or so.

So, drifting in and out of sleep, I dream I’m walking through the forest I’ll be jogging through in a couple of hours – when, in a clearing, I stumble upon Yin, my kitten which died earlier in the year; but in my dream she is only lost, and I’m delighted to have been reunited with her.

So, happy to have been reunited with Yin, I’m more than a little annoyed by a knock on the door, tearing me from the dream; opening the door, I’m confronted with an old man. The first words out his mouth? He wonders if I’ve lost a cat…

Not so startling now, but at the time it was fucking freaky.