Can the Water Cry for Me?

He let the railing freeze his hands and let the wind whip like liquid nitrogen and burn his face. He was dying, or he would have been if he hadn’t seen that sneaky blue light over in the woods.

A blue dome of light just radiating there as if it was totally fine with out a lid. He figured this light thought it was too good for a barrier, just like everything in life was too good for him.

He was leaning backwards hanging over the reservoirs black waters.

Death? He said aloud, as if he was calling it home. Home, he thought, is death my new home? He shuddered and gripped the railing tighter.

He looked over his shoulder and stared down hard at the dancing molten volcanic glass-like liquid. He figured even the water wanted to show him it was having a better life than he ever could. He could actually hear the water telling him to let go, how he will never be as happy as those slippery dancing waves. He might as well let the water choke the life from him, the water told him this with a smirk and a sigh.

Might he?

The waters said to him that they could suffocate him and dance at the same time. Then the water asked what he could do at the same time as dying.

He checked his grip. One hand at a time.

He was more agile than he thought he would have been. Considering he had been hanging over the water like a half mast flag for about an hour.

His desire to die was more sever than the lack of desire to be killed by a talking reservoir. I quit, he thought and gave up.

He decided that it would be cheating after all, to let the water murder him. To be honest, to kill ones self, one must kill ONESELF.

He flung his body over the railing, and it was only at the last second, when he was actually safe, that his stomach began to queeze from the height, the distance he could have fallen. He was afraid and decided he was a chicken, and frowned realizing that the water knew it too. He heard it laughing at him as it rolled away towards the shore.

He woke on his back on his bed in a mediocre sweat. Or was it from his clothes drying from the cold. He didn’t care, he could care less about his own thoughts about his dampness or lack thereof.

He ran his hands over his face, but silence fell throughout his body. Blindsided and aghast, like a old woman. Stunned, he touched what felt like huge metal balls under his skin. Probably an inch round, laying just under the seven layers of surface skin.

He jumped and jolted, and was so utterly disgusted by the feel of it. But he couldn’t stop touching it, they were all over his face. So he touched and convulsed and frenzied until at last he sat on his hands.

The air in the room was a color like chartreuse if chartreuse was a still a burgundy and not a green as well. And it was because of this color paradox that the window begged to be released from its duty to “stay down”.

He overheard the pain coming from the window and released it momentarily from the grips of gravity and looked outside.

Where in holy hell was he? All he could see for miles were what looked like buildings but instead of windows there were screens. And on each screen was a person watching the people inside the apartments.

He went to put his head in his hand but in more of a slap kind of way and nearly knocked himself out. He had hit on one of the balls so hard on his fore head that he knew, without any doubt, like at all, like the sun is sure to rise kind of sure, that he would never do that again. It really hurt and more than the pain of the newness, it was kinda awkward and put a queeze in his stomach. This time he threw up, making it out the window and just in time to notice what looked like an eight foot black spider crawling through what he had thought had been a solid screen portraying a watcher on the outside of the apartment.

The apartment that the scary spider thing was in now, was watcher-less and he could see the person inside was being held by the mouth by a spiders leg. There were hooks of light dropping from the power lines and through the walls and into this poor defenseless humans head.

It didn’t last long, the light hooks ripped into the human tearing it apart. The spider ate this human raw. No bbq sauce, though surely it would have been sitting right there in the fridge.

He would have thrown up if he had anything left in him, instead he jaw dropped gawked at the monster that was now leaving the apartment.

This spider was gangly and gross and went down to a room about a half a block away and in the dim maroon morning light he watched as it opened a panel and pressed buttons. He marveled as the spider stood to be scanned, the panel closed and the room was filled with light.

A man that looked identical to the one that the spider just ate was there in a golden glow, washing his dishes, as if the spider had never been there at all. This man never lost a beat, he would have won on So you Think you can Dance.

The hologram of a new watcher was now covering the only portal opening into the reality tv show that he was now trapped in.

He needed to get away. He needed to go to the bathroom.

He turn and headed toward the interior of the apartment and opened his bedroom door.

It was the same. It was his apartment.

Maybe he had been dreaming, maybe spiders weren’t really eating people inbetween space time. But when he lifted his hand to his cheek he knew he wasn’t dreaming. The warm metal spheres sullenly vanquished his doubt.

He sat down on the toilet and lifted a book out of a basket. It was the Berenstain Bears. He threw it against the wall and shouted forever, as if someone might come and save him.

This was why everything had been changing. People are being dropped into time lines that, prior to being eaten by inter-dimensional time spiders, they had never been in before. And if enough people are moved through the multiverses within our 11 dimensions. Things are bound to go sideways.

He felt relief in more ways than one, flushed and left, leaving the stink of an extraterrestrial betrayal behind him.

Maybe there would be answers to his specific little lifes quandaries at that impossibly blue light in the woods.

He had to try something because watching all those people live there lives as if he didn’t have metal balls in his face or as if they weren’t getting eaten by hairy space spiders was crushing him. They didn’t have a clue. From what he could tell they didn’t even know there was a huge breach in the hulls of their lives.

The blue light was much larger than he thought, and was truly contained by nothing, he curtly surmised this as he pushed passed it, walking slowly like molasses through water.

And as he seeped through the light barrier he could hear the water plotting behind him at the shore line. Words full of chicanery and verbal abuse. He ignored the waters blatant vapid ignorance towards human beings and approached the being that stood in the middle of the Aqua dome like a giant pillar of salt. The only thing that made this alien centerpiece remarkable, was a bird of light perched on its head.

What am I to make of you, he thought at the alien. And it thought back. You are a watcher of the watchers. If you have not found peace, comfort and freedom inside yourself by now, then it is likely this new life will be as laxadasical, contrite and confusing as the last life you lived.

He stood there mouth swollen yet agap from the news. His head was now obnoxiously full from being stunned by these words and the honest reflection of how simple it sounded.

To be free, he repeated the words in his head as if his life depended on it.

And it did depend if it. He knew it. He knew it yet he had no clue how to acquire it. Or how to achieve it or what he had to do to be granted it, or where he could go to wish for it. If only he had listened to that thing on YouTube like his sister had recommended. Or done something, anything to just have some kinda inner peace, or an inkling as to how one goes about finding it.

This is hell.

He walked away from the salty alien tent post and approached the water. It spat up at him, letting him know that he should never turn his back on the water least he be rolled by it.

This was hell, he staggered, bent grabbing a rock while looking sideways at the water.

This was hell and he knew it.

He did not know when his rage would be sucombed by his next thought, or if anything else could ever take it away.

He knew now that nothing mattered, forever more.

He knew now, without question or queary ….that nothing matterd that didn’t matter more before. Nothing.

Except maybe that growing itch inside his ear. No, he stopped his thought and he reprimanded himself. He raged. For he knew nothing of peace, and peace knew nothing of him.