Part XVI

 

I opened my eyes.

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

Oh no.

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

Not this again.

It is one of the fundamental universal laws – history repeats itself.

This is because of two predominant rules

1.      People are idiots

2.      People are idiots

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

No, I refuse. I will not repeat last year’s story with slightly better-looking people and call it a reboot. It has been acceptable to throw in concentrated twinkly lights, more expensive CGI and call it new and improved. You can’t improve on the original when the original is a (mostly) true story. ‘Mostly’ because history is usually written by the winners.

In this case, it isn’t.

This history is written by the one who has chosen not to lose just yet.

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

Against my better judgement, I let my eyes take in my surroundings. If only to put an end to that addictive ring tone.

The achromatic colour of maximum lightness brought every retinal cone in my eyes to fast attention. It wasn’t harsh though. It was like a warm towel - comforting and…

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

My eyes tried to adjust. But it’s hard to adjust when there is nothing to focus on. White? No. Emptiness? A lack of imagination stretched in every direction for miles. Or for centimetres. It was impossible to tell without a ruler.

My body felt in perfect working order. Synapses fired and muscles resulted in movement. I blinked to clear the cobwebs. I turned and turned again, it’s worth saying even though the action seemed to have no result.

“This,” said a voice as its owner immediately materialised into view, “Is the Crocstruct”.

Colour filtered into view. A humanoid character in a well-tailored dark suit looking very dapper came into the picture.

“Croc?”

“You know me as Croc, but here, you can call me…Horpheus.”

“Whore-Fee-Us?”

“Yes. Why do you always do this? I try to deliver some dramatic intensity, some ‘joie de croco’ and you have interrupt to ask stupid questions.”

“Sorry?!”

“Since you have interrupted, you wouldn’t happen to have any weed would you? No? Fucking history repeats itself.”

This was a lot to take in, but I have learnt to avoid the edges when trying to understand the Croc. And when I say avoid the edges, I mean all the edges and everything between all the edges.

 

Horpheus	Like I was saying, this is the Crocstruct.
Me	Does this mean I’m inside you?
Horpheus	What? No? You sick fuck. This is…I guess we can call it our loading program. You see, last year, you kind of shut down.
Me	I died?
Horpheus	No. I think a way of saying it, is that your brain tried switching itself on and off again.
Me	You mean ‘off and on again’
Horpheus	What did I say? Fuck off, you know what I meant.
Me	I’m still trying to piece together what happened and your impersonation of IT support isn’t helping.
Horpheus	You know I hate it when you make me do the recap you lazy bastard –   You’re trying to kill Santa Claus. Because he’s an evil git. Git? Is that a word or something else you made up to win at Scrabble?
Me	I think it’s a word. It’s too late to check now.
Horpheus	Yeah, anyway. ‘Evil fucker’ – ‘supernatural deity’ – ‘bit of a dodgy cretin’ – and you think you can kill him with your words.

 

Two faded and comfortable looking wingback armchairs had appeared between us which we had been drawn towards as we had chatted.

“Words have power,” I said, “Sticks and stones leave bruises. Words hurt you on the inside.”

He ignored me. A tiny table appeared in front of the chairs and the Croc sat down with a sound of a thousand horses passing wind at the same time. A large bottle of gin, a glass and various ingredients appeared, which he immediately started concocting into a potion.

“Are you sure you don’t have any weed?” he asked me hopefully. I have to say that that optimism would power a reasonably sized country for a long time.

A small tv appeared in front of us as I took to the spare chair giving a longing look at the glass that the Croc was sipping on.

 

Me	You said we were…inside…a Crocstruct…what’s that like, a computer programme?
Horpheus	Is it really so hard to believe? You had a complete mental breakdown. You were there. I was there. Santa was there. Well, we were there…virtually…which is pretty much being right there these days.   The reality of the world was brought down on you all at once. The pandemic which Santa implied you started…just thrown at you. Your faith and beliefs and mission and purpose questioned in one video call without the incentive of a performance bonus. So, your mind shut down, I guess. Your body is out there, but you needed this reboot. You would have been perfectly fine if you had had some weed.
Me	This…isn’t real?
Horpheus	What is real? How do you define real? If you’re talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then 'real' is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain.
Me	So, what is this?
Horpheus	This is the dream world that you have created for yourself. Welcome…to…the desert of your mind.
Me	I don’t believe it, it’s not possible.
Horpheus	I didn’t say it would be easy Captain, I just said it would be the truth.

 

This made no sense. Anger and anxiety elevated in those parts of the body that make it known. My mind raced. My heart tried to keep pace. My tummy felt the meals of ten thousand long dead butterflies.

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do…. doooo

The white landscape shifted. The Croc, aka Horpheus, disappeared.

A magnitude of history flashed before my eyes. This did not bode well if I was lying down somewhere being attended to by masked men and women. Bright white light. Life flashing before my eyes. My head began to ache.

·        My pet chicken, Cat, recreating battles with lizards and monkeys in the garden.

·        Me turning Cat2 into a meme of a very metal seagull.

·        Cat the Third suicide sky diving with me and missing the island we were aiming for. He didn’t know how to swim. Neither did I. But he made an excellent pontoon.

·        That time that C4 accidentally transformed into a spy and spent a lot of time trying to figure out how sex worked without feathers.

·        And of course, CatRINA…

Do-do-do-do…do-do-do-do….do-do-do-do….doooo

The phone suddenly was in my hand, as if it had been seductively buzzing there all along.

“Hello?” I said with little humour.

“Hello.”

The voice wasn’t CatRINA’s. It was human. Gentle. Kind.

“You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“I used to sell insurance over the phone.”

“What kind of insurance?”

“Death insurance.”

“Don’t you mean life insurance?”

“The only things that are certain in life are death and taxes. I find it is a good sell. I insure that a person will die.”

“Did you say insure or ensure?”

“Close your eyes, my dear cuckoo, this is all a dream.”

Well, there wasn’t much to do in a wasteland of emptiness, so following random orders from a disembodied voice wasn’t even in the top ten of the dumbest things I’ve done.

*

I opened my eyes.

The white was replaced with a slightly darker version of white. I was looking at the ceiling of a dirty eggshell coloured room. Harsh fluorescent light flickered hypnotically as if asthmatically coughing along to a beat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small dust covered window covered with a chicken-mesh metal guard that let in a weak splash of sunshine. The window was cracked, and the sunlight was taking the unfair advantage of hitting me with reflections of its brilliance.

“Hello,” the voice again came and this time I realised I wasn’t holding the phone anymore and was horizontal. I turned my head. No, I tried to turn my head, but I couldn’t. I then tried to rub the confusion out of my eyes, but my hands were not cooperating. It turned out that I was strapped down to the bed. I also couldn’t speak as my mouth was filled with something that tasted of old leather. This felt a lot like something that Guru Shaun the Monster would be behind. I panicked. Very few things in life scare me more than Guru Shaun the Monster being behind something, especially if that something was me.

“Don’t struggle!”

The voice was female. This didn’t entirely preclude this being one of Guru Shaun’s ‘natural healing’ centres, but I did stop squirming. It wasn’t really helping in any case.

Before I could come up with any cunning escape plans, a cloth was placed over my mouth and…darkness.

*

I opened my eyes.

I woke in a panic. I jerked up against the bonds, only to hit my head really hard on something above me. My head throbbed as I investigated if I had struck blood. It then occurred to me that the surroundings were now dark; a liquorice type of blackness that swam around me.

I was in a bunk bed and had found the hazards of sleeping on the bottom. There was a sense of movement from all around me. I cautiously slipped my legs over the side. My head buzzed from the cocktail of chloroform and the world’s habit of using my head as a football.

As my feet hit the floor, momentum carried me forward as a sardine rush of bodies walked towards a vague light in the middle of the room. As the light improved, I managed to get more of a sense of the surroundings. It was line after line of bunk beds – three beds tall as far as I could see. I was jostled along by figures dressed in green track suits. I looked down and found I was similarly dressed.

The figures excelled into neat columns and rows. The faces were non-descript, emotionless and unidentifiable. For lack of anything better to do, I joined the ranks.

It didn’t take long before a buzzer sliced through the buttery air. Two doors parted like lips taking in a breath. Nine figures dressed in pink jumpsuits black masks entered. [Enigmatic music played].

What fucking nonsense is this?

It took me back to the last year. The conversation. The masked figures. Me. The destruction and resulting devastation.

Eight of the figures wore masks with a simple circle on the front instead of a face. The one in the centre had a square instead of a circle. This was clearly a few guys who couldn’t afford a PS5 and were pretending to be a controller. They looked like little pimples that had grown a consciousness and were now planning to start a boy band.

Pink Bob Square Face stepped forward as the [enigmatic music] became more of an enigma.

“I would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all,” a metallic voice said, “Everyone here will participate in a set of games over the next few days.”

Did this fucker just ask if we’d like to play a game?

“The winner will win a sweet prize.”

No thanks Turkish, I’m sweet enough.

I chuckled to myself.

“You bastards took my phone!” one of the sardines had clearly had enough, “I haven’t checked my Instagram in over an hour.”

I’m sure it’s still there, mate.

“We reluctantly have to take these measures. We must maintain confidentiality and also you really should take some time out from your screen. It’s an addition you know.”

The sardine that spoke let out a gargled scream, rolled up into a ball and began swiping on a floor tile.

“Why are you wearing masks?” another sardine asked.

“We are in the middle of a pandemic. It is only wise.”

We all looked around at each other. This was about the summary of the pandemic. Nine people wore masks religiously and kept courteously apart. The rest of us were might as well have been on the floor of a rave and licking the walls. 

“Listen,” said a sardine, “I don’t mind your games but I just want to be clear. I do not want to be vaccinated. This person on Facebook made a good point that we don’t know what’s in the vaccine. Doctor? No, no, she’s a florist or something, but she makes a good point you know. This is a money-making scheme and anyway, God will protect me. The government is lying to us. And people that have been vaccinated are still getting Covid, so I rest my case.”

With that the sardine coughed twice and died.

“Can we skip ahead a bit,” I realised I was the sardine in question now, “It’s just that standing around is tiring and I could use a cup of coffee or six.”

The square paused as if wondering why people even bothered with a script if everyone was going to improvise which was just a Colin Mockery of everything.

“Follow the white rabbit.”

A white rabbit appeared wearing a dark green waistcoat, a bowler hat and smoking an orange cigarette.

It began to hop down a pink and yellow corridor; and we, the ever-faithful flock, followed in silence in single file. After five minutes, I decided that enough was enough and going through life as a sheep wasn’t as much fun as going through life as a butcher.

I pushed my way through the crowd and caught up with the rabbit who had paused to light a fresh cigarette, in a scene that must have been cut from Pan’s Labyrinth.

“Do you really have time for that?” I asked.

The white rabbit gave me a curious look, “What’s the rush?”

Of course, it could talk. “I thought we needed to get somewhere.”

“I’m sure it will still be there when we get there.” A citrusy smell came off the cigarette, “Fancy one? You can have a red one or a blue one.”

I looked longingly at the inviting whispers of smoke that caressed his whiskers and wafted softly around his ears.

“No…no…thanks though.”

“That’s a nice hat. Do you want to swap?”

I had somehow acquired a well-worn top hat. It was brown and felt as if it had lived a life previously. A pink silk scarf wrapped around it with a large card reading 10/6 on the one side. I put it back on my head. A voice whispered in my ears, “You could be great you know…it’s all here in your head.”

That was very creepy, so I took off the hat, “It’s all yours, rabbit, I guess you’ll be using it for magic tricks, or something crazy like that?”

“I’m not crazy, Captain, my reality is just different from yours.”

The voice had changed. His ears had shortened, and face melted into a more feline shape. The eyes had grown into two little moons. Still holding the cigarette between his teeth, his mouth opened into an impossibly large smile. “After all, we’re all mad here.”

The face melted into the darkness, feature by feature; with the crescent of the smile laughing lastly into nothingness.

I shrugged it off and ran forward. Without a guide, ‘forward’ meant following my nose. The rabbit/cat had left me in what appeared to be a dark gloom of a network of corridors. The walls were damp when suddenly they became a mix of large mirrors and various screens.

When was the last time you really looked at yourself? I had been avoiding it for years. Every reflective surface glowed with my familiar features. Each reflection looked back at me disappointedly. Every reflection was an alternate reality, a moment of time frozen where a different choice could have been made. Here, the reflection of me as a family man. Here, the devout religious and spiritual fellow. Here, a doctor. Of philosophy.

I ran from reflection to reflection, because every one was a dream not taken. A devastatingly distant point from reality. The butcher. The baker. The rock star. The computer programmer who became middle management and wouldn’t end up changing the world. I stopped and stared. He stared back at me.

“Who are you?” he said as he cocked his head.

I balled up my fists in a fit of rage and shattered the glass. Every glass shattered. The sound was thunderous.

Thin ribbons of red slipped down my hands as I cried out, surrounded by the broken pieces looking back at me. And a set of eyes that weren’t mine.

“Who the fuck are you?” I yelled.

It was a little man in a pink jumpsuit that had been watching a Tik Tok video on a small mobile phone he was holding in one hand; and what looked like a very heavy sandwich in the other. He yelled at me spitting little pieces of bread and cheese in my direction. In a blind rage, I yelled again and ran at him.

*

I opened my eyes.

Music played in the distance. It sounded like a version of happy birthday you sing to creepy possessed children in horror movies. I’m sure they have birthdays too. I pulled on the pink jumpsuit leaving the man sprawled on the floor. I wrapped my broken fingers in a makeshift bandage of ripped cloth and looked at his mask. It had a question mark on it. I put it on and walked towards the source of the sound hoping there was cake.

*

I opened my eyes.

The music had stopped. Bodies littered the floor. It looked like a game of hide and seek but the seeker had heavy artillery. Hide and seek was a bad guess at the game as it was a desert with nowhere to hide. Just sand and bodies and blood. I had the urge to start collecting them and place them in piles according to their height. Or where they had been shot.

I looked down at them trying to recognise something in them. Their faces were meaningless. A memory of different times.

·        Childhood wonderment (bang) replaced by Google wisdom.

·        The yell of rebellion (bang) replaced by the whisper conformity.

·        The beauty of imagination (bang) replaced by comedy of paint by numbers.

·        The art of chaos (bang) replaced by the structure of process.

·        The power of faith (bang) replaced by the comfort of cynicism.

·        Bang

·        Bang

·        Bang

I tripped my way to an exit.

*

I opened my eyes.

I was in a different place. It was an active game. My tummy reacted by jumping into my throat. But luckily for the mask, no one noticed. Actually because of the mask, I was able to walk freely amongst the game.

The room was a large auditorium made to look like a playground. But exaggerated in size to become adult sized. Slides and swings played with each other as a see oversaw an argument between the jungle gym and the trampoline. A place that contradicted its existence by existing.

The players were dotted around the playground, engrossed in something that would have been better suited to a kitchen.

I walked to the nearest person and stood in their light. They were tracing something into what looked like a biscuit with a pin.

“Oi, get out of my light,” he shouted up at me, sweat dripping down his forehead.

It looked vaguely like an umbrella. Or a Christmas tree.

Santa? A wave of anxiety washed over me. I hadn’t thought about Santa for a long time. I guess I blocked it out.

Bang.

The broken cookie fell into the sand as another pink suited figure tried to look at me questioningly with only a circle as a face.

I bent down and picked up the cookie. Anxiety crippled me. Anger and hate slipped its tentacles into me and I bit my tongue to fight back the hot tears forming in my eyes.

I glanced around at other cookies. Fear written on the sweetest things. The fear that we accept. Birds. Heights. Water. Santa. The camouflaged fear of never becoming the person I should have been. Disappointing the people who love me. Hurting the few others who stayed. Choosing unhappiness as a necessity. Not knowing the what the colour of happiness is anyway.

Bang.

Fear of change. Failure. Being judged.

Bang.

Fear of success. Commitment. Fucking FOMO.

Bang.

Rejection. Rejection. Rejection.

I angrily ran at the closest person in a pink panther suit and tackled him hard. I grabbed his gun and waved it at the enclosing wave of pink protesters. I didn’t know how to use a gun but the mechanics seemed easy enough. It was like a sword with a trigger. Pointy end at target. Squeeze.

The figures cautiously approached me. I ripped off my mask. Your enemies should always have a face. Enemy.

I turned the gun on myself.

Bang.

*

I opened my eyes.

“Oh Captain, my Captain…”

The voice was human. Gentle. Kind.

I was about to knee-jerk myself awake but memories of my forehead hitting metal quelled that.

I could move my head, and my hands weren’t strapped down. I allowed my eyes the time to learn how to see again. Light blue walls were framed by splashes of colour.

I rolled slightly to get a more complete view of my surroundings. Shelves filled with books patrolled the walls. The odd knick-knack dotted their places between the books and on one shelf was a very proud looking stuffed monkey.

I was lying on a very comfortable grey couch.

I realised that a figure was sitting quietly in the corner on a single seater couch. She was likely the owner of the voice, as there wasn’t anyone else in the room. She wore a gold suit that sparkled in the afternoon light. A gold hood covered her hair. I guessed she was looking at me, but I couldn’t be sure as she was wearing a mask. It didn’t have any geometrical graffiti on it and this one had topographical facial features. Holes for eyes, a striking peninsula for a nose, distinct cheek bones and perfectly shaped lips.

Two dogs sat on guard. They weren’t wearing masks. A bee buzzed somewhere in the room.

“Who are you?” I asked, my throat was parched, and my voice cracked the words into being.

“Perhaps the more important question is…who are you?”

“I’m the Captain. You said so yourself. Do you have anything to drink?”

She stood up and from a crystal-clear bottle that shimmered with jewelled beads of fragile liquid, poured me a glass of water. She walked over to me as I tried to sit up. She held the water to her chest as if deciding whether to give it to me or not.

“Nature doesn’t break,” she said thoughtfully, “It only bends.”

“Water beats rock the last time I checked.”

She looked at me through the mask and I could make out the fluttering of her eyelashes as she blinked. She handed me the glass and I downed the water so quickly I almost choked.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“Everybody's got two wolves inside them. Both of them are starving. The one wolf is anger, envy, pride. The other one is truth, kindness. Every day they tear each other apart. But it's not the better wolf that wins. It's the one you feed.”

Sounded like she was twelve monkeys short of a barrel.

“Which one do you feed, Kamal?”

“Okay look,” my strength wasn’t coming back but sarcasm wins any race hands down, “Shall I just call you Stanley? Or Michael? Or Jason? Or one of those Mexican wrestlers?”

“We all wear masks…metaphorically speaking.”

“Let’s get past the literal mask then.”

“No one cared who I was until I put on the mask…”

“Let’s be honest, you have the mask on now, and I still don’t care.”

She walked to a corner of the room that had a mirror.

“You can call me…” she said with her back to me. I could see her fiddling for a second. The moment passed. The climax paused pretending to tie its shoelace. “Potato! Bugger this thing!”

“Do you need some help?”

“Yeah okay, the clip is caught on…good that’s great…thank you.”

I went back to the couch.

“You can call me…” she removed the mask and turned around, “Nurse Catched.”

I looked at her. She looked at me.

“Are you fucking kidding me??”

“What?”

“Nurse Catched. That’s so not your real name.”

“Oh really. Captain, is it? Or UnderdoG? Or UG. I have it on good authority you go by Zeus in some countries.”

I gave her that look when someone has already Googled the answer, “Fair enough.”

She lowered the hoodie.

She was beautiful.

Like all kinds of good things shoved into a bag and handed out to deserving people every year. She bit her lower lip and half smiled. I melted.

“Is this real?” I asked

“What is real? You clearly don’t care about the concept. You’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to kill Santa Claus. Because Santa Claus is…evil? Captain, Santa Claus is not real!”

I looked at her.

She continued, “Santa Claus is not real. You were lost in life, caught between that struggle of dreams and reality. The dreams you carried and built as a child on a foundation of sand. You had to throw away childish things to grow up. You have been trying to find a mission that is imaginary because you struggle to find real purpose in your life. You have invented a parody of your own life to cover up your own struggles with unhappiness, loneliness, addiction, and fear. You developed both a hero and villain complex, constantly fighting each other.”

I looked at her because I couldn’t look myself in the eye.

“You once wanted to change the world. You drown out true greatness with the diluted imagery of fictional heroism. And even in your story, you’re a loser. You’re a fat, alcoholic, bearded shadow in what is your idea of a clever parallel to Santa. You hide behind witticism and sarcasm that you spent hours Googling over. Most of the story is plagiarised parody that isn’t even original. It’s just stories of stories. You’re leading a second hand life, Kamal.”

“So…what you’re saying is…this is not real?”

“I think you’re missing the point. It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to face your own sense of mortality, but you’re just battling your feeling of inadequacy. You crave affirmation but you can’t take a compliment so you end up brushing off affection. Your need to be loved but your knee-jerk reaction to push away anyone willing to love you.”

“But I’ve got family?” I cried desperately, “Friends.”

“Your string of cats? Do you find it interesting that not one of them was actually a cat?”

“Oh no, definitely – cats are fucking evil, wouldn’t trust one with a ball of string.”

“And this Crocodile Hasen. Also a hero and a villain. Just without a conscience. Your own psyche without the constraints. No one would believe that such a thing exists. He is probably a perfectly ordinary human being with a name like Bob or Sid.”

I paused.

“You almost had me there for a minute.”

“What?”

“You almost had me. Who are you really? What is this place?”

She lowered her head into her hands and seemed to sob.

Her eyes opened.

Her face changed. She laughed. An evil laugh. A beautiful, evil laugh. Her dogs barked along with huge grins on their faces.

“Tomatoes. Why is it that the Croc is the beacon of reality? He is so irritating.”

She giggled again and let out a quick sharp burst of excited glee, as if she’d just found the perfect present under the Christmas tree.

“Santa?”

“No, no, I’m not Santa. I’m too good to be Santa Claus.”

She moved stealthily around the room as I glanced around for possible weapons. I could hit her with a cushion and run for it.

She walked over to me and that smile came inches from mine, “I’m just…having some fun.”

She ran her finger down my neck and I shuddered uncontrollably.

“No,” I yelled as I pushed her hands away while simultaneously trying to get my head behind my left foot, “I will not stand for this.”

“What’s real, Captain? What are you fighting?” she asked as she wrestled my hands in hers. Her hands were soft.

I had to get out of here. I stood up but my legs suddenly felt devoid of feeling. I slipped back down. The realisation dawned.

“What? What was in the water?”

“Don’t you know? Never accept candy from strangers…”

She laughed again excitedly.

The world slipped in and out of focus. What was this? Who was this? And why was she so beautiful?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry?”

“I’m sorry. The good time is over. Because I'm going to sleep now.”

And my eyes closed.