I’ve written some more, and here it is, for your criticism and/or enjoyment. I don’t care, don’t do it for profit anyway.
P.S. For the newcomers: Here’s part 1. http://torquemadastark.wordpress.com/2011/04/21/madame-kurz-sells-time/
Madame Kurz Sells Time
Whomever said that winning isn’t important, that it’s the road to victory that matters surely hadn’t experienced a war. Striving to understand what was going on, i went to the front of the bus to inspect the body of the driver. He didn’t breathe and had no pulse – and was strangely cold. That means, he (well…we, to be precise) had been lying here for a couple of hours at least.
That was irritating to say the least. It didn’t seem likely that no one had noticed the car crash and called the police. I continued to read the book, as i had nothing better to do.
At least, it was warm here.
The orange cube had a warm, lovable feeling attached to it as well.
Half an hour passed, and i finished the chapter about the world war one. It’s a sad chapter really. It’s a shame that Germany lost, they seemed so lovable, and if they’d won, there would be no Soviet Union and no Hitler. And no France too, as an added bonus. Decided that it might be a nice time to have a smoke. I suppose, as i’ve waited here for some time, the police wouldn’t object if i waited for them right beside the bus, while having a cigarette.
Did you know, that sleeping takes you elsewhere? Well, i was there now. Still am. It’s a superposition of time and non-time.
I couldn’t open the door. It seemed stuck, even as i pulled the emergency switch. It was a stupid idea anyway, who could punish me for smoking in here right now? As I searched my pockets for a lighter, the bus driver took a long, sad look at me, and asked: “Looks beautiful, doesn’t it? Am doing this tomorrow, you know. I hope it’ll look natural enough.”
“Natural for what exactly?” I asked him back, while my cigarette fell on the floor, as my expression became gradually filled with surprise.
“Suicide, my imaginary friend, what else? It’s weird that my subconsciousness doesn’t know what i’m planning.” The driver’s smile was getting creepier by the moment, and his delusions got me scared. I didn’t know how much sense it made back then.
“Subconsciousness, yes. Indeed. Of course. Right. Well, seeing as you’re alive and almost sane after all, i’d be pleased if you’d tell the police that i’ve had no involvement in this, and would let me out so that i could walk home perhaps?”
The man laughed – he did that in the way that reminds you a clown in a kids party, except the clown is a mass murderer and the kid’s party is a bunch of police officers. And the police officers are all locked inside a bus. And the bus is on fire.
“You’re the strangest dream i’ve ever had. Usually, i get people talking to me when i’m sleeping, but this is funny too. So, my other me, explain me, why do i see and hear you, while i’m daydreaming on a bus? This is going to be over tomorrow, and i want to know while I still can.”
Instinctively, trying to get my phone, I checked my left pocket. Of course, the phone was still dead. And i had forgotten that i had put the phone in my jacket, to free some space for the glowing orange box. Now I occasionally wonder, how it is like to forget something. Simple, enjoyable things are best left outside of pockets and in plain sight, lest we forget their importance, take them for granted and then they are irreversably lost, finding their place in the oblivion, next to our childhood dreams, past lovers and whatever else destiny has deemed necessary to be replaced by suffering.
Panic is never a good option…and the orange box seemed to calm me down. Hell, I had just bought some time. Sure, this was strange, but what the heck, if the man’s crazy, at least i’ll have a good story to tell. Besides, my glowing cube, although frightening and strange, was still cute, because it was orange. Orange things can’t be sad, you know. It doesn’t have any buttons too, so it’s protected from the people the likes of which can’t even press buttons properly.
Thus, i just grabbed a seat, lighted my cigarette and took a deep breath of the poisonous nicotine. I took my had off too, as to look more polite. The gush of redwind surrounded me for the first time ever. This wasn’t my world. This was his. All of it, he had lost more than his will to live, he had nothing else in his world but this damn bus. “So…this suicide. Tell me more about it.” If I were to be someone’s consciousness, i’d better be a responsible one.
“Nothing special, really. You know, i used to be a driver for an ambulance car. There went my dreams of becoming a race driver, kid.” He started to recognize me as something foreign to his world, but he wouldn’t have the ability to toss me out, even if he wanted to. I walk where I want. I’m the Offlock.
“Failing to reach childhood dreams, I see. Have a family?”
“Yeah, used to. Not much left, though. Wife left me and took the kids with her. The usual story about me, not achieving expectations. Didn’t earn enough money, didn’t arrive at home on time, didn’t raise children well. And now, i’m here. Alone with you in this tree. Doing this tomorrow. Last buses are perfect. Would have done this today, but i don’t want to take anyone with me, you know. The lad looks smart, is reading some sort of a book – i’m not that good with foreign languages, can’t tell. Would be a shame, really.”
She explained all of this later. Madame Kurz introduced me to that damned picture, and that changed my life. I met her a couple of years later, in a completely different sphere. It’s important that you understand as well. We all live in our realities. You live, that is. Each one of us has their own sphere of reality, and we’re the authors there. Then, on a level above this, there are the spheres of our friends, family and colleagues. We have limited control over them, but they abide by the common rules, accepted in all the spheres where they are overlapping. Think of this, as an endless set of 3D Venn diagramms. In the grandest scale, our total sum of human realities interfere with each other, and produce our common reality, driven by our consciousness. The very real reality. The one where i live in.
And like crazy animals or primitive cavemen, the spheres are living in a world of eternal conflict, the bigger one’s consuming the smaller ones, and causing their extinction and alliances are being formed, as the smaller spheres often unite to overtake a larger one. And sometimes, there are spheres bigger than the reality itself. That’s why i must kill her now.
Not that you would notice this. The real reality, the common ground of all of us probably is where you spend the smallest portion of your day. Your sphere, i’m sure, connects to the reality through your society sphere, which is barely on the edge of it, and your own world is more or less on the edge on that one. And that is okay, otherwise we would all lose our individuality and would not care about such pity things as death. Or time. But now and then the spheres stray completely off our common sphere, and then we put the people in asylums and prisons.
And now, i have to kill her, the witch, the creator of the anti-sphere. She took mine, but now the redwind allows me to travel wherever i want. Due to the box, time has no meaning as well. And I don’t have a personal sphere where to hide in. I’m not the author. I’m not an author even. She was. Is. This man was.
Now, let me remind you that I was operating only on my instincts at that time. The box guided the way, and She wasn’t even there. And i hadn’t even heard of the redwind yet.
But still, even then, I understood that i had to do something, and I was about to do my best.
I’m still ashamed that it wasn’t enough.