02/09/04
I found myself in the bathroom of a truck stop, lingering in front of the mirror as I washed my hands. I glanced up to meet my own eyes as they looked me over. Who was this character that had been substituted in place of my reflection? It was almost as if I was supposed to recall the details of this alternately reflected creature, but upon deeper inspection I found that I was unable to place a name, place, or purpose to it. The harder I tried to figure out who this was that had seized control of what I thought was my body, the less that seemed familiar to me.
I dismissed the fact that I could no longer tell what was reality with a shrug of my shoulders, and I watched my looking-glass doppelganger ape the movement in sync. Did I always look like this? In a way I want to say I did, but in a way this body felt new, somehow removed from my old one. Could my entire existence prior to these moments be nothing but fiction? The detailed schematic of the lie that I called my Life had seemingly been pulled over my eyes as I continued to wage war against the reality that I was currently experiencing.
The past was full of doubt. That left me with only the moment and the moment to come. It is those subtle transitions I must be aware of, for the more cognitive I am during them, the stronger my sense of what's real shall become. And if I am to make it out of this, I will need to have my wits about me, and to have some sort of roadmap of where I've been.
Lost in a thought I slipped from frame of reference and began floundering along my Auric-wavelength. Phasing between time and space I found myself drifting along as the meat cleansed itself of tactile bacterial growth with scalding hot water and pink jism that served as soap. I bounced and rattled within my body as I fought my way back to the controls.
Things have been a bit touch and go since I was baptized in the Ether of Eternity. Reborn again into shape and form, I was corkscrewed back into flesh and mind, spiraling and rotating back towards full control. Flexing my tether to the Eternal Unconscious to glean tidbits of Truth, I scribble the info down in my journal as soon as possible hoping to identify the pattern upon thorough examination.
Showing posts with label edit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label edit. Show all posts
Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 1 - Escape (edit)
02/04/04
The clichés were all present. Lined up in a row so as to make me believe this farce, this fiction that has been substituted for my life. I awoke in my room, yet it wasn't my room. I inherently knew that my position had been altered while I slept. I looked around at my "stuff" in my "bedroom" and instantly felt like I was on a movie set. Everything was there, in perfect disorder, except now it all felt hollow, empty, devoid of the sentimentality and nostalgic power I'd imbued them with.
I immediately began writing down my thoughts in my journal. Hopefully I could find my laptop and post these thoughts online and make my abduction known to all. Cautiously, I left my bedroom to find my faux living room. Replacement couch, 36" TV, stocked bookshelf, endless DVDs, and my computer, all sitting in the same place I had had the originals for years. Through the small window above my desk I could see the day was a slate gray. Looking down at my router I could see that they had cleverly left me access to the Internet. Truly nothing was out of place.
I made my way to the front door and stepped outside. Staring up at the massive dull dome miles above me, I knew then the trouble that my abductors had gone through to make this mock world. It was perfect and complete in its illusion of comfort and familiarity, and epic in scale and scope. I needed to escape as soon as possible.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed a backpack full of supplies I might need and ran out the door. I had hesitated a minute or two in front of the fridge but decided that the food within there may be tainted with any sort of hallucinogenic drug. I needed to maintain this clarity of thought if I am going to make it out of the confines of this pseudo-reality. I started up my car and slipped in some good driving music. I tore off down a simulation of the road I drove every day for my entire life.
So far everything was as it should have been. If it wasn't for the ache in the pit of my stomach, the panic buried deep within myself that I trusted more than my five senses, I could've easily believed that this truly was my life. That this was my car that I was driving, down the street I lived on, wearing the clothes that I got for Christmas. So seductive was the lie that something deep in me, possibly on a genetic level, was telling me to run. Somehow I knew that this deception was more than my willpower could possibly overcome.
The clichés were all present. Lined up in a row so as to make me believe this farce, this fiction that has been substituted for my life. I awoke in my room, yet it wasn't my room. I inherently knew that my position had been altered while I slept. I looked around at my "stuff" in my "bedroom" and instantly felt like I was on a movie set. Everything was there, in perfect disorder, except now it all felt hollow, empty, devoid of the sentimentality and nostalgic power I'd imbued them with.
I immediately began writing down my thoughts in my journal. Hopefully I could find my laptop and post these thoughts online and make my abduction known to all. Cautiously, I left my bedroom to find my faux living room. Replacement couch, 36" TV, stocked bookshelf, endless DVDs, and my computer, all sitting in the same place I had had the originals for years. Through the small window above my desk I could see the day was a slate gray. Looking down at my router I could see that they had cleverly left me access to the Internet. Truly nothing was out of place.
I made my way to the front door and stepped outside. Staring up at the massive dull dome miles above me, I knew then the trouble that my abductors had gone through to make this mock world. It was perfect and complete in its illusion of comfort and familiarity, and epic in scale and scope. I needed to escape as soon as possible.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed a backpack full of supplies I might need and ran out the door. I had hesitated a minute or two in front of the fridge but decided that the food within there may be tainted with any sort of hallucinogenic drug. I needed to maintain this clarity of thought if I am going to make it out of the confines of this pseudo-reality. I started up my car and slipped in some good driving music. I tore off down a simulation of the road I drove every day for my entire life.
So far everything was as it should have been. If it wasn't for the ache in the pit of my stomach, the panic buried deep within myself that I trusted more than my five senses, I could've easily believed that this truly was my life. That this was my car that I was driving, down the street I lived on, wearing the clothes that I got for Christmas. So seductive was the lie that something deep in me, possibly on a genetic level, was telling me to run. Somehow I knew that this deception was more than my willpower could possibly overcome.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA - Prelude (edit)
10/16/03
Agent Spider looked down at the bullet-riddled corpse at his feet. He counted thirty eight separate entry points. A quick scan of the surrounding area told him that these were accurately fired shots from a fully automatic machine gun with no more than seven bullet holes in the far wall. Someone shot his partner point blank to make a statement. Not that he needed this forensic evidence to know who did this.
It was a message. A friendly little sticky note passed between former co-workers. The bullet holes themselves might as well have spelled out the message if you connected the dots. "We know." But even this seemed a tad extreme for the Agency. This was personal. This was an old friend trying to get under his skin. An attempt to trigger an emotional response. To bypass the logic center of his brain. Send him running off half-cocked looking for revenge.
Agent Spider wasn't the same man he once was, back when they knew him. He had escaped from the Society. It was unheard of for someone to escape, but escape he did. And none of the graduates would ever fall for so obvious a challenge. Never fight on their terms. What was needed now was to retreat, cause them to get impatient. Let Gallows make the mistakes while he got a new partner.
In a way it was a relief. This one didn't have the balls to destroy the world.
Agent Spider looked down at the bullet-riddled corpse at his feet. He counted thirty eight separate entry points. A quick scan of the surrounding area told him that these were accurately fired shots from a fully automatic machine gun with no more than seven bullet holes in the far wall. Someone shot his partner point blank to make a statement. Not that he needed this forensic evidence to know who did this.
It was a message. A friendly little sticky note passed between former co-workers. The bullet holes themselves might as well have spelled out the message if you connected the dots. "We know." But even this seemed a tad extreme for the Agency. This was personal. This was an old friend trying to get under his skin. An attempt to trigger an emotional response. To bypass the logic center of his brain. Send him running off half-cocked looking for revenge.
Agent Spider wasn't the same man he once was, back when they knew him. He had escaped from the Society. It was unheard of for someone to escape, but escape he did. And none of the graduates would ever fall for so obvious a challenge. Never fight on their terms. What was needed now was to retreat, cause them to get impatient. Let Gallows make the mistakes while he got a new partner.
In a way it was a relief. This one didn't have the balls to destroy the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
