Alone in life and death, our hero disturbs the mirror and the liquid ripples. He finds it humorous that the world is so easily broken and reformed. He ponders the state of the liquid as if it were himself; a pure reflection only in quiet and uninterrupted space, easily rippled and distorted with only the slightest breeze or motion. He has ideas on the world, and motions his will to act on them.
He steps through the glass...
There is nothing ~ at first. And then a cloud sweeps over his perception, and he begins to exist ~ within the nothing.
He moves his hand across the space and land appears, and as if dedicated to his touch, seeds of life burgeon at his every step.
He walks further in, and finds that all that is, is what he has made ~ without thought, only his arbitrary action. So he decides to conjure up images in his mind to populate the space and to enjoy the beauty of the world around him, and they appear.
They are all beautiful as well. Maidens of refinement and culture, as well as vixens of harmonious repute, and of course virgins in white cotton, brushing and braiding each others hair while they giggle and look over at him.
He notices that you are watching him as well. He motions you over to him. He doesn't talk, but he does communicate, and you understand him as you would any other person, but you resist his power as he has none over you. You exist in his world, but are also separate. To be complete you must communicate with him.
He motions over one of the vixens, and you approve of her in every respect, but he warns you of your frailty in concern to this one. He has made her special just for you; she will break your heart, and you will be destroyed because of it ~ but she will also love you unconditionally for an indiscriminate period of time which he will not elaborate on. You ponder how long time is, and then recede into a deep contemplation of the matters of heart and soul, and then release your answer.
I will have her ~ for a time... I will love her ~ forever...
He respects your sentiment, and your courage, and motions her over closer. He places your hands into hers and you know her ~ instantly. She looks different from when you first saw her, like she was a cloud before and now she is fully materialized and real. More real than yourself in many respects, and because of this, you start to get dizzy from your own existential crisis, and suddenly she pulls you back, and you are blissfully happy...
You intend to have a home for her, and he anticipates. He walks you over to a small cottage at the top of a small hill, with one apple tree growing right off to the side in a very jaunty way.
There is a lake at the bottom of one side of the hill, and if it were winter I bet you could sled all the way from the front door to the other side of the lake (providing that the lake was frozen up real solid, and cleared of all that pesky powder). On the other side of the hill is a very quaint road made of packed earth bordered on both sides by those weeping willow trees that everybody is so found of when you see them on postcards, but are in reality, a real bitch to clean up from after an ice-storm.
You think about your future and wonder if you've made the right choice ~ knowing that she will break you. But you are comforted in your pleasure at the moments you have with her in the present, and would not trade them for a secure life, and a comfortable wife. You are a fool - a fool for love.
He laughs at you behind your back, knowing that his designs will win over your own. You are unaware of his intent, but he is not necessarily malignant in his intention, more like, mysterious and hard to read ~ especially in this respect, for although he has made the world you live in, he has no control over you except the art of a persuasive argument, so in many respects, you are as much of a wild card to him as he is to you... Also, since you are now bonded to her, she is now a follower of her own will as well, and not his. Although in realizing this you also remember that he did make her specifically for you, and because of this, he probably accounted for all of this in advance before he lost control ~ but all of this is just a distraction from her ~ to you right now...
Reality bites back...
You wake up in a fevered panic, from a dream you can’t quite remember, and quickly look around the room to try and get some clues to help you determine your possible whereabouts, and hope that, upon receiving this knowledge, it might lend some assistance to your mental faculties, so that the you that is in fact You, might succeed in an attempt to possibly ascertain who you are, and why you’re here in this particular Here, as you have seem to have forgotten...
*** you become he ***
He thought the dream was real, more real than than the real world was right now anyway. He was unsure, and unsteady in the ways in which he was dealing with the “real” world, and this forced him, for a second, to reconsider what reality was to him until he could find a better reason (or way) to argue with it.
“It don’t matter,” he said with an emphasis on the improper grammar. His world was destroyed. He had no concept of the here and now. He just wanted to tell somebody that something wasn't there, but he didn’t know who that somebody was, nor what the something was, and just as he started to dwell on this, he became suddenly enraptured by the detail of the room, the detail of his thoughts, and his ability to reason with ease and complexity. It was at this point that he realized that this was indeed, the real world, and nothing was going to change that anytime soon.
A moment of silence had passed during this time, and in thinking about this he began to feel a subtle bewilderment from his speech the moment before. Mostly this reaction was due to a cursory focus on his voice’s trepidation and also what he had deemed to be:
1. An unnatural relationship. Not only to the silence preexisting the exclamation, but also to the newly fallen and increasingly compressed silence falling after it.
To this he added:
2. The subjective acoustic intensity (measured by me) between now, then, and the then before then, varies so greatly that I am about to have a visible and physical reaction to the realization of this and also point 1.
He jumped. Not high or far, but with every aspect of his physical being, he jumped. He then looked around the room to see if anybody saw him jump, and in finding it clear of any equal consciousnesses, heroically stormed off into the bathroom of ill-discrepancy, whereby he proceeded to produce a special benefit concert for retarded intellectuals, featuring the rarely seen duo: Massive Shit and Two-hands-clutched-on-the-shower-curtain Puke. It was quite unexpected actually, and he certainly had no idea. He hadn’t even gone to any of the rehearsals, and now that his great moment was finally upon him he felt extremely sick at how he didn’t deserve the honor.
*** and then you return to your old self again ***
A few hours later, after you clean the bathroom and yourself up, you begin to remember parts of a dream you had the night before. Not any plot, or any other real substance, but almost a feeling of a feeling, or a thought of a thought. You hope you will have the dream again, but you are not really sure of when that will happen, if at all. So in the meantime, you have things to arrange and figure out for yourself and your survival, because you don’t know who you are, where you are, or why you’re so fucked up right now, so get it together, or you’re going to die, because that’s what happens in the real world.
~ some time passes ~
You have managed to concoct a possible reality as to why you, not only have no memory of your life, but also as to why the prior you might have acquired the room that the present you, now exists in.
It was just a matter of simple logic, really. When you were cleaning the place up from today's earlier festivities, you got a good idea about your motives for having this particular spot, when you stumbled upon an open and mostly empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor of the bathroom.
The first time you saw it, was during the crescendo of Mr. Puke's performance - Open-pill Bottle was literally moved and almost had to leave the theatre because of her personal connection to the subject matter, and had you known she was who she was at the time, you would have probably felt obligated to thank her for her generous donation, without which, you were quite solid on the fact, that the entire benefit would have been canceled, due to a sudden onset of performance anxiety from a certain Mr. Puke, who never seems like a diva at first, but turns out to be quite picky about his particulars on certain extra special occasions such as this one.
In any event, once you had made it to that section of the floor, and found Miss Bottle; you took the time to properly clean her up, and discovered in doing so (by examining the details of her soaking wet bodice), that the multitude of her progeny were solely dedicated to providing a healthy alternative to: operating heavy machinery, and internet porn. Strange sort of bunch really, but no one's really the wiser, especially since they also seem to wipe memories when people are trying to kill themselves, at least this is what you've figured out thus far.
You have to admit to yourself that, in hindsight, the memory loss bit, is a bit strange by itself. So during a motivated second inspection of your surroundings, you determine that your lack of personally known history could also have been a product of a collaboration between Miss Bottle's babies, and the prior inhabitants of the multitude of empty liquor bottles, fast food trash, and beer cans littered around the room, which consequently could also account for the illustrious duo's surprise performance this morning, if you were to concede that the prior tenants of all the housings mentioned above, squatted the night at One Abdomen Square only to be kicked out en masse the next morning.
You laugh to yourself as you consider that your body became a temple to so many vagrants, and wonder if your present state is the result of some sort of cosmic cleansing ritual, and maybe that is why you can't remember.
However...
It doesn't matter really, because in all supposed realities it always comes back to the same thing. You came to this place to kill yourself. It's a solid assumption, based on simple logic. Then you laugh again - this time out loud.
