UNDERGROUND VOICES: FICTION - 08/2005
WILLIAM P.

The lines that merge

The world did not end. I just felt it was a delicious time to leave. I wanted to escape the invisible prisons of that planet, and return only when I deemed it suitable for habitation. What I really wished is that I fall prey to some type of galactic time warp, and have the ability to harness the chronological power that controls all. But this was trivial to me. I, of course, knew nothing of matters involving time manipulation besides what I had heard through spoken word.

After I finalized this hasty descision, I went searching for a rhythmic transformer dealer immediately. These guys are simple to find, especially in the final hours of a Saturday night. These dealers pounce around the side streets of suburbia dodging law enforcement. Time dealers are easily recognized by their esoteric attire and the stubborn look of anticipation upon their faces. The mere aesthetic visual of these time dealers is a tale in itself. It's obvious from first glance that these nomads spend far too much time out of our reality. There are even rumors of those who have been in warp for periods upwards of twenty-five hundred Earth years.

It took only minutes to find one of these peculiar dealers. He wore an attire that reminded me of a 17th century pilgrim, an adventurous wardrobe fit for a ship such as the Mayflower. His face was unwashed, and he carried at his side a bizarre knapsack, evidently the storing area of his gear. He had shaggy brown hair, and looked to be an educated middle age man. He noticed my reduction of speed at once, and made a motion that signaled his allegiance to the warp. This was a time for business. I halted all other thoughts and began to anticipate to closing proximity of my limitless euphoria. I pulled over my car to the bike path on the side of the road. I turned off my lights. All that remained in my vision was the silhouette of the mysterious dealer. The sky was violet as I embarked to the street corner where the stranger crouched, unraveling his antique knapsack in preparation for the transaction. To my suprise, the pilgrim dealer spoke first.

"Looking for time?"

There was a brief silence. Then I replied in such a nervous tone that I immediately regretted it.

"Uhh... yes I am looking for time. What do you have in stock, Time Dealer?"

A sly grin sparked upon his face instantly. This meant business. These guys are so willing to sell these days. The prison time punishment has doubled in the past few decades. Few people take the risk using time in populated areas. It's just too risky. None of this was concerning to me on this night though. On this night, I would take any risks to get off this planet, away from the dissonance, away from they that guide us all.

"Ok good sir, I will check my parcel and see just what exactly I can manage for you this evening."

Just then I had a realization that this pilgrim was absolutely authentic. He spoke in the native dialect of the Queen. Words flew off of his ancient tongue like silk daggers.

"Well, sir, I think you are what the Yankees might call lucky tonight. I just got a new shipment from Brazil 317 AD, and this partiucular time constructor is noted throughout the fabric of human history as a most talented creator. I have three, yes you heard that correctly, three hits of 4:30 at fourty American dollars a warp. I have 2 crisp hits of 12:15 as well, and I'll sell you those at the absurdly low price of one hundred twenty of your American dollars."

These were indeed good prices. 4:30 itself is hard to find at all around my town. Still, I wanted something more effective. I wasn't planning on coming back in my lifetime. I wanted, not wanted, needed, something that would blast away any notion of a tomorrow. I spoke again, and as I spoke, the siren of this strange pilgrim's voice rang in my head even before he replied.

"Wow," I said in false enthusiasm, "those are really great prices. I'll give you that. But I'm looking for something a little more wild, like a black defacer or a silver flexor. This Yankee is not fooling around."

"Are you certain sir?"

"Yes." I spoke without emotion.

"Well, then sir, I think I might have the correct remedy for your problem. You haven't heard of it, its craftsmanship is one-hundred percent unique, from that third Reich, developed by a certain political tyrant by the name of Hienler Bergquake."

The name didn't ring a bell, but it sounded like a serious score. The expression of the dealers face had changed from casual to interested at the mention of what I wanted to acquire. Reality busters like those invented by Mr. Bergquake are nothing for the schoolboys.

"The only concern is, it isn't a flawless model. It's recall function is damaged, how damaged, I am not sure. The point sir, that I am trying to stress is, there is a high probability you won't have the ability to choose your return destination or time. But a man of your pristine caliber surely knows the dangers associated with time gear, so I will not lecture you on the issue any further."

"Yes I am well aware of the complications that can arise."

"All right sir, now that we have discussed the technicalities for my moralities sake, lets talk of the prices. I will give you this rare reality releaser for two-hundred and forty dollars, no more, no less. You cannot deny the sacrifices I make for this deal, but in you I see a brutal honesty, and I cannot afford to be devious on account of my own greed. Therefore, two-hundred forty of your your American dollars is my final offer. Do you accept? Answer quickly, for time is of the essence in a trivial trade such as mine."

"Deal, its a deal."

I spoke quickly, without any further deliberation. My choice was made. The dealer said something to the effect of:

"My expectation is reality will not be noticing you for quite some time Sir."

Then he quickly removed the time goggles and the status screen from his jacket pocket. He seemed to give them both one last glance, then placed them in my waiting hands, as if parting with a loved one. After this he vanished into the night. The violet sky was changing black, and I was left alone with the materials for my escape. The wind bounced against the multi-layer homes onto my face. It felt clean.

After I entered my car, I came to the conclusion that saying good-bye to Sarah was pointless. Now that I had this warp kit, she was gone forever out of my existence. Possibly, just possibly, on some distant planet in some distant time, we would meet again, but not in this world. This world was about to witness the departure of one more soul, and the sad thing was, it didn't care.

I decided to exit the boundaries of time at that very moment. I flipped the switch on the holographic screen, and attached the wire on the goggles to the side panel of the miniature apparatus. I held the goggles close to my eyes. In a brief instant I had second thoughts, but then thought better of any alternative. My only path is the path of nothing. For centuries I will remain stationed in my own mind, in my own world, in my own space. I will not exist anywhere but in my own thoughts. And when I am cleansed of the plague of learned attitude, learned morality, and learned stupidity implanted on each human on that Earth, I will return.

I put the goggles to my eyes. There is a loss of sound, followed by the growth of a small violet sphere in the center of an ashen background. The light gets closer and closer, bigger and bigger, till my thoughts snap and I lose consciousness.

I awake surrounded by the stars and planets that were out of reach my whole life. My infinite redemption begins. This is how I will exist for centuries and centuries. Pure euphoria. And when I return I only wish I can drown in my own happiness without the aid of a rhythmic narcotic.









2005 Underground Voices