The Eyes Have It

I threw my coat onto the chair, noting and quickly ignoring I had thrown it with such force, it had slid off the chair and was hiding in a crumpled heap just beyond it. Sometimes I enjoy my work. Sometimes I hate my work. And sometimes my work just gets on my damn nerves. I loosened my tie, removed it, and threw that over my shoulder as well.

My reflection in the hallway mirror brought me to a stop. God damn, I’m a good looking man. I can’t let work get to me. All this stress will ruin my good looks. Although, it does make for a tight ass. Yea, baby.

I suppose I should change clothes before I get started with my distraction. I can get quite messy with paints after all, and I’m in my “good” clothes still. Surely I would be pushing my luck if I tried to paint while wearing light tan slacks and a brilliant white shirt. Fuck it. The silk tie is somewhere out of paint splatter reach. I can always buy more clothes later if need be.

Entering my “art” room, I closed the door behind me and sealed myself away from cell phone, computer, and door bell. I opened the windows, welcoming the entering breeze, and tied back the curtains allowing the zephyr to enter the room at will. Up here on the fourth floor of the apartment building, I’m often entertained by the random gusts that whirl through the city.

Leaning into the window, I am refreshed by the inconstant breezes. An older part of town, most of the buildings top out at four floors as the construction methods of the time did not allow for any higher. Surrounded by centuries old brick, I feel secure here. My street is an old street, unusually wide to accommodate the rivers of people and carriages that once flowed unceasingly through the now quiet city. A few decades ago, an interstate freeway was constructed to the south of the city. The traffic that would have dissected the city now flows around it. In the far distance I can see the old growth forest that still surrounds this town. The greenery brings a smile to my face.

Temperate day. No clouds. No cloying humidity. This is a good day to paint. Turning away from the window, I eye the pencil… drawing… my client has given to me. I’m being paid to use this as inspiration and create a larger oil painting from it. Jagged lines and spiraling curves are everywhere. There is no sense to it. And yet, it reminds me of a half-remembered dream. As if with just the right colors, I could bring what looks like a representation of a schizophrenic’s thoughts into radiant clarity.

I choose my colors, anoint the palette, and pick up the brush. A sudden rumble of something like thunder shakes the apartment. Was there an accident on the street? Did a truck slam into the building? I put the palette and brush down and come once more to the window. Leaning out, I see the cloudless sky and the empty street. No change from the view I saw a few minutes ago.

There it is again. I’m sure that’s thunder. But there is not a cloud in the sky, and the barest of breezes. I must be imagining things. I start to turn away, but a flash of light catches my eye. I lean out to peer across the street. My field of view is suddenly consumed in a bright light.

I don’t register the thunder until I realize I have been thrown across the room. Lying on the floor near the door, I find my eyes and face hurt like something had slammed into them. I can’t see. Was I just struck by lightning? The question reminds me of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck and I started to laugh because having that thought meant I was still alive.

Well, I wanted to laugh.

My body did not respond.

I could feel pain. I could feel all sensation. But I could not move. I was breathing. I could feel my blood flowing. But I was paralyzed.

And I wasn’t alone.

I could feel the spirit moving in my body. Expanding itself to fill the empty places I should have been. Twisting my toes in my shoes and fiddling with my fingers. It was testing how complete was its possession of me. I struggled against it. Or I tried to.

Instead, I caught its attention. It turned its sight inward and tore through my memories. Every thought, every emotion, every recollection I had was pulled forward, examined, and tossed aside as irrelevant. My loves, my hates, my fears, my triumphs were allowed to remain intact but soundly rejected. I tried to stop it but I could do nothing but bear the rough handling of my soul.

A memory stops it. I was walking to an art supply store and passed by a private park that had been turned into a Buddhist temple. It searched and found every memory that contained a reference to that temple. It pieced together the path necessary to go from my fourth floor apartment to that temple.

It stood to my feet and opened the door, allowing my muscle memory to go through the motions unattended. In the main room, my emergency radio had come to life and was projecting a message into the quiet apartment. “An invasive alien is in the vicinity. Close all windows and turn away from light sources. The alien can enter you through your vision as a flash of light. Blind yourselves and remain in the dark until the ‘All Clear’ has been given!” I wonder how long had that warning been issued. Too late for me to hear it now. Too fucking late.

The alien spirit silences the radio, using my knowledge to manipulate the dial. As it starts to leave the apartment, I throw a mental fit. Wait! It actually pauses, surprising me. The windows! If you’re going to leave the apartment, at least lock it up! I don’t want my stuff to get stolen! To my surprise, it closes the windows and draws the curtains closed. Relying on my memory of my usual actions when departing, it pauses before the mirror like I usually do. It smooths my hair and straightens my shirt. It smiles and winks at my face in the mirror, making me chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I guess I’m that vain after all. I note my body has no outward indication of possession except for the eyes. The normally brown iris is a bright silver. Almost glowing. It takes the keys and locks my apartment doors as it leaves.

Outside the building, the alien starts to head directly for the temple. A noise catches its attention, and it quickly ducks into a nearby alley. Three soldiers march past. Their all white armor reflecting the early afternoon sun. Dark visors covering their faces completely. They are looking for the alien and are wearing a special mask to prevent being possessed by it. The alien searches through my memory again for alternate routes to the temple. Piecing together my scattered knowledge of the area, it puts together a back-alley route that would keep me off the main roads.

Through a mixture of luck, timing, and serendipity, the alien managed to sneak onto the temple grounds without being seen by the patrolling soldiers. It is not hostile towards me. It feels apologetic. Hijacking my body was an act of last resort, I feel. It just needs to get into the temple and things will get better for both of us.

Seeing armed soldiers physically blocking the temple entrance makes both the alien and myself saddened. Hey. I remember when this place was being built. The front is solid wood, but the sides have thin paneling. There may be a way to sneak in from the side. The alien calls the memories I refer to and understands. Using the foliage as cover, the alien comes to the back of the publicly accessible portion of the building. There is a wall section here that is effectively beautiful latticework. Loosely fitted into adjoining sections, the alien is able to quietly juggle the section out of place. It makes a gap just large enough for my body to fit through and sneaks into the temple.

The alien starts to ransack my memories again. Sorry, I’ve never been inside the temple. I have no idea how it is laid out or where anything is. As the alien decides what to do next, footsteps are heard down the hall. The portion we’ve broken into is a dead end. We’re trapped.

An orange robed monk comes around the corner and stops in front of us. The alien stands and faces the monk, who seems to recognize the alien’s eyes. The monk immediately drops his gaze towards the floor. Slowly, the monk raises his hands and presses them together before his face. The alien doesn’t move. Hey. Copy him. Press my hands together like that. The alien listens to me and does so. The monk bows. The alien bows. The monk stands up smiling, but still he keeps his eyes cast downward.

Quickly the monk moves behind us and fixes the paneling, restoring the smooth look to the wall. He finishes and starts to walk away from us. A few steps away, he gestures for the alien to follow. Without any prompting from me, it does.

We are led to a room near the front of the temple. The normally open windows have been covered with multiple layers of cloth, preventing the soldiers outside from seeing inside the temple. There is a large brass statue of a cross-legged Buddha dominating the room. Before the statue are trays of sand with burning incense sticks stuck into them. On either side are lit candles and bundles of waiting incense.

The monk picks out three sticks of incense and gestured to us. The alien, understanding to follow the monk’s example, picked out three sticks for itself. The monk lights the incense he held, bowed three times to the statue, and placed the now lit sticks in the sand beside the others. The alien, without any prompting, followed the monk’s example. The monk smiles at the alien, but still keeps his eyes downcast.

We are led deeper within the temple now, into a room where a high-ranking man layered in swaths of bright orange cloth sits cross-legged on a raised platform. His eyes are closed and he appears in deep meditation. The monk pressed his hands together and made the same greeting gesture to him as he had to the alien. Without prompting, the alien made the same gesture to the seated man.

Without opening his eyes, the seated man spoke. “You found us. Good. I tried to keep my monks in the courtyard for you, but the soldiers forced us inside and barred the doors. You have not been in that body long, I hope. I would like to leave your ‘help’ in good shape.”

The alien wanted to communicate. But it had not learned how to use my body for speech just yet. Strangely, I could feel the intent of what the alien wanted to say. Just nod. Like the greeting but without the hands. It nodded with a jerky motion, somewhat unsure. “Oh good. The man inside is helping you. That must have been quite a surprise for him, to be suddenly jarred from his normal existence like this. I am glad to see he is not frightened by this. Well then. Let’s make this better for all of us.”

He moves one of the many cloths that adorn him to reveal an orange tabby kitten in his lap. The kitten is sleeping soundly and purring softly. “We have a suitable body for you. These cats are bred for this purpose. Those that are adaptable are neutered so you will not have to worry about the reproductive drive interfering with your work here.” He gently rouses the kitten from sleep. The kitten’s green eyes make a lovely contrast to the deep ginger hue of her fur.

Hey. It’s been fun. Sorta. But that is your home, not me. I feel the alien agreeing with me. The seated man holds the kitten so it is facing us. The alien gathers itself and tries to jump from my body into the kitten, but at the crucial moment, my body slumps forward, breaking the line of sight from my eyes to the kittens eyes. The seated man calls for assistance. Several monks enter the room, careful not to face the alien directly.

Gently, they hold my body in a seated position. Carefully arranging me so when my body slumps, the line of sight is still held. The alien ransacks my memory one last time, this time calling to mind all the times I had been told “Thank you” by others. I understood the meaning, and with no hard feelings I accepted the gratitude and wished it well.

A flash of light blinds me. An electric sensation jerks my body but the monks’ strong grip holds me fast. I hear the kitten’s mews suddenly cut short. All is darkened for a moment. The return of light causes me to wince and I cover my face out of instinct. Wait. I covered my face. I find I’m laying on the floor before the seated man, but I am myself again. I try to sit up, but a sudden exhaustion convinces me that remaining on the floor is a good thing.

In the man’s lap, the kitten is trying to purr. It starts and suddenly halts, as if unsure of itself. The seated man is facing me, but his eyes are still closed. “Thank you, Sir, for allowing it to come here by borrowing your body. We did not know the local government would be hostile to this class of spirits. You will be our guest until the blockade lifts and you regain your strength. A room has been prepared, and food is waiting for you.” The monks lift me and carry me out the room.

As I leave I catch sight of the kitten’s eyes. They have changed color and are bright silver in hue like mine was when the alien spirit was possessing me. Bright silver like moonlight reflected off still water, like mercury, like living lightning.

Make of that, what you may.