Is This Just Fantasy…

This was not the first world in yesterday’s clusterfuck of dreams, hallucinations, and fits. That “honor” will go to the Maelstrom. The horror of the shamblings’ attack had set in, and I was desperately wanting to get away. To be elsewhere, anywhere, but in the grip of a slow death.

“Anna? You okay?” Huh? What name was that? I look up to find I’m leaning against a doorframe. “You’re going to be okay going on stage tonight? The aliens have already taken their place, and the world is watching.” Aliens? The fuck?

It takes me a minute to immerse myself into the scene. As I surrender to the shifting colors around me, I realize where I am. I’m daydreaming. Idle fantasy. Nothing more. A smile warms my face. Extra-terrestrials, again? It makes sense, really. All my dreamworlds have involved human myth, having extra-terrestrials as a plot device is the only sandbox I have left.

“Yea, sure. Just… um… Thinking over the lyrics, that’s all.” Mack, my band’s manager, looks relieved.

“Okay. Well, they’re all waiting for you. We’re still ahead of schedule, so if you want another ten minutes to yourself, you can have it. But next time I knock on your door, it’s showtime.” Mack leaves. I shake my head at his appearance. He’s nearly sixty, but he still dresses like a Berkeley college student. His bandanna doing a poor job of keeping his plucked combover in place.

I’m in my “stage outfit”, I see. A combination of clothes that bear a strong similarity to clothing I have in the Waking. Love this ruffle sweater. Too bad my corner of the globe is only cold enough for two weeks. But where the Waking sweater is various shades of mahogany browns, this is white. My entire outfit is white. Flamboyant, with abstract lines of glittery sequins. Even my makeup is shades of silver and white. My lips glow against my mocha skin. I wrinkle my nose at my reflection in the mirror. It demands attention. Not like me. Not like me at all.

But, when one is the Singer of a band, one has to dress the part. A series of sharp raps catch my attention. “Anna! It’s time!”

“Okay, Mack! Have Vic start the light show!” I know the memory and desire is part of the daydream, but for a moment I agree with it. I’d rather be playing at the computer with Vic, manipulating the remote controlled light pots, than be onstage. I love to sing. I love to perform. I don’t love the way some in the audience reduce me to a parcel of parts. Knowing that there are those in the audience that accept me in total helps me get over the objectification.

Mark is wailing on the drums. He can see Vic’s light signals. I know the two will get the crowd into the proper mindset. As I bounce through the backstage hall, I’m stopped by a pair of government agents. I reach into the daydream’s memory to understand why. “Ms. Fellows, we can’t be responsible for any… unpleasantness that may happen as a result of tonight’s performance.” Oh yes, now I remember. The aliens had sent a series of probes to our world. I had managed to scribble out a hieroglyph like message and held it in front of one of the probes. “Attend my concert, in peace.” A series of pictorial messages later, and they are attending the concert tonight! Granted, they are in a sealed scout vessel, to avoid cross-contamination with Earth, but hey! Aliens are at my concert! Fuck yea!

“I’m willing to take that risk. And so are your superiors, or they wouldn’t have allowed me to continue.” I smile at the agents. If this is truly my daydream, then I’ll be okay. My adoring fans await! The show must go on!

A stage hand is waiting at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stage. He has a mesh of lights, and a headset waiting for me. “Vic wants you to wear this over your stage clothes. It’s a mix of lights and sensors.” He helps me fasten the mesh to me and pins the wireless headset to my afro.

“He’s worried.”

“Vic is always worried. You know how he is about you.” I wonder who ‘Vic’ is patterned after. I push the unpleasant thought out of my head and start up the stairs. With each step, I forget I’m in a daydream. With each step, I forget I am Weaver. By the time I am on the stage proper, Anna is greeting the crowd.

Mark is still making the drums sing. As I cross the stage, I dance somewhat in time with it. Mark takes advantage of that and segues into The Summoning, a series of drum rolls and rhythms that signify it’s time for us to forget our separate identities and become the people that make up the band, “Echology”. (Day dream, remember?)

Mark is on drums, I (as Anna) am lead voice and hand-drums, Shane is guitar, and Elise is piano/keyboard. With Mark leading the rhythm, I accent on my hand-drum. Shane dances along for a bit, then starts adding the guitar’s bass. Elise is clapping above her head, encouraging the crowd to join in our rhythm. Once she is sure of maximum participation from the crowd, she lowers her head and starts a series of arpeggios based on what Shane is playing.

This goes on for a minute, for five minutes, for an hour, I don’t know. I don’t care. For this beautiful blessed moment, I am dissolved in the bliss of everything. Vic flashes the signal to begin the set to Mark. Mark ends The Summoning, and segues into the drum lead of our first song, and the concert begins.

The venue is a convertible stadium. The retractable roof has been pulled back to accommodate the aliens and their viewing craft. They are ‘parked’ above the back of the stands. The interior lights of their craft has been turned on, so they are visible to us. However, they are each in biological containment suits that have filtered masks. Their faces are still unviewable. I do note, they are moving in rhythm to the music, so we can’t be all that bad to listen to.

For a moment, I realize I’m day dreaming. I note what we are playing is nothing like the cadre of music I have in the Waking. It is completely a fabrication of fantasy. It’s a shame, I note. I need these kind of rhythms in the Waking. One song ends, and another begins, sweeping away my lucidity as I surrender to the role of Anna, once again.

The concert ends. Echology takes a bow. The crowd starts to leave. The aliens’ craft starts to move. I quickly get a flashlight and start sweeping the craft. Anna has another hand to play in this game. One of the craft turns on an external spotlight and shines it on me. Quickly, I get a sheaf of pictorial messages from the stage prop I had placed and start waving it. Government agents scramble to get onto the stage to stop me. The crowd, seeing what is happening, makes sure they don’t get on the stage at all.

A football sized probe is launched from the craft. It quickly comes to me and retrieve the dozen papers before the government agents can reach me. As it speeds off, the agents demand to know what did I just communicate to the aliens. “If you detain me, you’ll never find out. Trust me. Just opening another avenue of communication. If all goes well, I’ll be handing off communication to you guys, and I’ll just be another dolled up singer.” The agents are unable to counter my bluff, and I am released.

Time skips ahead several weeks. I’m standing outside a museum. I’m wearing the flamboyant outfit of Echology again. I need to be seen from a distance. I’m recognized by many, but to my amusement, few seem willing to step up to me. Instead, people yell, “Your music sucks ass!”, “Anna, I adore you! How brave you are!”, “Anna! Call me! I wrote music for you!” from a distance. It’s official. I do not like public attention away from the stage.

The yelling quickly ceases when a strange shadow flies overhead. The aliens have taken my invitation, it would seem. I point them to where Shane, wearing his all blue Echology stage clothes is waiting for them. He pays off the parking attendant, and the aliens land their craft. My invitation was for five individuals, but only three disembark. Each in biological containment units, with a full face visor. There is a physical distinction between them. All three are humanoid, but two are tall and thick. The third, appearing to be the leader/speaker of the three, is small. One of the taller aliens has a satchel on its shoulder.

They walk with Shane and the four of them meet me at the museum’s entrance. The smaller alien points to itself, and points to me. It then points to the other two, and points to Shane. Mark joins us, in his brown Echology stage clothes. The smaller alien points to itself, then to me again. It points to the taller aliens, then points to Mark and Shane. I realize then, the smaller is female, and the other two are male. I think.

“You have been watching my world for some time. Long enough, I hope, to pick up basic English words. I know no other spoken language, I apologize. So. Here’s the plan. A quick run through here if you like…” I point to the Museum of Human Civilizations behind me. “Or, you accompany me for the day, and I show what my life is like. Now, I’m just one of billions of humans. And no two humans are going to have the same life experiences. But the grand overview is only going to tell you so much. Eventually, if you want to communicate with us, you’ll have to smell the coffee and body odor and just walk the street with us.” I smiled my deepest genuine smile and hoped for the best.

“Yes. We walk with you. You go. We watch.” The words were halting and disjointed. The timbre grated a bit on my ear. The speaker nodded and bowed in affirmation. I wasn’t sure to what she was agreeing though.

“The museum?” I pointed behind me. “Or a day in my life?” I pointed down the street.

She pointed down the street. “A piece of day.” That settles that, I suppose. I reached into my bag and pulled out a pack of baby wipes. Handing some to Mark and Shane, we three wiped off our stage makeup. Elise walked up, unzipping a duffel bag. We switched out our stage outercoats for street jackets and coats. Our transformation completed, I looked up at the alien speaker and smiled. She nodded.

Government agents shadowed us, but generally stayed out of our way. We led the aliens through what would be a lazy day for us. We stopped at delis, and parks. We browsed bookstores and yard sales. We came across apparently random drum circles and listened to impromptu lectures. Really, the entire itinerary had been carefully arranged by me in the intervening weeks. Only, I didn’t tell the folks the aliens would be coming in person, only that we would be making a film for them.

Surprisingly, everyone cooperates with enthusiasm. They kept their nervousness down to a minimum, and was sincere about their expressions. My role was that of announcer, of presenter, of the chorus that appeared as we moved in between scenes. As the day progressed, I kept feeling a sense of disappointment from the aliens. While I truly was showing them a slice of the experience of my day, I wasn’t showing them anything that was of me. But is was for this hope, they had accepted my invitation.

The notion made me wary. But I kept my Pleasant Face on. Perhaps I was just being a little paranoid of all the attention.

“Anna. Home.” I bristled a bit at the request. The speaker’s mirrored visor prevented me from making the ocular contact I really needed at the moment. “No, I can’t allow you into my home, just yet. I’m not ready for that. It is the same with any relationship. First the externals. Then, as trust is built, and as trust is proven worthy, the internals. Anything else, is an invasion.”

The alien speaker remained unmoving and quiet for a moment. “Yes. Agree.” I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

We are quite a ways away from the museum’s parking lot. I had one more experience to spring on them. Hopefully, the government agents will allow this to play out. “I’m sure, as you communicate more with the assorted governments of my world, you’ll be exposed to the higher class of social strata. The lower classes tend to be… ignored… by our governments. So this is really the only time you’ll probably get to deal with public transportation. Come on. We’re going to take the bus.”

The bus driver’s face blanched when he stopped and opened the bus doors. I paid the fare for all of us and we found seats close to each other. The bus passengers were also shocked to see us. Many were afraid.

Except for a three year old girl. “Mommy! Mommy! Look! The alien people! The alien people!” The girl’s mother was terrified to see them. “Hi Alien People! Hi! Hi!” The little girl was determined to wave at them, despite her mother’s attempt to corral the flailing arms.

I nudged the Speaker sitting next to me, and mimed a greeting gesture. The Speaker took the hint, and slowly raised its right hand and waved at the girl. The little girl fell silent. Everyone held their breath.

“Mommy! Mommy! He waved at me! He waved at me!” I don’t know from where the girl found the extra lung capacity, but her exuberance drowned out everyone’s fear, and escaping sighs of relief. “Hey! Alien man! Look! I can count to five! See!” She held up her hand, and starting with her pinky finger, counted each finger on her left hand. “Can you count to five?”

“No.” The Speaker’s reply caught everyone by surprise.

“Why not Mister Alien Man?” The girl was genuinely asking.

“You. Count.” The Speaker held up her right hand towards the girl.

“One. Two. Three. Four. F*” The girl blinked as everyone on the bus saw why the alien had said, “No.”. “Mister Alien Man, you only have four fingers!”

“Yes.” Indeed, the aliens had a thumb, and three fingers on each hand. I had not noticed this before.

“Mommy! Mommy! The alien people only have four fingers! Isn’t that neat!” The mother, at a loss for words, could only agree with her daughter. The bus came to a stop. “Mommy! Mommy! It’s time to go now!” The mother gathered her things and said farewells to us. “Bye Mister Alien Man! Bye-bye!” The girl and her mother left the bus, a few other people came on, and the bus continued towards the museum.

The mood had been lightened by the little girl, though. A few people looked towards us oddly, but no one was frightened anymore. How could you be afraid of someone that let a child count their fingers?

By the time we arrived at the museum, the mood was jovial. As we disembarked, someone in the back of the bus yelled, “Goodbye Mister Alien Man!” All the humans that had been present for the child’s counting burst into tearful laughter, including the driver. I did not know if the aliens were also moved, until we were all standing on the sidewalk.

“Mister Alien Man. I like name. Child make happy name.” I didn’t have the heart to correct the name’s gender. Noting that the Speaker had already demonstrated other knowledge of basic English, I thought my assumption about them was wrong. The Speaker may not necessarily be female. The Speaker may have the same role I have in the band. I then realized the title I had given him in my thought. “Speaker” What’s that they say about assuming things?

It was nearly sunset. Time for everyone to depart our separate ways. Marc, Shane, Elise, and I all shook hands with the three aliens, in a gesture of friendship. “Anna. For you.” The satchel was opened, in the process I noted a seal was broken, and a patchwork style coat was produced. The material felt like leather, yet wasn’t leather. It had been carefully made to fit my particular attributes. The seemingly random sized pieces were shades of browns and reds. While reds aren’t my usual preferred shades, I couldn’t argue with the gift. Against the whispers of both bandmates and agents, I donned the coat immediately. It felt comforting, like a hug, like I had worn it forever and ever.

Our mutual farewells given and accepted, I remained in place until the aliens had entered their craft and lifted away into the darkening sky. Marc, Shane, and Elise always went their separate ways. Each calling me by name, “Anna”, and promising to conspire something new tomorrow.

I started to walk towards my waiting car, and the government agents that were waiting with it. A street horse and buggy came up beside me. “Hey, Miss! Want a ride before having to deal with those stuffed shirts?” The voice felt familiar. I turned to see a black open buggy gleaming in the evening lights. A black horse was hitched to it, and a gentleman dressed in an elaborate black costume was driving it.

I looked at his eyes, and noted he had none.

I stepped back in fear. The horse whinnied in annoyance. Again, the sound was familiar. I looked back at the black robed driver. “Weaver. Come. We need to talk. If you go to your car, you’ll forget. You’ll be following the script they laid out for you. You need to remember.”

Weaver. Who? “My name is Anna. Anna Fellows.” The horse, now visibly agitated, stomped his hoof against the curb. The sound it made was like distant thunder. Again, my memory is jostled. I tuck the patchwork coat tighter against myself in sudden fear. “Weaver sounds like some hippie name. And I can’t weave a good lie, much less anything textile.”

“Ms. Fellows? Is there a problem?” The government agents have left my car and are walking briskly towards me, shouting at me to remain there, shouting at the buggy driver to leave at once.

“Weaver! I’m not above throwing you into the buggy. What you think is a day dream, is an illusion. Wake up!” Even though he has no eyes in his sockets, he is glaring at me with a fierce intensity. I step back in fear again. The horse suddenly rears and brings both forehooves hard onto the street.

A crack of thunder ripples outward, shaking the very fabric of reality itself. What storms can this horse’s hooves make! Wait… Storm… Hoof… A dormant instinct asserts itself. Before I can stop myself, I jump into the buggy. “Go! Before I change my mind!” Before the driver can raise the whip, the horse has charged into a fast trot. The government agents are unable to catch the buggy in time to pull me away.

As the horse moves, completely independent of anything the driver may have in mind, I watch the dark color of its hide melt and fall away. The horse not only pales in color, but thins of substance. Giving the appearance of being made of cloud and mist, the horse shakes off the last bit of its disguise.

I climb from buggy to driver’s seat. As I do so, the buggy changes form, from horse-drawn carriage, to otherworldly boat. The world dissolves around us as well. Gone is the metropolitan bustle. It is as if I am being transported between worlds.

“So, Miss. Tell me your name again? I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” Gone is the driver’s elaborate costume. Grey skinned, looking like taut hide stretched over a skeletal frame, he grinned dark teeth at me, while still remaining devoid of eyes. Now dressed simply in a simple hooded, black robe, he held on to impotent reins.

But I knew him now. Just as I knew Stormhoof. Just as I knew myself.

“Weaver, you jackass!” He laughed richly and heartily.

“Now, there’s the woman I know. You had us worried there.” Stormhoof brays in agreement. He reaches over and pulls slightly on the patchwork coat that still accompanied me. “This bothers me. You should not have been able to bring this with you.”

“My friend. What the flying fuck was all that about?” I snuggled next to him, holding his cold arm with friendly warmth. “I thought it was just a day dream. The name, ‘Anna’, that’s a day dream name. And the plot, so contrived!” I laughed in nervous mirth.

The friendliness fled from his face. “You are not well today, Weaver.” I nodded in agreement. My awareness had been jumping through several different worlds, even as the day dream unfolded. I was having a series of fits that left me physically unstable. “They took advantage of that. Almost succeeded in trapping you in the illusion. If your equine friend here hadn’t been able to jump into the illusion, I think they would have succeeded.” He pulled on the coat again. “You should discard that, Weaver. Nothing good can come of it.”

“Who are ‘they’, my friend?” Prudence would agree with his sentiment to throw away the coat. But the way it fit was comforting. Why go through such an elaborate display?

“I know the place by a different name. What do you call the Nexus?” Nexus, what? I stare at him for a few minutes before making the connection.

“The City! Oh, well, I don’t call it by any special name at the moment. But Nexus would work for the sake of discussion.”

We were sailing through darkest night, surrounded by mists and shadows, drawn in a boat by a thunderstorm wight. Seemed like a good place to discuss Otherworldly matters, I suppose.

“You are just a visitor. You may know of some that make their residence in the Nexus.” I immediately thought of R.G., and nodded. “There are some that have placed themselves in the upper echelons of Nexus society. They are the Elites of the Nexus. And it seems, you have caught their attention.”

“I try to nurture the reputation of being a peacebringer in the Dreaming.” Thinking of what else was concurrently happening in other worlds, I winced at my words. “Emphasis, on try. Doesn’t always work out. But anyways, I’m approachable in the City… er… Nexus. Why the illusion?”

Cold fingers tugged on the patchwork coat again. “Would you have accepted this, if they came down to you? No. I’ll tell you why. You’re a skeptic. You don’t accept grand gifts without checking for hidden traps. Not by nature. You had to be led to think you deserved it, or that it was payment for some service. Now, think of the illusion, the day dream, you just left. Your character, Anna, went through a lot of trouble to try and bridge two species, yes? To refuse the coat then, would be an insult, and undo much of that work. The purpose of the illusion, wasn’t to give you some place to run around without worry. It was to lead you into a deeper trap.”

“Weaver, while we are in between worlds… While you are capable of doing so… Throw the coat overboard. I do not like it. It reeks to me. It reeks of manipulation and control.”

I understood his words, but I was loathe to part with the coat. I felt like I had possessed it since the day I was born. Surely, I could check the coat later and purge it of any nastiness, right? The more he urged me to be rid of it, the tighter I held it to me. Finally, he saw I was not going to part with it and relented.

“I can not enter many portions of your Dreamworlds. My nature conflicts with them. If I were to enter the Nexus, there would be… problems. Your friend will bring us as close as possible to where he thinks you will be safe. Destroy that coat, Weaver. At the very least, discard it. It is trouble.” He takes my hand and kisses it gently. “And visit me more often, please. You are always welcome in my realm.”

The small boat comes to a stop. Stormhoof shakes off the bridle (there was never a bit) and comes beside me. The Caretaker helps me quit from boat to horseback. At once, his boat changes form to something darker. He waves farewell and melts into the surrounding shadows.

A sudden tiredness takes me and I slump against Stormhoof’s neck. “Take me where you would, my friend. I trust you.” The last awareness I have in this portion of the dream, is his concerned whinnying echoing beside me.

~~~

This is one of (minimum) three happenings that took place yesterday. One part Dream. One part hallucination. One part “fit”. And many parts fucked up. The other stories will follow later.

I should probably put this and the others, on my main blog.