[The Student is 19 year old Smithy, dropped out of school because of the

technological saturation - why be taught by a bored teacher when i can access

lectures by the greatest mathematicians, scientists and writers of our day just
on YouTube - doesn't bring qualifications but competency reigns. You can have a
degree, be educated and still be an idiot; a drone who doesn't think
independently. Disillusioned, leaves school and practices psychology,
philosophy and sees the facade and the misdirection of society and so seeks to
get to the root of it all and so takes a two days to just camp at local spots
and be free. In Evergreen Forest he sees two guys sitting by a fire.
"You're here alone?"
"I'm well armed."
"Join us, don't be alone, we have some chicken roasting in our stone oven here,
plenty to share."
"No thanks. Came here to be away from people, I'll be fine." Smithy noticed
their attire. "Why are you in gowns?"
"They are robes."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Evelyn, this is Zardak."

Fright set in.

"Okay."
"We are magicians, who practice forest magic."
"Come now, Evelyn, you sound silly."
"It's... true."
"We are just spiritual people searching for God."
"Haven't you heard?" Smithy sneered, "God is dead."
"And we have killed him, yeah - if I had a dollar every time I heard that... I
could by a new robe." Zardak adjusted the tatters. "No - that cannot be - we
have killed the idea, sure, but what could humanity do to undermine the
creator? We are puny. We can't kill a god. Either way - feels like our world is
a bit godless, eh. Not gonna find it in an office."
"Guess that's why I'm here too."
"I hope that you find what you seek."

The student returned to camp, slept comfortably before going home.

"Where have you been? You said two nights." Mum scowled. "You've been out of
school for three months now and you've done nothing. You said you were getting
a job?"
"Can we not do this now?"
"Oh of course, it's never the right time with you is it?"

1
And so the student found a job, a mundane but unreasonably and incomprehensibly
complicated dishwashing gig. Why can't stack dirty dishes, how do the chefs
burn pots that badly, why is management overbooking seats but understaffing
sections. Would all be manageable if the machine service person could simply do
their job - how hard is it to replace a hose? It's almost as if the hiring
process is; Hirer: what is the best brain style? Hiree: Smooth! Hirer: Are you
severely mentally retarded? Hiree: Yes. Hirer: Welcome to the team.
And began to find moments of disassociation where he watched himself work in
autopilot and began to feel... wholly, sort of, connected to the dishes by
experience and in moments of clarity he felt holy and felt like he could work
at maximum energy with complete inner peace.
After a time he knew he had to find the magicians again, and so returned to the
woods - and began initiation.]

“Teach me,” Begged the student standing before the minister of the Visionary
Order of Spirit. “What is the Vision?”
By the central fire in the woodland village, the elder began to teach.
“Vision is realisation, you already experience it you just don’t realise. It’s
simple. All things are spirit. Now that sounds hippie but I mean it truly. We
are the spirit of what we consume, our body is a network of energy that we have
sourced from the outside and channel within.
Certain food gives certain energy.
Imagine you have walked for an hour to get home under a forty degree sun,
your spirits are low but when you drink that cool crisp glass of water there is
rejuvenation and your life is restored, water is a spirit – to us – of
rejuvenation. Caffeine is a spirit of energy, mushrooms the spirit of health,
red meat the spirit of ferocity, wheat the spirit of perseverance. Our need for
carbohydrates is need for a spirit, protein too and fibre.” Zardak explained.
“You make it sound like a drug.”
“Drug is a made up term. Often times the difference between so called
medication and so called narcotic or straight up poison is dosage. Would that
be true, all substances that we consume are drugs. If the dictionary definition
is a substance that alters a person’s physiology or perception – then that
water after that long walk which gave you immediate calm and mental clarity
could indeed be a drug by definition, gives you strength and clarity, one can
overdose on water too. But speaking of drugs, yes, they are good examples.
“All nature is communication. Our humanness has not evolved to perceived
certain animal or plant communication. However, we may consume the food, the
drink, the smoke and from within ourselves can their spirit reveal their
thought and vision.
“To smoke cannabis is to be possessed with the spirit of cannabis, also
called, being stoned, is indeed the spirit of the plant revealing itself to us
and possessing us from within.
“Getting high is a stupid terminology. Becoming possessed would be more
appropriate, because yes, the spirit possesses us as we smoke.
“Sobriety is also a strange term, for all substances alter and possess

2
us. If the sugarcane spirit – in its refined form possesses us with
hyperactivity, is that not a high? If hot chamomile tea gives us soothing is
that not an altered state?”
“Then what is the original state?”
“There is no original state, there is no sobriety. Consider fasting or
sleep deprivation, the psychedelia experienced is different from our base
consciousness, but our base consciousness is a manifestation of spirits from
all that we consume. Perhaps one would be calmer as a vegetarian, perhaps one
would be more stimulated drinking a Gatorade, perhaps chilli and garlic chicken
soup cures a mild influenza, not only from the sweat of the heat but the
Vitamin C spirits attack the sickness spirits.”
“Whatever you eat or don’t eat alters our experience, there is no
original state. There are many who wish to find that however they consume no
caffeine, are vegan, have no sleep schedule, don’t use any so called ‘drugs’
from Panadol to DMT, an earthly diet who meditate and focus upon their self –
but even then, there are only fewer spirits for the body and mind to
experience.”
“So… what isn’t a spirit then?”
“Nothing. Totality of existence is spiritual in every way, physicality is
just the surface. Imagine an existence of pure nothingness – in that
nothingness there is a fluctuation, a displacement, a ripple; the sudden
distortion booming into an infinity that is the universe. Well, that
displacement was a conscious, felt, experience. Like God touching holy thought.
After that conscious communication, the echoes split and formed into unique
forces in constant interaction that expressed themselves into what scientists
call physics and matter.”
“So the reason water exists is because the hydrogen spirit and the oxygen
spirit are expressing communication to each other by bonding and that is
expressed with water?”
“Exactly! The universe is that is communication and connectivity. Our
bodies are networks of connected parts that communicate with neurons and
synapses, each of which are their own conscious communications.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Imagine I cut your thumb here to here with a dirty blade. What’s going
on? Your body is sending the appropriate organic material to organise repair
all the while employing whatever cells to do whatever immunity so our system
doesn’t get affected. It’s like a battlefield with our cells fighting the
bacteria while attempting to close and heal the wound. Who is organising the
battle, rallying the troops, telling which cells to go where? Each organic
piece of material is in a way its own force of spiritual expression, and they
all rally together to heal the systems damage.
“Our experience is an amalgamation of infinite sensory interactions and
memory.
“Everything is interaction, all that interacts is conscious, they are all
micro expressions of the mind of reality that is God, that is Krisha, that is
oneness. It’s almost laughably obvious but so few people experience it truly

3
and yet they’ll wake up with a mild hangover in a dark, cold room, but then
wake up and drink water, coffee and eat chicken soup under the sun – absorbing
the holiest substance, Light – and feel replenishment yet not conceive of the
spiritual vitality occurring within themselves.”
“Well, if everything is spirit and each cell is its own consciousness –
who am I?”
”You are the collection of the networks of organic communication. Your
senses all communicate to formulate an approximation of this moment, of your
present surroundings – a coordination of all bodily functions, and your
thoughts, a mix of reaction, memory and of course communication.
People say that their stomach speaks to them, saying I’m hungry.
Wounds hurt and say I need healing.
Emotions inform social navigation and cooperation.
Head aches ask for water.
Fatigue asks for sleep.

All of these are true, yet, we as a people have learned to ignore our inner
voices. Alarms to interrupt our sleep, medication to interrupt our emotions, we
eat on schedule not when we are hungry, we have made indoor suns and we avoid
pain and discomfort, and, well, many are not as in touch with their emotions,
their self as they could be. How else do they get fat? Addicted? Watch porn?
Eat shit?
Simply take away all filters and listen to yourself within and yourself
shall speak to you and if you listen to and follow the command of your body –
you shall take your first steps into the visionary process because you will
have yielded your mind to the ecosystem that it is rather than control it with
delusion, the delusion of self, of ego. Truth with come to you with clarity
then, this is the function of prayer and meditation.”

“I think I understand but my whole life has been built around the story,
the routine, the 3 meal cycle, go to bed by 11o’clock all that.”
“That’s not you. That’s your ego, that’s your persona, your outward
personality, your socially hierarchical position. Which is also important,
without it, you may not please your clan and continue your lineage in safety.
But within that, is you, the organic mechanics that you are, the instincts that
give you motivation, desires and you are managing community.
Within us are spirits that we must channel, we feel them as instincts and
feelings.
Our emotions channel the spirit of reality. Anger is the spirit of war,
love is the spirit of fertility, fear is the spirit of vulnerability, even
boredom is the spirit of eagerness, imagination the spirit of creativity; and
we channel these spirits into our being but must contrast the spirit with
physical and social law.”

“Can one be void of spirit and purely earthly, like dedicate that ego to
our people and never open to this so called holiness?”

4
 “No, but their mind can become so illusioned by the ego process that the
self and the instincts become lost and the experience of spirit fades, but they
are not void; they are the universe.
“We come from nature and return to nature. That is the meaning of the
prongs, the first long spike is before our birth, the small centre one is our
life in the present and the third long one is after our death; both long spikes
would connect if they continued on and all three are made of the same
substance. We are Eco systematic and all nature is alive. Our delusion, our
humanness causes us to forget.”
“Even though the spirits commune with us, we tend to ignore that or shun
that as schizophrenia or a broken brain if anyone gets truly in touch with
their spirit, their self, their nature. Our society likes control.
We as the Visionary Order simply wish to return this realisation to
humanity. If we succeed, society will see it as a great shift, a new
enlightenment, even though it’s already here. What does it say in the Bible –
Neither will they say Lo here or Lo there for the Kingdom of Heaven is within
already.”
“So when we wake, we are in a lacking state and choose which spirits we
wish to possess us that day?”
“Yes, well, there is no us, there is no you. It is an amalgamation of all
the body’s processes and communications fuelled by all that we consume.”
“What then are dreams?”
“Simply they are thoughts extended out to the fullest because we are not
consciously reacting to our environment, there is no change of light,
temperature, sound, and we are therefore free to think without interruption –
our mind realising this – intensity of imagery forms.”
“So nothing magical about them?”
“Well, where do thoughts come from? Once you realise that all things are
nature, and you are nature; that is the Vision.” Zardak looked over to the grey
buildings of the city. “Determination has clouded our vision.”
“Perhaps because we cannot see, to ordinary people it seems silly and
mystical.”
Zardak offered the potion. “Drink.”
And the student entered the void.

5
Construction of the generator.

Quora
Quora sat on the dewy grass outside the laboratory door watched the black sky
above wincing at the intense yellow around his peripherals. Damn these
floodlights, our earth dies of pollution and they still wastefully use energy.
I want to see the stars.
Between slow breaths, he blew out hazy smoke; amused at the grey as it
billowed into the low fog. Anything to taper reality. As bliss settled, the
alarm he’d set an hour earlier buzzed in his pocket and returned him to
attention. And with a final long drag, he threw the filter away, puffed out the
last, stood and pulled opened the heavy grey door and walked into the chamber
to don his hazmat before descending into the basement and stepping into the
poorly named interregnum room to armour himself in hazmat equipment, before
descending the stone stairway to the basement.
Quora stepped inside and noticed Clifton Brown upon the upper level
watching as they worked, and shrugged him off. Creep’s always watching. What’s
he planning?
“Five minutes until activation.” Doctor Yinszk greeted, his voice
momentarily broke the trace of incessantly tightening the hazmat’s goggles that
Professor Quora Vora had lost himself in. “Five minutes.” Quora repeated as the
doctor pulled the pre-activation levers. The machine buzzed to life; its
vibration echoing, buzzing everywhere.
Between the sound and the radioactive light shone yellow against the
dark, Quora winced at the overstimulation and burped from nausea; the
claustrophobia didn’t help. The Professor of Physics plugged his helmets vacuum
into his flask and took a long drink.”
“Really now? Do you need a drink as well?”
“I hate this.” Quora confessed. With renewed exhilaration however, he
fixated upon the completed ‘infinity’ machine in scientific awe. Drawing power
from the weird fractalized meteorite that, all tests concluded that was an
almost supernaturally dense substance despite its light mass, it vibrated
violently with a disgusting consistency.
Quora twisted on the spot, pushing the balls of hit feet into the floor
to ground himself and brace and with furious intent he stared at “earth’s only
hope”. Success would, evidently power an indistinguishable amount of clean
energy could be harnessed and used to power the world. His eyes flicked to the
student who lazed on the sofa, then fell to the schematics he held. Nervous, he
checked each page with the corresponding parts of the machine to be confident
that all parts were connected and optimised. Wrongness fills my soul. Quora
shook his head and focused more intently on the project.
“More of these strangely twisted asteroid fragment things had been
discovered lately.” The student read from his tablet in a bored tone. “Reports
of mental deliriance from exposure have increased. There’s been a legal
lockdown; all sightings must be reported so that they can be removed.
Possession is highly illegal for non-approved people. Jesus, they make it sound

6
like a drug or something.”
“Deliriance…” Quora murmured. “Wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Clarity. Our world’s collective mind has become distorted – feels like
this is clarity.”
“Well we may be at the forefront of major paradigm evolution,” Yinszk
said. “Here we are at the brink of a new age, your fantasy friends have served
us well.”
“What does that mean? Have you become delirious from… that?” Asked the
student, pointing at the black gem-like meteorite that hummed in the generator.
“May be. But if my delusions prove to be scientifically correct, then
maybe they aren’t delusions after all. In my twenties, when I first encountered
this,” Quora lifted his necklace (worn outside the suit) and showed an amulet
made of a strange meteorite fragment that he had found as a child. “I came to a
realisation that deepened my thoughts and disillusioned me to my life and this
reality I suppose. I hated myself. I considered that concept, I realised there
is the I; who hated upon the self – I seemed to be complete while my self
remained malleable. I wondered where my thoughts originated and paid attention.
Then something strange happened. Clear voices no, images, sensations overcame
me, as if there was another presence that presented ideas and became the origin
of my thought and showed me the completeness of mathematics and I opened myself
to them. From that information I concluded that matter is the surface of a
deeper substance; a plane of energy and physics that when tightly compacted and
activated; the tip of that iceberg is matter. If we can access what is below we
can break that into substance and manipulate fundamental reality – and ever
since – the voice has remained with me, exposing truths to me. And look at what
they have shown me.” Quora gestured to the Infinity Machine.
“Do you think you’ve connected with God?” asked the student.
“No, why would God want his secrets revealed?”
“Maybe he entrusts us with divine holiness now that we have matured
enough.” Said Yinszk.
“No.” Quora gazed at the glowing darkness.
“Wonder if it’s some eastern chemical experiment.” Said the student “A
mind altering bomb with nuclear power like a radiant drug?”
“It’s just a meteorite, guys with elements we are not familiar with. And
we’re using it to generate clean energy.” Quora insisted to himself.
“We’ll find out whatever it is soon enough. It’s time.” Yinszk stepped
over to the handle and powered the machine on. And immediately the entire
research station’s energy supplies overcharged with maximum energy levels.
Yinsk observed their success with awe, even the student sat up in
wonderment. Quora watched them with cold calculation in wonderment of the
significance of what they had just done.
He attempted to smile with pride but the doubt in his soul deepened.

Two

7
Dying of the Light

Zin

Zin read from the Visionary Texts:

Holiness IS that which vibrates everything in sound and light.
In cosmic splendour, creation bloomed consciousness that it could love
itself.
From outer aeons, across the infinity of infinities came the shadows of
sorrow, the blight which sought to blemish holy love and leave only the
mechanics behind. The tempter of fruit, the bringer of fire, the unholy crafter
of mechanical dreams.
And the divine dimmed, faded; and the Love died and could no longer be
felt by the bloom of experience.
And from the depths of Unrest, the divinity beheld the degradation of its
creation, and with holy might cast back into the universe what holiness could
be found.

Discomfort overwhelmed the holy apartment-dweller. He put the book down and
disappeared into imaginings of the woodland mud hut that he had fashioned the
other weekend, and the curing ox meat that he had left there and the new fire
wall he had constructed. The vision filled his essence but he did not rest.
That was where he felt truly at home and disliked that he still could
only camp there on occasion and focus upon hallowed wholeness and Bhakti.
Saturday dawned, the day to doze after a long week at the postal
administration office but Zin could not rest and despite the many comforts that
surrounded him, he found no ease.
The busyness of his work routine caused his passion, his reverence to
lax.
The past months… his dreams had consisted of only realistic worldly
situations; as if the universe within faded. The magic he once experienced, the
awesome wonder, the colour, the fantasy had greyed. Success in the real world
brought less joy despite its necessity.
Journeys to Sona Nyl upon the White Ship were no longer sailed; visits
from Yithian body swappers now never took place – no more did he view the
colour of heaven.
But he had been too occupied with his routine to heal.
Restlessness stressed him out; but something else was deeply wrong.
Something had shifted in the spirit of reality.
He wondered if others of the Visionary Order in the village had felt any
change.
Without a second thought he put on his warm robe and bearskin cloak,
fetched his moon-pronged staff, the mushroom and hurried toward the walking
trail in the woods that led up Zedyka Hill to his favourite place to meditate:
a small flat outcrop at the mouth of a shallow cave.
Here, away from distraction, he sat, ate, and sat lotus and searched for

8
holiness.
He reached out for the magic of togetherness and felt it there.
Despite the chill, warmth glowed within. He could see that some from his
community had gathered and were preparing for the evening. Meat roasted on
spits above smoking pits; he could see the light, smell the smoke, even feel
the heat if he allowed himself to imagine, the village was alive and the
community connected.
Cold rain fell from dark clouds and bitter winds swept through the valley
echoing deeply.
Zin shivered and pulled the bearskins tighter over his shoulders; chewing
the blue stem. Between his hood’s teeth he saw a break in the sky and the pale
moon’s glow shone through. A smile of relief reflected the peace he felt within
and holy connection with the earth and with the cosmos in which the earth
resided; Krisna Consciousness began to form. As the moon controls the tide; it
too controls my blood. I am part of this nature, this ecosystem, this realm of
space and time. My senses are my portal to creation, I am the Light. With ease
he released himself to the infinite sensation.
All creation opened up to him, with him and from him.
Then there was a flicker. Far beyond, there was bleakness and a wave of
ultimate agony.
Zin’s eyes opened and he gazed into the storm that formed into the night.

Coldness snapped through him.

Uncontrollable tears fell from his cheeks. Sudden bleakness cut open deep
hurts that he had been nursing.
Why am I here? He wondered. My lonely life brings me no joy. Curse my
gift of holy power. Why pray to divinity that denies me love, the ecstasy of
passion. Curse this cold! This wet. The storm shall be terrible. The magic
died, the animal within realised. Our world is broken, humanity has destroyed
it all – and I am part of it, I am of those that destroy. Dismay set in.
Such sudden bouts of depression had been frequent in the recent years,
but Zin had never experienced such absence of love ever before. Voluntary
social solitude brought him to fear, which led to anger and then hatred and so
he had built meaning in that suffering to bear it; a place in the Order.
Now, it seemed absurd to worship an idea of a togetherness when survival
depended on self-preservation and egotistic materialism. He hung his head in a
shame of celibacy and tried to feel something that he could heal with.
Without food in my body; I shall die; eating will be better than starving
to death, the instinct growled almost in spite. Damn, that meat has been
marinating for fourteen days, will be delicious. Excitement for the juicy,
seasoned cut roasted over the open fire to a medium rare, bloody and fatty.

The vision of deliciousness mustered a modicum of motivation.

With effort, Zin opened his eyes and gazed upon the dull moon.
And fear stiffened him. Contemplation of immediate suicide filled his
thoughts. Unprepared for such a barrage of extreme despair, he tore himself

9
from the haze and forced himself to a shaky stand, confused as to what had
broken within; what had broken outside. He clutched his necklace, the gem upon
it, prayed upon it for hope but found none.
Zin painfully pushed himself step by step down the hill pass, toward his
home where he could fade himself out with a strong herbal brew after eating –
if that failed to relax his distress.
“Lah Oombade Dumamu!” He chanted to keep his mind blank lest the self-
destructive thoughts manifest into ideas as sober clarity set in. I am here
now, going there then.

He arrived at home and found his firepit wet and the clay to his house
disformed. His meat muddy and sodden.
“Will chanting childish songs fix this? Oomptydoodmudah! Damn it!”
Frustration seethed through him. Didn’t solidify the base, storm broke my sail
and my roof – of course it did. Rushing materials, neglecting myself – to sit
and be… lazy. Anger at himself for his own impatience caused a momentary
barrage of fury. Zin destroyed the rest of his sail with a hard kick, it
toppled; causing a section to fall on his sandaled foot.
He yelped in pain, in immense irritation. Deep within, he felt the pull
of animal madness; pure frenzied fury, the ‘seeing red’ zone. Zin fell to his
knees and attempted to force his energy to fade. Oxymoronic paradox. Quickly
his anger transferred to sadness. Defeated, he limped toward the common space
where he saw a large flame burned bright.
Zardak met him with an offering of tea. “There will be council
tomorrow, tell us your fear then.”
Zin took the brew and saw horror and compassion in his elder’s eyes.

God’s wrath.
The following morning, after a dreamless doze, Zin felt worse and went to
sacred grove to be away from all sensations of stress.
The magician sat in quiet contemplation below the altar as he waited for
his friends. All remained dark and quiet in the meadow. Warmth of the sun
soothed his soul. Fresh earthen fragrances filled the atmosphere. Zin breathed
in the cool, damp air and enjoyed the vitality natural world.
Yes, the earth is alive. His senses confirmed that, but I cannot feel the
Light – the spirit has faded. Despite the beauty around him, no joy flowed in
his blood.
He examined the black gem he wore from an amulet around his neck. God’s
thought. Fallen from a sky flame. A perfect, black gem that once glimmered with
love but now it did not vibrate or glow. It remained cold and drained. Where is
the Light? He wondered sadly; it did not shine.
“Zin? You’re here already.” Zin recognised Alys, her rosy cheeks and
blonde hair glowed against the dark hood draped over her head, almost like a
veil. Beside her walked Feri and his initiate, who led ten others. Very last
trod Zardak, his eyes gazed upon the moon that greyed in the west.

10
 “Yes.” Zin, the magician, said. “Couldn’t rest.”
“Oh Zin, you look much worse than that, what’s wrong?” Alys approached
and knelt by him.
“I saw the Light fade; felt it as I sat upon Zedyka.”
“I did too… as I floated in my spa.”
“What has happened, I don’t understand? God is dead?” Asked the initiate.
Zin met Alys’s eyes, together they looked at Feri, who sat in deep
thought, and gazed at Zardak.
“The great consciousness cannot die. Holy power has weakened; but shall
return.” Zardak said.
“This has happened before, hasn’t it? The Age of Dark” Asked the student.
“Yes. Long before our time. Divine essence came to us from the sky – and
with careful prayer and unity we restored the Light.” Feri explained.
Zin held the cold amulet and gazed upon it.
“Shall we begin the ceremony?”
“Yes, let us all sit” Zardak sat. “Feri would you began preparations for
the potion?”
Zin watched as Feri boiled a cauldron of soaked herbs and spices over a
small log fire.

Once the potion was ready, Feri took a sip and then placed it on the altar
slightly to his left.
When it was placed in front of Zin, he too sipped the foul concoction
before setting it aside and sitting in silence.
Time disappeared, a dark emptiness opened up and Zin peered within.

Zin awoke, laid upon his back in the dewy grass, he watched eastern horizon
change from midnight blue to purple to red to pink and finally back to a white
then a light blue as he reflected upon his memory.
Nothing.
He frowned.
Also, it’s Monday.
He sighed.
He had two hours until he needed to be in the office, he estimated, and would
be there for eight more. An uneasiness fell upon him, ten hours of inability to
process the nothingness? The thought was uncomfortable.
He stood, dusted off the dirt that had caked to his black robes ignored
the growing anxiety, and trudged away from the grove and into the forest to
find the path back to the city.
With a glance, he looked back, wondering if he should abandon his
friends. The others were still on their journey of emptiness.
With sadness Zin left them to their eventual disappointment and hurried
away, back to real life. With each step he felt queasier. On the gravel path he
walked that led to the north terrace. Grey cars drove by. He walked the grey
cobblestone footpath, eyes on the grey motorway. He followed the line of grey
bikes pumping out grey fumes and followed them to a large, rectangular grey
11
building on the corner of Armington and Chesterfield. He turned around, looked
back, but all the green had disappeared behind gravel and grey fences. The
apartment that was his address was not the welcoming place it used to be. He
entered the little place, routinely showered, ate and dressed in a grey suit,
then, he waited at the grey bus stop and caught the grey bus toward the grey
office, stepped out to the grey overcast day and stepped into the grey lobby.

“Ah! Zin!” Harry, the cool co-worker said. “What’s the game?”
“Game?” Zin said. “Same as it always is. Repetitive but efficient
systematic organisation to increase the momentum and reach of this branch.”
“I mean, you’re late and you look like your death shall occur within the
hour.”
I hope it does. “Sorry.”
“Waste all your time on poetic, elaborate language and stupid analyses.
Why do you look so tired?”
“Stayed up analysing art.”
“This is why you’re just a clerk. Imagine if we let dreamers work here.
They’d spend all their time wondering about I don’t know the ethics and
morality of money management or some shit. We need efficiency to keep stable in
today’s economy.”
“Sure.”
“Are you going to be okay? There are three open requests on your desk to
be processed before midday – can you handle that or will you need help?”
“I’ll be okay.” Zin muttered, walking into the coffee room. While the
kettle boiled, he prepared the sugar – pulled the vial from his inside pocket,
inhaled from it, poured in the sugar and then finished the brew.
Walking back to his desk, coffee in hand he noticed that everything felt
different. All the numbers on the papers, although he understood their meaning,
seemed so abstract, so far away, so distanced from himself… almost surreal or
trans-real. Damn sleep deprivation and psychedelic potions.
Zin sat down to collect himself and glances at the day’s newspaper thrown
on his colleagues’s desk – he reads:

New Power Station Trial

Researchers at the Miskatonic University have begun first stage trials of the
clean energy generator.

“Zinny, you okay?” Ramones swung around from his computer, behind him.
“I’ll be fine.”
“New infinite clean energy sounds too good to be true.”
“It does, I wonder what the power source is.”
“Meteorite.”
“Huh, I’ll have to read more about that.” The thought terrified him.
Could it be? He would have to find out, maybe the Order will have an idea.

12
At last – he sat at home and let his exhaustion out – collapsing on the couch.
He kissed the gem and prayed and focused upon the nothingness.
That night he dreamed of meeting his mother again and taking her to… his
office. She wanted to go to the woods… so they changed path and made for the
grove. He’d always wanted to show her the grove. The place he and his friends
met as youngsters to talk about fantastic ideas. She’d always encouraged that
when he was a child, would she be so happy with it when he was a grown man? He
didn’t know but smiled in anticipation. They walked down the lane that led into
the woodlands. It had been developed into white structures. No trees remained
standing; no wildlife roamed. He twisted and looked up to the skies. A comet
seemed to be falling down and around it glowed the most beautiful blues and
yellows.
He woke, still in darkness on the couch. Something wasn’t right. Within
himself he sensed an echo of a voice… a faint whisper. He felt the amulet. It
pulsed weekly. Zin closed his eyes and let himself feel… and yes… he could feel
soul. Somewhere, deep inside, somewhere far away. But somewhere. He took the
amulet and hurried to the grove, running through the streets in the predawn
hours. The others were already there and waiting for him. He laughed at the
greenness of it all, remembering his horrible nightmare.
Feri stood at the head of the slab. He looked disheartened.
“Feels like the holy spirit has returned!” Alys said cheerfully.
“Returned. Yes.” Feri said quietly and bitterly. “Did you feel the
emotion?”
“Yes… it was… sad.” Alys said.
“No.” Feri said. “It is angry, terrified… disgusted.”
Zardak came with a thicker, darker brew. He drank and passed it to his
left. One by one the others did the same.
Once again. Zin did the same.
The magic activated, and he felt the darkness overwhelm him. Zin felt himself
be yanked deep into a strange vortex; through a dark tunnel, and into a great
light on the other side. There, in nowhere, he hovered in the void, gazing into
the central light. Pulses of frustration surged in the realm, feeding into
itself and growing stronger in desperation. The frustration grew fiercer and
more intense. Then, like a whirlpool made of dust and smoke, a new vortex was
formed and Zin thrown through once more.
He woke up in the dewy grass. The others were thrown out of their Visions
at the same instant.
Zin felt a presence appear within himself and it seemed to draw power
from him, from them all. Exhausted, starving, thirsty and under considerable
mental strain, he witnessed the altar glow from seven points, and felt part of
his soul leave him and dissipate into the air, shooting up skywards.
There was a boom, like thunder in the sky. A fiery bolt of energy of
yellow and blue flashed in the sky and shot down with a phenomenal force,
smashing right into the centre of the altar.
One More Hope
Despite the exhaustion, he felt good.

13
 Zardak woke and placed his hand upon the meteor that still smoked with
heat. Zin flinched imagining the pain, but Zardak looked at his unburnt hand
and frowned.
Two
Franklin was new at the job. He was new at any job. The prospect of organising
and delivering distributions was not ideal and he was not cheerful, but felt
excitement at just doing something new.
Six years since his last shift as a construction site manager. He had
travelled much of the world as a wayfarer or bus rider. He had made the
unforgiving work he’d done in his early twenties pay off, and after years of
relaxation, meaninglessness crept in and money of course runs out. So, at the
age of thirty four he faced the prospect of returning to labour. The morning of
the first day had come at last. Franklin dressed in his smoothest shirt,
blackest pants and shiniest boots and boy do I look sharp. Dreadfully nervous
he entered the service office and entered the manager’s room.
Assigned to express post under Clifton Brown he began work.
Focused on establishing himself properly, he accepted whatever task he
was given.

Every day he woke up, performed the good routine, got to work early, and began
sorting through the papers, making sure to have a good understanding of the
day’s tasks before eight o’clock before the guys clocked in. Routine upon
routine provided enough stability and money for a homely little two up two down
on the edge of town, just a ten minute cycle from the train station to work.
Easy.
The office place messy and his colleagues disorganised, everyone was lax
despite the importance of their job; why did no one seem to be urgent or
careful?
Not ruffling feathers he found that smooth ease of mind that came with
routine, the minimal effort action so that the mind could remain free.

One day the normalcy changed.

Franklin watched as Clifton entered the office with a small steel box,
set it down before seemingly distracted or delusional he hurried away muttering
under his breath.
Franklin chuckled and returned his focus to tomorrow’s list of
deliveries.
Clifton did not return, and as Franklin worked his gaze continued to fall
upon the box; the mood in the room seemed to have eased.
Five o’clock came surreally fast and Franklin packed up to leave but, at
the doorway he realised Oh maybe I shouldn’t leave that here in the open, I’ll
take it and bring it back tomorrow morning for Clifford, was it? Still don’t
know names around here.
Franklin spun on his heel and turned to grab the box noticing that it was
now five thirty seven, he hurried, collected it, and rushed out to the train,
clutching the box like it was a baby.
14
Back home, he set the box on the table, routinely set the kettle on boil for
tea, took a shot of whisky. Then, he turned to face the metal cube. It was
locked well with extremely complex mechanisms and had a nine coded gear system.

Franklin frowned, reached for opener and hopelessly pulled the slider
that would unlock it.
It slid.
With a deeper frown he opened the lid and peered inside.
Below a note that read: Discovered in Western Australia were two black
pearls. With curiosity he picked one up and immediately noticed its peculiar
properties. It was dense, felt thick, but was nearly weightless; its surface
felt oily and slimy, but left no substance on his hand.
Amused, he put the pearl back in the box and forgot about it.
More comfortable than normal, feeling good, he routinely fried lentils on
low, boiled rice and began steaming an egg overtop.
His imagination had intensified slightly and a happiness set in that was
unusual but welcome.

Following morning, he routinely readies for the day and approaches the box.
Inside the black pearl had turned blue. A curious sense of attachment and
curiosity peaked within. Closing the box, he left it where it was and went out
the door to routinely catch the train.
As he walked down the hallway, Franklin felt a primal fear then heard
the fury of animal anger.
“WHERE ARE THEY?!”
Franklin froze and reflexively reached for his work knife and held it,
ready to flick it open.
“WHERE IS THE BOX WHO STOLE IT WHERE IS FRANKLIN, I’LL DESTROY HIM!”
Uncertain of what to do, Franklin let his instincts, his automation take
control of his body while he took the backseat and watched.
Wait don’t do that!
He thought but was powerless. Reaching for and twisting the doorhandle
to the office, Franklin pushed the door open and stepped inside.
All eyes fell upon him.
“Good morning, uh, what’s going on? Why are you angry? Did I hear my
name?”
“You took that box!”
“What box?”
“THE BOX!” Clifton’s eyes pulsed with fury.
“I don’t know… what box. The one you left here yesterday? Your lunch
box?”
“WHERE IS IT!”
“I don’t know? It’s your lunch box? Why would I… I have my own… food you
know that it’s… the bottom fridge compartment? Bottom left.”
“Don’t play stupid with me.”

15
 “I haven’t touched your god damn lunch box.”
“It’s not a lunch box.”
“Oh well whatever the fuck, I don’t know. Now, go accuse someone else.”
“You were the last one here.”
“Didn’t cleaners come?”
“They’ve been… interrogated.”
“What’s in the box that is so damn important?”
“None of your concern!”
“No it isn’t! You were drunk last night; you left the bottle on the
coffee table. You probably took it before you left and forgot because you
were drunk.”
Clifton did not respond but stared with an expression of pure evil.
“Is that true?” A colleague muttered.
Franklin took the opportunity of silence and continued. “I hate being
accused of shit I did not do, can you fuck off and let me get to work.”
“I’ll have a warrant arranged for your address, the police will arrive
today.”
“No, they fucking won’t you moron.” Franklin thudded over to his desk.
Why did I lie? He thought. Ah fuck him. He concluded.
Clifton stormed out in a panic and did not return.
Disturbed, Franklin chose to play the part of the nascent and filed a
workplace harassment form toward his superior.
At home, he found the drawer glowing.
The damn stones are probably radioactive and noxious. Maybe I’ll return
them, hide the box somewhere so someone can find it. This is insane why did I
even take it?
He realised and hurried to remove it. When he stepped into the apartment
he was met with a wave of ecstasy. It wasn’t intense; but there was a
positivity in the air. Through the always open kitchen window, a faint breeze
blew in and the aroma was fresh and sweet. All the colour in the rooms were
vibrant and happy.
Franklin could feel himself smile. It all felt… natural. Then; all of a
sudden; it didn’t.
Franklin became hit with a vile depression. The air was tainted by petrol
fumes and the smell of drying cement from a worksite across the street; the
lights were unnatural, all produced by electricity; the natural evening night
drowned by the yellow glowing on the roof. Negativity electrified the air.
Franklin saw the twisted materials that composed his environment. Trees bent
out of shape to suit a human body’s comfortable sitting height and position
filled with wool and coated with leathered cow-hide. No single object was in
the form that it was supposed to. It was all as if the outside was actively
rejected, rather than properly integrated. Franklin frowned as the powerful
positivity returned. He approached the drawer in which the stones had been kept
and opened it. They lay there, a strong black colour with hints of a deeper
purple radiated out of them. What are these damn things? Suddenly, the idea of
disposing of them was unthinkable. Maybe if he found someone else who knew

16
about the mysterious power emanating from the stone, someone who was not
afraid, maybe then he could make sense of it. And from the depths of himself he
prayed for that.
He pushed the drawer closed and tried to forget about those weird
emotional pulses, but he couldn’t shake the perspectives that they had shown
him.

Coffeehouse

In no mood to cook, he walked to the nearby eatery for dinner.

“Table for one please.” Led to a quiet window seat he sat down and
pondered. Away from the stone, everything felt realer and far less fantastic.
Franklin laughed – was this really happening? Was his mind just playing tricks
on him? Normalcy felt stiff, but he endured and ordered a chicken curry to
comfort and ground himself with a large quantity of beer to accompany. The
restaurants door opened and a stranger walked in. Franklin acknowledged them
with the customary glance, taking in their person; they wore mostly black
business attire with white cuffs.
Behind the man, he could see the waiter bring their dish and drink over.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
Franklin took a large sip. He put the glass down just as the stranger sat
across from him sat down.
“Hello?” Franklin said.
“I’ve ordered a jug for us; hope you don’t mind.” The man said.
Franklin looked at him. He seemed genuine. “As long as it’s dark, I tend to
like stout.”
“Imperial Ale, you’ll like it, it’s lighter but stronger than stout.”
“Yeah okay.” Franklin felt weird about eating so took a sip, then asked
the obvious. “Who the fuck are you and why are we having this conversation?”
“So, this might sound crazy, but I’ve seen you before.”
“Sounds pretty… believable.”
“Not here, not in this place, but in a dream.”
Franklin laughed and drained his glass.
“Last night; well I first saw you the night before but you were only a
shadow then, you were clearer last night.”
“Okay, seriously, what are you talking about.” Franklin said.
“You’ve opened your mind to the gem.”
“Who are you?” He didn’t know if he should be hostile or not.
“My name is Zin Erto. Not that that matters. How did you come across the
gems?”
Franklin took a bite from his curry. Delicious. “Are they like… some kind of
radioactive something? Are you… like a wizard or something and should I be
concerned for my immortal soul?”
17
 “Yes.”
“It was brought to the mail-room. My boss brought it in and left it there
and I had a weird compulsion to take it.”
“Who left it there?”
“Clifton Brown.”
“So why did you take it?”
“I…” He hadn’t thought about that. Why had he stolen it? “Not sure, was just
looking after it I don’t know something about it felt right. At home it’s been
messing with my emotions. Guess that’s why I’m here rather than there, but I
kind of enjoyed the weirdness. Part of it felt so beautiful. Though there was
this weird darkness to it.” Franklin realised he was talking nonsense to a
stranger. “What is it? Is it radioactive? Have all my cells died?”
“Are you religious?”
“Religious? No. Have read some of the Bible though and the Bhagavad Gita…
mostly for shits and giggles, though they have some good advice.”
“Do you remember the passage in which man builds a tower to heaven and
thanks himself for the cleverness of building a tower to heaven and not
praising God for the life and the materials he used to build the tower with,
then is punished with confusion and inability to communicate?” Zin asked.
“The Tower of Babel?”
“Well, it’s kind of like that.”
“We build towers and thank ourselves and not God and now He’s angry?”
“Yes.”
“Well…” he looked up at the grey building looming over the diner. “I’d be
pretty pissed off too if I were He. Look at that monstrosity.”
“And it’s only to get worse.” Zin sighed. “This new generator, its
capabilities are far too much for science, far too much for what we can manage.
If the engineers continue to accumulate and experiment with them… if that
generator makes commercial, public trials, without guidance we are doomed.
Imagine Superman slapping a friend on the back, slamming a palm through their
heart.” The beer came, Zin poured and they drank. “Angry by this… God’s been…
trying to edge his way back into reality. Of course, not many people are
listening – those that do are mocked for being idiotic schizophrenics because
that’s what they are. They haven’t heard properly. Much of the world is imbued
already but access is obviously restricted and quite illegal; those exposed are
confused by what they see and learn false truths. Our world has become changed
from what it was supposed to be. And our power is too much.”
Franklin laughed at the ridiculousness, then remembered the weird qualities
of the gem and frowned. “Yeah, I’ve read about that new generator; sounds too
good to be true. How can we go in a good direction from here?”
“Listen to your dreams and your deepest thoughts, you’ll find the answer
there.”

Franklin returned home with the strangest idea – he would expose all to the
18
substance and allow them to experience it, put one stone in his car and
prepared to return it with the note: Found! The other one he returned to his
drawer.
And at the office the following day, left it in the attic stairway for someone
else to find later. And when it’s found, Clifton Brown apologises to him, is
still suspicious, then puts the box in the truck himself and says he will take
it to the university himself.

Three
Yinszk chapter
Yinsk observed the newbie Dave as he sat in conversation with Jenny the
employer and overseer.
“Ten years of proper, focused work in the legal sector had established me
as head of the residential company, was going to stay with them, but I’m glad I
didn’t – wouldn’t have found this opportunity here. Be good to have some
control over the trajectory of our future.” Dave tried.
“Your determination is impressive,” Jenny said, “your attitude will
really help us, I just wish we could communicate the good we are doing to the
rest of the world. This has always been our trajectory and now we are at the
edge of a new age, this new energy source seems promising. As long as we
understand it, and control it, good, but should anything unfamiliar arise it
must be conquered, else it will conquer us.”
“Of course,” Dave smiled. “Determination has been my life necessity since
I quit recreationally using.”
“Using what?”
“Mostly alcohol, but a little of this and a little of that as well. Felt
necessary to get through the intensity, but now I just focus on my goals.”
“And your goals are now more valuable than your buzz?”
“Never really got a buzz, just felt a bit less awful. But yes.”

The Engineers meeting was soon to take place at the University Hall.
Dave saw the truck come in; the driver looked a little bit disturbed.
On the way to the staff room, thoughts filled his mind of what will be
said. Jack had mentioned about a new find that must be classified.
A flash of colour exploded in his mind, and for a moment he felt as
though he was experiencing a seizure. Did some brain aneurysm just snap? Did a
haemorrhage develop in the last ten minutes? Or is this what a migraine is
like? The colours… seemed to come from far away, from the darkness he saw with
eyes shut, the same darkness that everyone sees with their eyes shut. From that
darkness came bright purples and yellows, reds and blues, greens and pinks, all
swirling and forming together in some kind of mist with three dimensional
depth.
All of a sudden, his mind returned to normal, and all the colour went away.
Strangely, he immediately missed it and wanted the colours back.
He stood up, shook himself off and continued to the meeting room. All in
the room looked very shaken.
19
 “Oh no! Is everybody okay?”
Dave watched as each person in the room reacted to the violent mental
disruption. Steph vomited; others fainted. Yinszk, he noticed, stood and seemed
to have embraced the blast.
“What happened.” Steph said quietly from pale lips
“That… was a pulse. That’s what we’ve termed it. They happen occasionally
when the gems are out of concealment.” Yinszk explained.
“What gems?”

Clifton brown walked inside, and handed the box to Yinsk. “One is missing,
but, I assure you, I will find it.”
Yinsk frowned and opened the package and held up the pearl.
“That looks like the one that’s powering the new generator?”
“Exactly.”
“So, what the hell is it? Some nuclear radiation? Reminded me of a
powerful psychedelic or something. Like I was blasted with God. What the hell.”
Steph wiped away spew. “Should we be in the same room as it? I feel sick.”
“We do not know. It is thought that several comets have fallen over
America, Australia and there are reports of them falling in Europe. I think…
they’re more like… extra-Venus narcotics created in a laboratory… in either
China or Russia and they are testing them on us. Their complexion and density
is not natural.” A professor said.
“Drugs that radiate their effects. That’s… so dangerous.”
“What do we do with them then?” Dave said.
“They are to be given to me, so I can take them to Arkham and continue my
research, to find out what they are and how else we can use them.”
“We use them? Seems like a bad idea. How is that what powers the
machine?”

Afterward, Yinszk headed to his laboratory but stopped at the sound of

psychosis. Through a crack in a door to the kitchenette, Dave was drunkenly
cradling a bottle of whisky and muttering to himself.

“Why now has this crave come?

(Because you no longer feel in control of your own mind – your sense of
self has been interrupted – you realise that there is more to existence than
what you’re experiencing – you’re afraid you’ll die
meaninglessly, what is the point of all this advancement anyway if
everyone just dies?)”

Four
Franklin came home, scanned the apartment, seemed normal, then hurried to his
room.
The drawer was not glowing.

20
Exhausted, fell into a strange ordinarily-dreamed sleep which seemed so boring.

Next day, he became blasted with a dreary, dreadful sense of artificiality. The
alarm annoyed him awake, it’s sound metallic and ringing.
Today would be the government job. Damn it, he thought, I hate working
with officials. Working with any secretarial figure was always annoying; they
always got information wrong –how can such incompetents be in such positions he
wondered. Instead of only feeling the rush of the morning, he felt a kind of
awareness, primed a kind of attention he had not known before. Something had
changed within himself he realised. I don’t enjoy this. It does not bring me
pleasure. No amount of good payment or funny office banter will get me to like
organising mail. With a heavying heart, he dressed and slowly made his way to
the offices. Greeted in the usual way by the usual people he went to his usual
place and began reading the orders for the day. Yep. Federal Agency this and
Taxation Office that. Sigh. Clifton was not present and the mood seemed stiffer
than usual… he put the papers down and pushed the box away. Figured out what to
say. He went to the coffee room to caffeinate and overheard:

“I don’t know how but these… comets seem to be influencing people more and
more. Reports of people quitting work suddenly and without explanation after
exposure to them are becoming more frequent. We need to disrupt this… new wave
of psychedelia before society collapses.” Clifton Brown said.
“I’ve heard whispers of a group that are instigating this revolution of
sorts. They’re crazy cultists who call themselves Visionaries.” Dave said.
“Ah! Visionaries, eh? Like… hippies? Makes sense that people like that would
be manufacturing these… radiation drugs. Can you find me more information on
them, where are they? Who are they? They are who stole that stone. I still
feel like someone here had something to do with it.”
“Yes, I will try.”

Reports stated that it was ‘entirely unusual’, and ‘composed of material

different to any known substance.’ That ‘their physical form seems to be
supple’ and ‘their consistency inconsistent. Rigid at most times, but due to
unknown forces, changes shape and colour. Appears to glow in some darkness as
if vaguely bioluminescent.’
Dave read the reports thoroughly. This universe is far stranger than
anyone realises. How can a thing disobey the laws of physics? Unless our
understandings are incomplete or incorrect.

The murder of Clifton Brown caused much panic and catastrophe.

“Maybe his mind got too twisted by whatever caused that strange
radiation. Made him go insane.”
21
“What are they?”
“Doom.” He realised. I must find the Visionary Order.

Part III

Some people find the spirit of substance to be superior to their present mode
of operation, they may see Sativa as wiser, oxycontin as calmer, alcohol more
honest, ecstasy happier and mushrooms more creative. And so, rather than
improve their present mode of operation, even integrate the experiences of the
substances, they continue to give themselves over to strange spirits to enjoy
their embrace and weaken their inner spirit.
You’ll see those who have recently parted from a bond with substance
spirits – they are hollow, they spirits are weak and they are uncomfortable and
irritable in their selves. Their weakness of spirit has come from the reliance
of otherearthly delights.
Some feel the pull of the Light, of the clarity and wish to return to
themselves and find their way into health once more, but, the spirit of
substance and its possession of the body is too powerful and it becomes painful
to release from the grips of those spirits. Because they have influenced the
mind; our selves have not processed neither grief or happiness and the pulling
back of the curtains of the mind, even the stage lights can be blinding.
“So are the spirits of substance evil?”
“No, they just are; our recklessness is the problem. Imagine knowing a…
sasquatch who had fun causing as much ‘harmless shenanigans’ as possible, and
if you didn’t they would be sad and you would feel bad. Then, your mum gets
sick and goes to hospital. The sasquatch wants to come along, begs you, says
he’ll be your friend in the hard times and would be sad if you left them alone.

“You know that all they ever want to do is cause “harmless” shenanigans.
And yet, you bring them with you anyway. Harmful hell ensues.
“Can’t fault Mr Sasquatch’s personal joys. Maybe there’s a time and a
place for it, he’s doing no wrong by having that be his personal joy. You
inviting and presenting the and enabling and encouraging the opportunity…
that’s on you.”

The Engineers find the village and with authorities, seek to claim the gems for
their own and the Visionary Order refuses, they have hidden and removed them.
Visionaries warn of the danger and the mistake and tell the engineers to
give them the gems. Engineers disperse them, recover a small one.
People discuss rescuing them.
“This is reality not a story.

Part II

22
 “Expect light rains and mild winds later in the evening.” Sayeth the
newsman.
Kurt Vademacher expected to have a quiet and tranquil evening all by
himself. Finally –able to find some peace and quiet away from everyone bunkered
up in his little one-person shanty out in the Karroun part of the Western
Australian wilderness – made him so glad. Funny to think that when he was
young, the car-ride to the holiday house was always painfully boring; now it
brought him joy, it represented getting as far away from people as possible.
Humans get tiresome after a while.
After the relaxing three hour drive, he pulled up the little dirt
driveway, carried inside all of his necessities (in one trip causing lower back
to spasm,) retrieved both cases (one of stout, the other or Imperial pale ale,)
set them down, cracked open a bottle, took a sip and was ready to rock and/ or
roll. From powerful speakers he boomed classic grunge at full volume to
properly set the mood. Intent on maximum comfort, he organised some ingredients
from the battery powered minifridge in the car, and fired up the hot plate,
over which he placed an iron skillet.
Onions sizzling, tomatoes in, spices too, but lentils will need time to
cook. Quite desiring a smoke after his third ale, he yanked a doobskin from his
pocket-case and lit –but deciding not to disturb the aroma of the cooking food
– went outside. The sky was black, and all was quiet. Nearest people were
probably at the gas station, two kilometres down, then at that little town
further down the road. There used to be other residents around here, he
remembered, but over time they all went away.
He took a drag and let the smoke blend with the drink, warming his mind
body and soul. Wow though he thought, this must be super-duper potent, some
strain grown by the Gods themselves. He thought, reasonably. Why all of a
sudden could he see a shadowy demon stand before him? Ten metres tall, it stood
on great hoofs, and had black smoky wings and terrible red eyes. (Wait, is that
just a plane flying through a dust-cloud?) The demon clapped, and there was a
boom of thunder that crackled out across the sky. A single, fiery bolt of
lightning flashed down, striking the sand where the demon once stood. Black ash
sprayed into the sky. Vibrations shook the ground violently. Yeah, nah, nah,
yeah, nah where did that demon go?
Suddenly, gales of powerful wind slammed into the world, and rain fell
heavily. Kurt turned to get back to his little shanty, to smoke where it was
safe, to lock the doors and watch the oncoming storm from the safety of his
walls, drinking beer and eating casserole. But the demon guarded his way, and
with a hefty foot of fiery smoke, stepped on and crushed the young man unto
oblivion.

***

In the shadow I stood, three long days of incantations have poisoned my mind. I
do not like the wind; the dry outback’s hot sand whipped and burned my skin.

23
The cow skin tent would not last not last another day and my desperation grew.
Regardless of these discomforts I had decided that I must complete my task; its
failure would mean my death. Hunger had reduced my physical strength but
increased my mental fortitude. Above the night remained dark. Silence and
stillness set the outback sands. Disappointment filled me then for I thought my
magic had failed. I heard the boom, and saw the sky fill with violent violet
fire. From afar I saw the messenger appear in the sky and fall toward the
Earth. When the sky darkened once again, I hurried to the newly formed pit,
and collected the fallen star and disappeared into the desert.

24
At the end of an ordinary Tuesday, Astar Qorget returned to her dormitory after
class. Home work would have to wait, she was tired; and it all began to seem
irrelevant. Having completed a double undergraduate degree of anthropology and
archaeology at the Pilbrook University, outside of Broome, she had assumed the
post graduate part would be not only more challenging, but more satisfying, and
would involve actual onsite experience. Severely let down by the idea of having
to submit four long, interconnected essays detailing and analysing recent
discoveries without direct investigation, she began to have doubts, yet the
deadlines loomed and the necessity for good grades made the slog necessary.
Want the degree? Do the work.
She flung her bag across the room, wondering if she damaged any book
spines, shrugged, donned her purple pyjamas, poured herself a deep glass of
shiraz and turned on the television to let play whatever was on so her mind
could fade. Some depressing cartoon about a humanoid horse had just ended and
the evening news had come on. Sprawled on the sofa, she sipped the wine and
watched the news presenter, who spoke of a freak, flash cyclonic storm that
struck a shanty town in outback Western Australia. Fortunately, few residents
were affected, except one man, burned and covered with scars, had been found by
a traveller who had called an ambulance. Footage showed that on the way to
Laverton hospital the man was screeching about ‘beasts of hell’ in the area
that a cyclone had struck, of ‘the coming doom.’
Astar frowned. Indeed, it seemed an odd place for a that sort of weather,
almost as if a magician had conjured it for some mystical intent. From the town
someone had captured footage of the storm which the news played. A lightning
strike hit the ground, and seemed to ignite something, causing the ordinary
blue flash to spark red and did indeed look like a demon walked, especially
when the sky flared infernally, dust clouds mixed with smoke plumes in the
silver rain blown by such heavy winds. Imagine being stuck in that. News
footage played of the man being wheeled from ambulance to hospital. Sympathetic
for a moment, an odd thought came to her as she watched the ferocious wind and
rain pounding the landscape and severely shifting the sands. Curiosity struck
her and overpowered any sense of compassion. While a new episode of the
horseman show started, she could not watch it, found herself too lost in
consideration.
Bottle empty she sat contemplating a single thought; what is a thought? Where
do ideas come from?
Is there a reason I’m thinking about those shifted dunes?
On the idea she slept and the following morning, she found Sonja and Lexi
in the library before class. Despite the headache that throbbed inside her head
and the heaviness that writhed in her bones she pushed on, motivated by the
strange idea.
“Good morning Astar.” Sonja said looking up from her study. “Did you find the
article you were looking for?”
Astar had completely forgotten about her research project, and laughed to
herself. “No –I really didn’t have the energy to think about that. I’ll focus
on it later today if I can.” Astar said.
25
 “Damn it, you look excited about something, have you had a lightbulb moment?”
Lexi said.
“Did you see the report of the cyclone?”
“Heard something about one… way up near Alice Springs wasn’t it. Why? Wasn’t
it only really small anyway?”
“Well – the weather did not seem natural – seemed somehow forced.”
“Yeah, that’s climate change for you.”
“No… different to that.” Astar said. “But I’ve wondered, what might
have been uncovered? Seems the sand in that region has always been at a
pretty flat level. Now there’s a sinking depression in it. This weekend –
let’s drive there and investigate –hopefully before others have had the same
idea.” “Didn’t the storm happen down at like Perth?” Lexi asked.
“Yeah, near there.”
“Why would we go there? That’s… a long way south.” Sonja asked. “I’ve got my
thesis to figure out.”
“Just told you. Either way, it could be like a fun road trip, a break
from this university and its workload. Or you can take your bloody readings
with you if you must.”
“What do you expect to find?” Alexis asked.
“I have no idea, I hadn’t thought of that, it just seems like a perfect
opportunity to test what we know. If anything has been buried there over time,
now is the time to uncover it. If we are the first ones to really take the idea
seriously, and we discover something, well, wouldn’t that change everything?”
Astar said. “Chances are, we won’t, it’ll just be a bit of an adventure, but we
can hope, I guess.”
Sonja sighed. “You know what, fine. I haven’t let myself have a bit of
fun in so long, there’s always so many consequences of being happy and having a
good time, that I just don’t anymore. Screw this thesis, might do me good to
forget about it for a while.”
“Do you think we should ask Brandon to join us? He’s always talking about
going on an adventure.” Lexi said.
“Yeah, see if he’s available for Friday afternoon, we’ll leave for the site
then.” Astar said. “You’re interested?”
“Not really, well, not on the actually searching for evidence of ancient
alien cities buried beneath the bloody outback, but certainly for the road
trip.” Alexis confirmed. By noon on Friday, Astar had the car fully loaded with
supplies, and routinely collected Alexis, Sonja and Brandon for the six-hour
drive through the great Australian back yard to the sprawling, minimally
populated settlement of Recreational Vehicles or single room houses made from
old shipping containers.
Empty desert stretched out for miles and miles all around as the day
darkened, only occasionally interrupted by a small collection of petrol
stations, supermarkets and houses with enormous back and front yards.

26
 They listened to rock and roll, jazz mixtures, switching between classic
and modern, until Sonja changed the pace by putting on some Baroque – played on
electric guitar – the performer shredded Scarlatti and riffed on Tartini… until
a madman joined the soloist with contra-saxophone.
At dusk, with the car musicked out, Sonja said, “Hey, there’s the sign, we’ve
made it to Karroun.” She pointed to a sign.
“But that’s the town.” Sonja said.
“There’s a sign there that seems to indicate a camp ground, maybe that’s
where we want to go.” Astar turned down the side street and drove past a
little caravan park and continued out on the desolate road.
“Okay, this was a mistake,” Lexi said. “Let’s go back to the town.”
“Not yet.” Astar pushed the car onward, further away from the town, to
some protest, until… “There it is!” Astar said, finally, punching on the car’s
high beams. “Look how charred the sand is.” She pointed to a lone wooden
shack. All around it, it looked as if the sand had been burned.
“Must have been blasted by lighting, Jesus.” Sonja said.
“Lightning Jesus save us,” Brandon yawned.
Astar drove on slowly, her eyes scanning the environment, then, suddenly,
she took the car off road and pulled over at a giant depression in the ground,
it was fully charred black. “Do you think this is where the guy was struck by
lightning?”
“Looks like it. This is where we will begin tomorrow.”
“Good.” Brandon said. “Well, according to the map, there’s a hotel like a
kilometre that way.” He pointed to the north part of the town they had just
come from.
“What’s a hotel doing there?” Lexi asked.
“Well, it’s a petrol station, but with like four levels, and the top
three have accommodation. Doubt we’ll be very bothered there.”
After some disoriented searching, the group stumbled upon the little
establishment, pulled in, got out with their backpacks. As they entered, the
clerk assumed a robbery was taking place and crouched behind the counter.
“Yo!” Brandon boomed, “Reckon we could get a room,
aye?” “What is your purpose here?” The clerk said.
“Oh, just got some out back work to do.”
“Well, do it away from here!”
“Nah, yeah, nah, like, our work is over that hill where the storm hit,
it’s not here per se, we just need a place to stay while we set up the site and
do our work.” Brandon explained.
“Are you…
sandologists?”
“What?” Sonja asked.
“Yes, kind of.” Astar
said.

27
 The clerk straightened up. “We don’t have many night stayers. Sure, sure, how
long do you folk want to be here?”
“Probably until Monday Morning.” Astar said.
“Well, yes, okay, well, there are four of you, could give you two rooms? Rooms
one and two?”
“Yeah that’ll be fine.”
They checked in, split into two groups of two, settled in their room, and
went down again in search of dinner. The hotel itself did not offer very much.
Brandon utilised his negotiation skills. “Listen, if we buy ingredients at the
town, may we use the kitchen to cook them?” The clerk was hesitant, then said.
“Only if you make me some.” Brandon agreed, and, took the car to go find a
supermarket. After buying eggs, milk, butter, mozzarella, potatoes, broccoli
and some spices from the town, he fired up the industrial oven and cooked some
mean omelettes, on toast, with sauce. Perfect.

Astar Qorget, who called herself chief archaeologist, was just a student of the
Pilbrook University, and leader of the unannounced and unauthorised Karroun
Expedition. She sipped her whisky and watched the sunset on the Saturday
evening. She stood upon the balcony of the old petrol-station-hotel and
laughed. According to her schedule, she should still be out there in
the hot summer sands, digging upon her hands, yet there she was in her cosy
purple gown and slippers, drinking gold. It was only Saturday night and their
trip had been a complete success. In her hand she considered the strange brown
and grey rock of grainy appearance but smooth texture and smiled, set it down,
toasted it (solitarily), and took a swig.
In the Australian Outback, the ‘sudden storm’ (so news articles call it)
had uncovered fragments of a strange stone that did not match any known
material. Examination determined it to be a mixture of various stones, crushed
together and then mixed and dried into its current form. Her team had dug and
found a strange little pyramid deep below the surface, and with further prying,
it seemed only to get bigger.
“Well,” Sonja said. “Congratulations.”
“Wonder what this is, wonder what more there is.” Astar said.
“I’m sure we’ll find out. We’ll need to report what we’ve found here, say
it was an accidental find.” “Yes, but not yet, let’s have twenty-four
hours to ourselves, shall we?” Astar smiled. “I want to see more of it for
myself.”
Brandon could only nod. She is the team leader after all. “What do you think
it is?”
“No idea, but I’m wondering if the product is natural or artificial?” Astar
wondered.
The following day, the team of four uncovered a very small, oddly shaped
surface after more sifting, and deepening of the already deep pit. “What’s
this?” Brandon had found a place, in the centre, where there was no stone. With

28
a simple spade, he dug and uncovered two very small steps in a small one by
one-meter hole. “Astar, look at this.”
“Oh my goodness.” She said walking over, then she began to laugh, quite
hysterically, “we’ve really found something!”
Astar gave in to Sonja’s advice and informed the university of the
finding. When the University’s Expertise gathered a large team to uncover the
whole thing, it was quickly discovered to be a little, cubeshaped room, four
metres deep and wide. Full of grey dust and empty beside what seemed to be a
lidless, empty sarcophagus. Named the Tomb of Kurt after the now insane man who
lived next door. Her job complete, specialists discussed which culture could
have possibly built it and when, what was its purpose, and other such
contemplations, she went home. The leading idea was that it was an ancient
dreamtime site built by the Kalaamaya people many millennia ago.

The drive back to campus was slow.

Tuesday morning had come. She lay in her bed, in the little apartment
watching the TV, laughing at the idea that not six days ago had she had an
idea, and now that idea was already made into reality and accomplished.
But despite the uncovering of a site that would forever change
understanding of pre-European Australia, her education still had to be worked
on.
I still have that thesis draft to write. From eight o’clock until noon
she researched and wrote ferociously. Despite the tricky intellectual effort
and intense concentration required to gather and assimilate many different
sources into a coherent argument, she worked with a light heart and easy mind
laughing along the way.
Class began at three o’clock the following afternoon. The last tutorial,
after which all first drafts were due. Normal classroom vanities persisted for
two full hours. Astar eyed the other students and determined which of them had
completed their work, and which had not. At the classes end, Professor Elton
said, “Astar, would you stay behind, we would like to have a word with you.”
We? She thought,you’re the only one here. “Okay.” She said and remained
in her seat. “Would you follow me?” Professor Elton said, as nonchalantly
as possible.
Astar stood. “Is this about my weekend discovery?”
The Professor laughed. “Ah, you are astute. Indeed, it is. You, and other
students disappeared to conduct the illegal work of trespassers.” He intended
to sound serious but failed, miserably. Into the Staff Room Professor Elton
walked, holding the door open so that Astar could enter. As she had begun to
expect, an award ceremony had been arranged. “The Archaeological Society
organised a thank you with a little make-shift party.” Professor Elton
confirmed, seemingly having read her mind.
“Surprise!” A group of strangers said.
“Oh!” Astar feigned surprise and deference. Sonja, Lexi and Brandon were
also there. It was all quite overwhelming, and she thought it unnecessary but

29
accepted the prizes given to her in good grace. Afterward, she went in search
of a glass of wine, found one at pop-up bar, and went to the balcony for a
little space. Outside sat a very tired looking man, who stood smoking a long
wizard-pipe. He looked up at her. “Hello, oh, I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was
out here.”
“That’s okay, I don’t mind, we can both brood out here together.” He
said, taking a puff. “How is the party?”
Astar relaxed and leaned against a wall. “It’s a little bit much for me
personally, I mean, it’s a lovely party, very well put together, but I’m kind
of just tired.” She took a sip from her glass. “Why’re you out here anyway?”
“I was hired to organise this event, was only supposed to do the
outlining, but then decided to come in and help with the setup, always like to
see the fruits of my labour with my own eyes.” He said. “Now my work is done,
finally, so I have a chance for some peace and quiet before I go home to…”
“To?”
“Nothing.” Astar noticed a sad expression fill his eyes. He took a long
drag, and, for a moment became fire-breathing dragon, then returned to human
form. “So, is this your party?” He asked. “You’re Astar?”
“Yeah, guess so. Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“Most people tend not to like surprise parties too much, so I find. Lots
of people step out to get a breather or end up just leaving. That you’re out
here made me guess.”
“Hah, so are you some kind of detective too?” She found conversation came
easily.
“No, I just like understanding people so that I can design specific
spaces based on certain personalities and temperaments, and when you pay
attention to people for long enough you begin to notice patterns.”
“Well, clever man. What is your name?”
“Oh, yeah, Fernand Eobardy.” He produced a business card; she admired the
style of it.
“Well, Fernand, you say you’re done here?”
He nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Think you could take me home? If you drove here? It isn’t very far.”
“Straight to the punch, eh. Beware the friendly stranger.” Fernand chuckled.
“Know your enemy.
You have no idea of my combat abilities and knowledge in improvised weaponry.”
“Well then,” he said. “No, I did not drive here, I was driven by my hot
head assistant who insisted to bring his seven-seater open top… fucken… Valiant
or whatever it is. Don’t really like driving, but he loves it, so it works
out.”
“Oh, don’t bother him, it’s okay.”

30
 “I pay the little brat, I’m his boss, he is still
technically on shift until midnight.” “Oh, go bother him,
in that case.” Fernand went to do exactly that.
Astar, alone for a moment, looked at the stars with wonder, and felt very
special although she felt very small. She took another sip. Fernand returned
with a very frat-looking goober, hat backwards, popped collar, high top
sneakers and all. “Astar meet William Rogers.”
“Hey sister.” William nodded toward Astar. “Ready to hop on out of here?”
“Hey girlfriend.” Astar mocked. “Yes, I am.”
“Let’s bounce then, hun, just follow me and we’ll speed away!” William
walked inside. Fernand and Astar followed, side by side, and surreptitiously
disappeared following William the Goober.
“Pardon him, he gets a little enthusiastic.” Fernand apologised.
Astar just laughed wondering if her friends would mind if she just
disappeared. She shrugged and followed her new friend.
“Excuse me, I’ve got to remind the front desk exactly who they’re paying
for this occasion.” Astar nodded and followed William out to the
spunky red Valiant with white racing stripes. The car’s middle row of seats
faced backwards. The red velvet seats were very luxurious, and over pompous.
“Would you like a rum and coke?” William offered, holding the back door open.
“Yeah, that would be very nice, thank you.”
“Let’s keep this little party going. Don’t worry, it’s on Fernand’s
dollar, and I’m charging guest rates, which is quadruple normal price.” He
smiled, yet sounded completely serious.
“In that case, can I order two?”
“You may.”
“Cha-ching!” William rubbed his fingers together in a way that signified
rubbing cash on cash.
Instead of a passenger seat, a mini fridge and bar-top and been set up, from
which William organised three drinks. One for Fernand, probably. Indeed.
Astar sat and sipped her drink quietly and waited for Fernand to pile
into the car. He did, and they both faced backwards. They toasted while William
performed a routine safety check before organising some Aussie rock classic
tunes to blast out of the superb speakers, then they zoomed away into the
night. When William pulled up to Astar’s little apartment, the car turned
off, the music remained, and the conversation continued.
“You look so tired.” Fernand said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty exhausted, and I’ve got assignments I need to get on
with. Glad to be able to have some peace and quiet now though.”
“Well, you have my business card. I’m only a call away if you ever want
to… drink rum and coke on a quiet night again.” Fernand smiled.
“You’ll hear from me, Goodnight Fernand.”
“Goodnight Astar.”

31
 She got out, saluted William the Driver, and went inside to have a last
drink in the bath, then went to bed.

Fernand flinched at the happy sensations he felt. He barely noticed William

pulling out the street-park and drive away.
Work had been his only love for almost five years. It had to be that way.
Each time he felt something lovely he felt pulled in by the beauty of
their self and felt a deep sense of care toward them, whoever they were. Each
time they had fallen in love with his tenderness and felt safe and well by his
side… and he loved that. Until they grew bored, and, seemingly without prompt,
disappeared. Then returned, months later, to see how he was… with a new
boyfriend at their side… as if the pain wasn’t still powerful inside him, as if
he should have just gotten over it.
After four similar experiences in a row, not a single, lasting positive
emotional result in twelve years, makes one find new ways to deter
contemplations of suicide; clearly, love would not be the magic that he always
hoped it would be. Yet… the beginnings of it formed inside him. Just animal
lust – forget about it – just your hormones talking. (You act as though they’re
unimportant.) They only cause trouble.
With many heavy sighs he accepted his loneliness and focused on his
creations, on what he would be remembered by after he died and remained buried.
But eventually something happens, something always happens to remind him how
actually lonely he felt all the time every day. How he longed to snuggle
someone he loved to sleep. How he longed to wake up and kiss them. How he
wanted so badly to make love with someone… to show and receive affection. How
glorious such a thing must be, how truly wonderful to hold… to be inside…
someone you truly love. To feel their warm back against your chest. To feel the
shape of their knees interlocked with your own. To lie in the dark and listen
to their heartbeat.
He shook away the thought, as he had done a million times before. Such
thoughts only served to cause him to ruminate and become depressed. How long
can you deny yourself what you need? (I can’t have it. I don’t know how I could
make someone want to love me.) Astar seemed quite keen. (Only just met her – am
I going to trust someone else all over again? For long will we be close friends
rather than intimate lovers? Of course, she’ll want slowness, she’ll want time
for us to marinate together, and of course we’ll need that, to grow as people
and as a couple. And if I love her, I will love her more than I’ve ever loved
anyone else. She won’t feel the same way, she’ll think she does, but then she
will realise that she does not and she’ll go for someone better than me,
someone she actually wants. And she’ll leave, and I’ll be alone again, with
another red strike on the tally.) Better that than being forever lonely.
The battle between his heart and mind raged. He let out an animalistic,
raging scream. Then he realised that there would be nobody to comfort him and
kiss him that night… unless he paid for it… which to him diminished everything
that love was supposed to mean. It wouldn’t be worth it. The rum by itself made
him cough and splutter, so he mixed it with a bit of water, and braced himself
32
to see the bottom of the bottle. He got half way, when the door opened and
William stood there looking at the pathetic sight of the sad man.
“Mate, you’ll need to come back to the house now.”
The world had become blurry. Fernand sat up with a start, it was dark
outside and he still sat in the car. Fernand felt Williams hands on his
shoulders, pulling him to stand. Next thing he knew, he stood in the bathroom.
Instinct told him to get in the shower, and so he did. Let the hot water burn
clarity into his mind as it soaked his hair and poured down his body.
Afterward, dressed in only briefs, he stumbled to his room, retrieved his
little pouch, selected the fattest and longest he could find, and lit a fat
blunt; green it all away. With each inhale he felt more holy and less human.
He found the half finished bottle of whisky he must have chucked down. As his
hair dried he swapped between smoking and drinking. When he puffed at the ashy
remainder of the filter, he looked outside and saw that the night was cloudy.
There was one glow however, one thing shining for him… A star… then he passed
out in delirium.
Next morning, he woke, remembered vague remnants about something
emotional but could not recollect what. Fernand pulled his heavy body over to
the bathroom to detox whatever sick feeling was swirling inside him. After an
extraordinarily disgusting purge he had but a single thought in his mind. Build
the portfolio to apply for the higher management position. His mind determined,
he disregarded any bodily discomfort he might experience, sat down at his desk
and let his brain think about technicalities.

Astar held the phone with some hesitation. She dialled the number, did not
ring, but stared at the numeric line for a long while. He wouldn’t be
interested in you, she thought, he was only being polite. (Then you’ve got
nothing to lose.) She rang… and after three eternal seconds… she heard a raspy
answer.
“Hello?” A tired, grizzly voice said.
“Fernand. How are you? It’s Astar… from the other night.”There was a
pause. “Hello Astar.” He sounded surprised. “Hey you know I thought
because we’re so different, maybe we’d find each other interesting. I’ve tried
dating people from my circle but it just… hasn’t worked out… we lose interest
of each other too quickly as we tend to have similar goals.”
“You’re talking too fast.” He said slowly.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, would you like to go out for coffee sometime?”
“Coffee?... yeah that’s a good idea actually. What are you doing tomorrow
afternoon?”
Astar laughed. “Having coffee with you, by the sound of it. How about pick me
up at two o’clock.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

33
Happiness surged through her. She had asked a guy out on a date and he said
yes! Fernand sat in silence. Horrible squirms shot through him. Memories of
old promises, of false pretensions, of being misled down a miserable path, a
path he had his whole heart in flooded into him. Despite the sick, heavy
feeling that hung over his body, threatening further release, he craved beer.
Is it happening again? His stomach fluttered badly, all his teenage hormones
returned with a ferocity he had never felt before and he stood in an aura… a
hormonal rush at the idea of the possibly of maybe getting laid. Are you in
High School or are you a mature adult? (Don’t give a fuck, I’m going to be in
love again.) The thought filled him with dreadful unease. At home he pondered
his situation. No. He thought. Don’t think this is a good idea. I need to be
more secure in my self… be more established in my work before I can be
distracted by this.
He met her the following day for coffee, and all was easy, though she
started feeling like a platonic friend than a potential lover. He went home
disappointed, but an hour later he received a message.
“Hey –I ran out of groceries. Can’t be bothered shopping. Dinner looms.”
Of course, it was from Astar. What do you mean of course? Most girls
ignore you now. “Easy.” He responded. “I’ll pick you up at six?” He gambled.
For forty six minutes she did not respond. The agony he experienced made him
want to nap; something he’d never craved before. He woke up thirty minutes
after he lay down. His phone prompted him to two messages.
“No, I’ll pick you up, see you then.” “xx” xx. …
:)
So, it happened. Fernand had opened himself. Let himself feel. They had eaten
well at the little Thai restaurant, and drunk seasonal beer to down their meal.
Astar had driven, and had pulled up at his rather large house.
“Look,” he had said, “I would love to stay and talk with you but I need
to wake up early tomorrow to get started on my new project.”
They sat for ninety minutes. After a space, the two realised, it was
indeed time for Astar to go home and Fernand to go to bed.
Why don’t we go to bed together? Oh, the thought was on both of their minds.
“Would…mmm…” Fernand hesitated, instantly regretted blurting out anything at
all.
“What?” Astar smiled at him, her features were so pretty under the moonlight.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
She saw through his clever yet feeble disguise. He intended to be friendly but
failed.
“Would you kiss me?” Astar completed his sentence. Fernand froze. What is
this acceptance? Why is this so good? Should I trust this? No. Fernand mentally
vocalised, no, you are smart mate, you’re not going to let yourself get mixed
up in this, get mixed up in her games, you’re going to be responsible to
yourself, your emotions. You’re not ready. He held her right cheek in his left
hand.

34
 Then… physics broke entirely. A forceful magnetism appeared. It burst
into time space and interfered with the intended reality. He leant forward and
tasted the warmth of her soft lips. At first… they lay still… and then… they
opened. The wetness first surprised him… (You’re sucking on a tongue mate.)
Fernand almost… almost laughed at the thought… it was a weird thought… even
weirder was that it was true. For an instant… it felt weird… slimy… unfamiliar…
tasted like curry and coke. Then… he felt every nerve inside himself relax
completely and he gave in to the most beautiful feeling he had ever felt. He
tasted melting honey, he felt so in love… more than he ever felt before. Into
that sensation he plunged… then he dared… return the favour. Astar accepted and
for a prolonged moment, they exchanged passions, like a conversation, bouncing
from her… to him… from him… to her. Then they broke, he still held her cheek.
They laughed together and he kissed that cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Fuck I love you.”
“What?”
Their eyes met, she smiled, winked, and his heart melted all over again.
He opened the car door, stepped out, closed it, and she drove off immediately.
That light… that had been dark for too long… had switched on… and shone
brighter than ever before. He didn’t trust himself to feel, but felt anyway.
For the first time in three years he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the
pillow and slept a good eight hours and woke up feeling fresh.

Beneath the sands of the Australian desert, stony remains of a lost

civilisation had been uncovered.
Prompted by the uncovering of a stony room by the amateur archaeologist. It had
been named Tomb of Kurt for the destroyed man. Professional excavators
uncovered remnants of an ancient stone hut with a large central fireplace.
Speculation had arisen that the site had been used for Dream Time ceremonies,
conducted by the First Nations people. Professional archaeologists, historians
and other sects of the academic community deigned to research the relic –
discovering strange, unfamiliar artefacts inside. Four sites of ancient
masonry in quite close proximity to each other implied aspects of a city. The
formation, however, seemed incomplete. Evidence for a fifth location had been
found by an undergraduate geography class sent to the area to learn about
topography. The excursion was interrupted by stupid youthful delinquency. Three
boys had found an area where they would not be seen by teachers behind a large,
singular rock; and there, they, for some reason, lit a fire. Small at first,
but it began to spread in ferocity. They covered it with sand, eventually
putting it out. Teachers had seen the smoke and were hurrying to see what
happened. The fire had burned away some sad and dislodged part of the rock.
Mister Everett had apparently leant against the boulder and, due to the changed
terrain, it toppled, uncovering a deep chasm. Astar took this news with great
excitement. She went to the archaeological office to apply to be part of the
expedition to uncover that location. Technically, she didn’t have the proper
qualifications, and legally had to be declined.

35
 “While you work on the qualifications,” the officer said, “perhaps you
could shape your thesis to be about your first ‘accidental’ discovery.”
“It wasn’t accidental, I figured it out.”
“Legally, because you don’t have the qualifications, we have to say that it
was.”
“I’m not getting the credit for finding it?”
“You’re… getting the credit for that… and just that. Discovery alone does
not immediately grant you qualifications. If you found Ned Kelly’s pistol in
your back yard, you would not instantly become an expert in firearms, or
excavation, or Australian history for that matter. You just happened upon some
metal.”
Astar’s countenance fell.
When she went home, Fernand was working at his computer at the lounge
table. “Hey, how did your interview go?” He got up to greet her.
“Well… it went well, but I’ve decided, I might stay back and continue to
study, finish my university degree and write a book before I do more actual
physical work.”
“A book?”
“Yeah, a book. About the hidden wonder of the world and of the delight of
discovery.” (De-Light; why does darkness imply positivity?)
“How spontaneous, never thought of you as overly literary, but hey,
that’s awesome. Good to develop new skills I guess.”
“I’m not.” Astar admitted. “But can be.”
“Where is this project? At Pilbrook?”
“Currently, yes, but these are early days I am getting a little tired of that
place.”
“Well… I have some news.” Fernand admitted. “Work has grown, with more
projects of greater complexion taking off. Into the developing madness I have
been thrown. It’s a lot to handle and it will take a lot of time. If it’s
successful though, I can step out of the game, hand over the reins and we can
have our life with nothing to get in our way.”
“Well, that’s exciting. I take it your sound circulation system was accepted?”
“No. It was appreciated though, a step in the right direction they said.
They like my potential and have made me an offer by implication; to move to
the planner sector, strange title I know, to work with higher ups.
That sector is in West Beach, South Australia; little southwest of Adelaide’s
city.”
“Oh wow –you’re saying we get out of here together?”
“Think we could financially pull it off, even if we have to scrape
through a little bit. More success I hit, and maybe when your book is
successful or there are some more projects for you to undertake, we’ll be even
better. Bit of a leap of faith, but we’re here to live life, aren’t we? Frodo
left the Shire to find his purpose.”

36
 Astar laughed. “Yes, adventure begins outside your front gate, with
home behind and the world ahead, where there are many paths to tread.”
“And I shall take that one less travelled.”
“Would be good to have a new environment, especially if my lifestyle is
going to change; perhaps I can enrol in Adelaide’s University… or that one
named after Her Majesty’s Sailor… Flounder? Flondike?”
“Flinders?”
“Yeah him.”
“Away we go.”

Chapter Two
Behind him the office door swung closed, finally he was left alone to
himself. Not often did such opportunity arise, so he allowed himself to enjoy
it. Strange had been the realisation. Past fortnight had been spent worrying
about other people, and their problems that he forgot about his own. Forgotten
problems are not resolved, however, and when the opportunity arises –mostly
before sleep, in dreams (but hey heavy sleeping pills), and early in the
morning –old sensations and memories flicker weirdly in the mind. In a trance-
like experience, he visualised his entire mind, all the repressions that
bubbled, all the supressedness, all the forgotten wants, all the unresolved
aches, all the angry squirms, all the misery, and the joy, and the hope, and
fondness and desire, and love and want. All of it. Naturally his emotions
awoke, pulled toward the anger, oh it’s so easy to get angry, then, he stopped
and forcefully course corrected. Fernand snapped his eyes open, outside the
office window it was a grey day, few silver-linings broke through. In front of
him, sprawled on the desk, his desk, were plans, his plans. That he knew were
pretty awesome. For these he would be long remembered… as a name for high
schoolers to remember when writing research articles about the new age of clean
technology for high school. He poured over the design for the new efficient
airconditioning system that uses an indoor ecosystem equipped with streams,
grasses and gardens to fuel its cleansing. So simple, so pure, so theoretically
easy and he had come up with it. When completed and approved he would have a
team to help construct it. Until then, there were tweaks to be made, always
are. With a smile he picked up his favourite pencil and returned to a water
contamination issue that could potentially arise. Ideas of solutions, practical
problems, pragmatic alterations and further developments whirred in his mind,
and before long his wrist hurt from not writing as fast as the ideas were
coming. An intricate water-system that would, in theory, link with nearby river
and connect to the sea, would include fish, and any other local marine life to
flow beneath the offices; how deep would the trenches have to be to comfortably
manage the relationship between the humans that work in the upper area and the
fish down below with no disturbance to either group? Well, he began to think,
if glassed off and the barrier bridged with ventilators…
“Fernand!” A knock rapped the door. Then it swung open. “You know
celebration dinner for Zanussi we’re holding at the West Farthing Hotel this
37
Saturday? Well, I was wondering if you could organise a venue for afterward,
for drinks, you know? That’d be good, can’t be too far from the hotel though.”
Suzannah took a step into the room, leaving the door open, letting the general
chatter from the central area to flood in.
“What.” He turned around and stared at her.
“Somewhere like a cocktail bar maybe but nothing too fancy, I think, or maybe
a biergarten?”
“Um,”
“By the way, how’s your new idea coming? Heard the guys talking about how
you wanted an aquarium. Pretty luxurious, don’t you think, would that really be
necessary? Oh, wow, you have heaps here, what does connectivity tunnel system
mean? Are they all, oh like pipes?”
“No. Can we speak at lunch, I am concentrating.”
“Think I’ll be going out to the deli with few of the others, want to come?”
He watched her face, it was positive and genuine, she’s such a lovely and
outgoing person, who can’t read a room and probably never had an insightful
thought in her entire bimbo existence. “Can you leave me alone and close the
door?” Fernand said.
“What’s wrong with you? Kind of weird.” She left and slammed the door
behind her, probably confused at why Fernand was annoyed and rude. He sighed,
turned around and went back to work. What had he been thinking about? Something
about the roots of the trees? No? Fertilisation? No? oh, something about the
water? Maybe, but, oh, perhaps oh something about filtration. Outside the
clouds darkened. What a lovely day. He thought to himself, might go out and get
coffee and come back, maybe I’ll reset by then. To the door he went, was about
to pull it open, and realised that he would immediately be spoken to by
someone, asked a question maybe –and people expected answers to questions. Head
down, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, he bee-lined for the stairs. Few
noticed until he bumped into Quentin on the stairs. “Hey, we’re going out to
lunch, want to come with?” Quentin smiled, most politely.
“No.” Fernand brushed past and went outside into the falling rain. Coffee
drank, he decided, maybe I’ll collect my things and set up office at home for a
while, find some me time with Astar at work. Really need to get this design
finished, and I need to be undisturbed while I do it. Set up by mid-afternoon
he worked without halt until dinner. “How’d your day go?” Astar asked.
“Good, I think I’ll be working at home for a while. How are you?”
“Never been better, managed to write today.”
“Wonderful, that writer’s block has been upsetting you muchly. How many
words did you get done?”
“Seven.”
“Oh, wow, well, if they were good words, I suppose seven good words is
better than a million bad ones.”
“Yes, they are good words, I’m just not entirely sure of the order they go
in.”
38
 “Are you doing a poetic section?”
“Not really, just trying to articulate the idea properly.”
“You know, maybe you might need to spend more time reading and less time
writing for a while, read widely and a lot, freshen your mind with new ideas
and new ways of describing ideas. Might do you good.”
“Maybe.”
Day light savings meant that it would remain light longer into the night.
After preparing the evening meal and leaving it to marinate, Fernand sat out
the back, smoked a pipe, and scribbled on a notepad, very much enjoying his own
space.
“Think I am going to go on a walk, I’ll be back in a while.” Astar said.
“Okay, I will cook dinner around eight for when you get back.”
“Thank you darling.”

Out on a casual stroll one fine summer day, with nowhere to be, and no one
expecting anything of her, Astar Qorget, progressed through the neighbourhood
toward the esplanade. Sunset would be soon. Above a seagull flapped, squawking,
alone. She followed its flight into the sky that was painted a layered blue
that crept from the darkness of the east, and melted into fiery crimson of the
coming dusk. Where did blue end and red begin? She sighed. Why do I not feel
the joy that I see? What is missing from me? Under a palm tree she stopped.
Like a candle-fire the sun burned on the horizon, then it was gone. Twilight
had come. God –please –send me a sign –you know –what is it that I need? What
do you need?
Subscription to specific religion never interested her, as an
intellectual; but she understood that she understood so little. Looking out at
the stars that began to dot the evening sky, it is hard not to wonder perhaps
there is purpose to this.
(Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom
thou shinest?)
Is our purpose survival alone or is there something greater? Perhaps we
are but underlings to the ultimate creator? Show me, she called out in thought,
are you there?
The breeze billowed, as it usually did and the sky darkened all around.
Sigh, perhaps, then I’ll need to find peace with what is. She turned to face
the way home.
“Would you stop that! We’re in public! What is wrong with you?” A female voice
stifled a giggle.
“I’m not sorry. Not. One. Bit.” A male voice floated back.
Astar looked up, and saw the couple dancing about each other, sharing
dog-lead and stroller pushing duties. Awkward, unforced eye contact did occur.
“Evening,” Astar said.
“Good evening,” The couple said in near unison. “Come on Harry.”

39
 Harry the golden retriever. My goodness, he even has a little red flannel
around his neck, what a good boy.
The couple, and their two babies passed, the one in the perambulator
cried, laughed and cried, in a confused order. The dad offered a milk bottle
and the baby just looked at it with big blue eyes and happy cheeks, then they
disappeared, southbound, while Astar went northbound back to the little
apartment where she and her lover had recently moved in. When she returned, a
crazy electricity overwhelmed her.
“Fernand, you there?”
“Course I am, how was your walk, what’s up?”
“Come here, turn off the hotplates.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” He arrived, looking worried. The force of her body
smashing into his took him off guard and threw off all balance. Over the back
of the couch they tumbled, and there remained until the deed was done.
“What was that about?” Fernand asked, pulling on a robe that lay nearby and
picking up his clothes.
“I don’t know.” Astar lied.
Fernand returned to the kitchen, and relit the stove. “Dinner will be
late, now, probably around eight thirty.”
“Ok.” She said. Eyes closed, she lay where they had laid, and felt good.
Good thing I walked, good thing I prayed. Then her eyes snapped open. Did He
answer my prayer? Who were those strangers with their perfect baby and dog?
Were they Adam and Eve sent here by the Lord himself as a sign? (No, they’re
neighbours, you’ve seen them before.) Neighbours can be holy messengers,
possessed by the spirit of the first man and woman. (Bitch you need some wine,
go get some wine.) She obliged and poured a little red.
Next morning, Astar awoke early. An idea nagged at her. Yes, she had
achieved ‘happiness’ moving in to live independently with her own sweetheart,
both loving participants, stable in their careers with all the potential of the
future ahead. Yet, that pedestal, on which her thoughts stood, seemed quite
scary. What is next? What happens the moment after the rescued damsel in
distress marries her prince charming after he saves her from a castle, guarded
by a dragon and filled with gold? Dinner plans probably, and Lord knows the
arguments over dinner plans, and the unmopped floor. (“Have you even done the
dishwasher?” “I’ve been busy, I’ll do it now.” “Don’t bother. I’ve already done
it.”)
Pretty sure Disney magic cannot solve the issue of a clean kitchen, or
taxes, or mortgage, or emotional stability. Sixty more years? Of what? Well,
when the mind darkens and becomes harsh, the body may be depended on. She
gathered ingredients and began to cook an extensive egg and bacon breakfast
with 3-bean-blend coffee. The smell and sizzling must have awoken the beast
from his slumber. Fernand walked downstairs. “Jeez you’re up early, what is
it seven?” He croaked. “Six thirty.”
“Damn it, well, early to bed early to rise, healthy wealthy wise, right?” He
yawned. “Something like
40
that.”
“Is something up? You know, is there something you want to discuss at
all? You’ve been a little off lately, not that I’m complaining, I’ve just
noticed.”
“Yeah, well, honestly, just wondering what’s next for us and that idea is
kind of troubling for me. Guess there is an idea I had.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Can we maybe have breakfast first?”
“Jesus, I hate it when you leave me in suspense.”
“Yeah, hate it when Jesus does that.”
“Lovely day, anyway.” Outside the kitchen window, Fernand watched the
morning birds jump from branch to branch, singing as they went. They ate, with
normal small talk, until the air began to feel strained. “Bub, what… what is
it? What’s on your mind?”
“Let’s go to the living room, more comfortable there.” Her university
sweet heart sat down with a powerful smelling coffee. “Is that your second
mug?” “Mmmhm”
“Soon enough you’ll be injecting caffeine directly into your veins.” She
had joked, “how often and how strong do you have it?”
“Ah, it loses its punch after a while, but maybe I should switch to just
tea and enjoy the flavour not the effect.” Scoffing caused him to spill a bit
on himself. “So that I don’t give myself a heart attack.” “No. Well, now
that we’re here, I guess I should ask if you were thinking about your legacy
at all?”
“My leg is not aching, what are you talking about? Legachy?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“What about my legacy –and do you mean ours –and do you mean children?”
His eyes widened in a bit of realisation. Oh, that explains that.
“Yes.” Her eyes beamed.
And there was silence for a moment. “Um, well, you know… I don’t know.
Yes. Maybe not now, maybe not here. Maybe this is a good first house so we can
sort our business out, find our footing, be stable for a while longer –but I
would rather wait until we’re a little more… I don’t know… settled, secure?
When the time feels right for us both.” Fernand smiled. “We’ve kind of only
just moved in here, you’ve only just started that new writing project.
“Okay –well –let’s leave that idea for a while then.”
Her gaze fell. “I’m sorry –you know I’m not telling you no –just that we
need to be a little bit more established first. Besides, I want to enjoy that
time, at the moment, with the new project, it’s busy and will only get busier
I’ll have to fight to spend time with even you, let alone a child. Yes, my
words are I and me based, but Yin and Yang, what you feel and want does matter
to me and I know that this is important, but I am not ready just yet. And a
bird cannot fly with one wing.”
41
 “Of course. Just thought I’d mention it. What is this
new project?” Fernand sensed a tone shift and chose not
question it.
“Ah, organising a function, biggest thing is completing the display which
will feature newer models of… machine. Very finnicky, but it is pretty fun. How
is your progress with your book work?”
“Pretty bad. It’s going ahead, but, with many falters and problems. Hard
to get all resources in order, and my editors keep on disagreeing. They’re also
uncertain how successful the title will even be. Problem is I want it to be
good, and I want it to exist, but if they keep stooging around, it won’t be.
Guess I’m trying to think about what all the struggle will be for, even if all
goes well. Whole thing makes me feel so uncertain.
It’s my first publication, let alone book.”
“Yes, that sounds like a challenge. But you know, struggle is for overcoming.”
“Yes –but –I just want something that makes me perfectly happy –like
overwhelmingly so to help with the intensity of the work. Something that would
make me consistently happy and progressively so. It’d give me an excuse to work
at home as well.”
“A baby is a living breathing human being, not an excuse.”
“I know –I was being dumb.”
“Yep. Anyway, alright, well maybe we should remove roadblocks first then move
to any next step.” Fernand said.
Her lips smiled, her eyes dulled.

A month later, after Fernand received a promotion and hefty check after an
important function at work, the same week Astar handed in her official first
draft. The couple celebrated quietly and together went to bed that fateful
Friday.
(Maybe he’ll see it as the good surprise that it is?)

“Well, well, Mister Deputy Vice Executive,” Andrzej greeted when Fernand
entered his office the next day. “Yeah –whatever –don’t really like those
titles anyway –I prefer to just tell my name then give my job description.”
“Gonna go on a little honey-moon to celebrate with your honey-bee?”
“Honey-bee? Fuck off. Um, I don’t know, hadn’t thought of it.”
“Well hope you enjoy getting paid more for doing less because of those fancy
titles.” Snide or sneer? Fernand could not tell.
“Yeah, whatever. Would you like to set up a fund to cover for your
inability to get promoted? Kind of like a, well, you tried, (but no you didn’t)
kind of… bonus.”
“Yes.”
“Not happening, have you even contacted the Out-wide company about the
new development at Belair?”

42
 “Yes, but they haven’t responded.”
“Call them you absolute dullard, again and again until they answer. Go
there in person if you have to but I need their response today.”
“Yes Master.” Andrzej bowed.
“Oh, fuck off.” Fernand sighed. Why are there so many idiots in the
world? He thought about Astar’s question, about her desire. She wants children
young so she can be young with them… maybe. Should I stop that from happening?
Is that bad of me? (But you’re not ready.) So, let another man have her. (No.)
Well that’s a dilemma then isn’t it. One you’ll have to solve with her. Yet
images of himself with a newborn brought much hesitation. Too soon. Way too
soon. Up from his desk, he walked to the kitchenette and made a coffee.
“Mr Eobardy?” Fernand turned, saw his boss, Chloe Durden, she didn’t seem
angry, that was good.
“How are things?”
“Good.”
“Have something new for you, at the function, I’d like you to present
something of your own. Think that would do both you and this company good.”
“Something? Like what?”
“Well, how about that new upgrade to the air circulation system that you came
up with?”
“Such a small thing, would seem like a forced boast wouldn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but we need to demonstrate superiority over the Balkan company. You
know that, make them answer to us.”
“Indeed.” Fernand frowned. “Air conditioner it is.”
Until this project is finished… ordinary life will have to slow down, yeah,
it’s too soon.

“Rhetorical question.” Astar posed as soon as he entered the front door, no

time to even take off jacket. “If suddenly a stalk came down the chimney and
gave us a baby in eight months –would you take it in and care for it? Or would
you fire it from a cannon?”
“No I would not murder a baby by firing it from a cannon. What are you asking
me? Is this theoretical?”
“Must have happened when we were celebrating.”
“What must have happened.” Fernand said, then looked her straight in eyes, his
face hard as stone.
“You didn’t plan this did you?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that. That would be irresponsible, but it’s happened,
somehow, by God’s blessing or curse. Thought you’d be happy at the news
anyway.”
“Despite that you are the host of the child, until they’re born, we are
two here in this house. This is a choice we needed to have made together. I
thought I made that clear to you. Of course, if you are pregnant, I will remain

43
and do my duty. For the little bastard, but this is going to change everything,
and things aren’t even stable yet.”
“Don’t say that!”
“You are the one who doesn’t want to be married.”
“Why do they need to know about our love life? A civil contract for specific
bonds is vastly more appropriate.”
“Of course, well… wow.” He paused. “Well, I hope that this future is good
and whatever happens will bring us happiness and peace. Bring you happiness and
peace.”
***

“You’ve been awake for too long.” Astar stroked her lover’s face passionately.
“Please go and rest, you will be called when I need you, but you need to
sleep.”
Fernand Eobardy hesitated, then nodded. He slowly slunk away to the
adjacent room to push together two armchairs to form a bed, tie a jumper over
his eyes and attempt sleep. Alone with the nurses, Astar lay in the sterilised
room with her legs wide open. The hospital room was quite dark, nurses walking
in and out on occasion. Outside the nearly waxed moon glowed palely. Astar did
not notice a lot, Adelaide Hospital was a magnificent building with many floors
each containing many large rooms; it was not uncommon for the halls to be
populated and busy. She ignored all of that and lay, breathing and watching the
large bulge in her stomach. Her face squirmed at the strange sensations. Hours
passed, and midnight closed in, despite her pains having started as the day
dusked. In delirium, she thought she had been abducted by aliens and was ready
to be probed, then rationality told her she was giving birth, somehow the
latter thought was more terrifying and returned to the former reality.
“You’ll get through this. We’re here for you.” Nurse Beckett said, making
her way to Astar’s side to hold her right hand. A bell rang in the hallway
signifying midnight’s arrival. “It is now the fifth of
November, this morning I will remember. Baby powder, pleasing and a new cot.
There is no reason, that this fine pleasing will ever be forgot.”
Astar laughed, then groaned deeply. Her head dropped, breathing intensified and
her hands squeezed.
“It’s okay Astar.” Nurse Myriam said from the bed’s left side. “Get ready
–I think the best part is about to come. Feel free to break my hand if you need
to. We’re in a hospital anyway. So, I’ll be fine and won’t be mad at you.”
“Fucking shut up! Sorry, I, just, it’s all, we haven’t a name yet. Agh!”
Astar screamed, and groaned, and wailed. Nurse Beckett was fascinated with the
intensity of concentration mixed with pain, confusion and pleasure on the new
mother’s face. She roared, like a lioness, with energy and pride. A bone
cracked and Nurse Myriam squeezed her eyes shut in her own flush of pain. Then,
the process was complete. Nurse Beckett held the little one in her hands and
claimed, “It’s a beautiful boy.” Before wrapping the infant in a cotton
blanket. Silence filled the room.
44
 “Why isn’t my baby crying?” Astar wailed. “Let me see him!”
With her good hand, Nurse Myriam organised the cut. “Why isn’t the baby
crying?”
“I don’t know.” Nurse Beckett said. She looked him in the eye. He looked
at her, curiously with bright blue eyes. His little chest went up and down.
Then he began eying the room as best as he could, taking in all the strange
information. From the newborn, there was no anxious squeamishness or hysterical
histrionics. Only small huffs.
“Where is my baby!”
Nurse Beckett bounced the newborn in her arms. He smiled, and then
laughed. “Why isn’t he crying?!”
The baby stopped laughing, and seemed to murmur, or mumble. “I don’t
know.” Nurse Beckett said. “He’s laughing instead. Here.” Baby watched mother
with fearsome intensity, with… focus. Then, as if recognising the being that
held his was indeed his mother, he fell asleep. The nurses readied the baths
and showers and began cleaning and soothing the baby and mother, wrapping young
Quodoch in his first robes.
“Really is a quiet baby.” Astar said.
“Yes,” Nurse Myriam said, pressing wrapped ice to her hand. “Though his
breathing sounds somehow majestic almost like he hums.”
Once all were cleaned and fed, mother and child slept and Fernand was
retrieved.

“Mr Eobardy.” Nurse Beckett had said, for a third time. This time she shook
his shoulder.
“Congratulations, you have a new baby boy. We were unable to retrieve you for
the immediate process but you may visit now, though they are both asleep.”
Mother and son were asleep, he hovered for a minute, but chose not to
disturb the sleepers. Nurse Beckett motioned him out of the room. Nurse Myriam
following behind, wrapping her fifth and fourth fingers with white tape.
“What happened to you?” Fernand Eobardy asked. “Are you okay?”
“Your wife has power. She cracked two joints in my pinkie. They’ll recover.
I’m off to get it better treated now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay –her strength is healthy, and good, it was actually quite
inspiring. Beside I offered my hand. No problem there.”
“No problem there.” Fernand frowned.
“Take a seat please.” Nurse Beckett offered. They sat outside the room,
pulled chairs to make a three-pointed circle. “When your son awoke, he did not
cry. He only laughed and stared.”
“What does that mean? Is he breathing alright? Is he okay?”
Nurse Beckett smiled warmly. “Yes, we’ve run many checks and he appears to be
physically healthy.

45
However, due to the eerie calmness in which he came into this world, we believe
that he may suffer some developmental problems, likely mental abnormalities, we
cannot confirm anything so early. But we can say that it is possible that he
may develop some autistic qualities, or in an extreme case, psychotic. Of
course, everything can be managed. You, as parents, will need to organise a
parenting plan with specialists, and find the correct way to raise him.”
“How could this actually like manifest?” Mr Eobardy asked.
“Could be extreme senses, could be extreme emotions, could be extreme
mania and neuroses. Hypersensitivity in any form, really. Worse case is that
there is a blend of extremes, if they feed into each other causing a completely
unstable mind, but that is unlikely. We do not want to be too drastic, yet we
want you to have a full understanding of what may be. In all likelihood he may
just be reprimanded at school a few times for being disruptive during serious
maths tests and some teacher will suggest that he takes some amphetamine to
focus his concentration or something –and then that will have to be managed
carefully, knowingly and willingly.”
“Of course, well, guess I’ll have to pray that all is well and it doesn’t
come to that. Do not like the idea of consistent, prolonged drug use that is
prescribed, unless it is a safe concoction, like… tea with honey.
We’ll find some strategy. Unless, of course there is no other choice.”
“People have died overdosing on tea and honey. There’s a bit of a legend
that tells of a patient at a mental facility who drowned by drinking something
like nine litres of tea in fifteen minutes. Of course, we are bouncing extremes
here so let’s not freak out over that this very moment hover, perhaps we can
run some early diagnostics early next week. Right now, all we can do is provide
healing for mother and child.” Nurse Myriam said. “You may go into the room, if
you would like and be there when she wakes, just don’t start blasting heavy
metal at full volume.”
“How else do you expect me to mould him into the greatest punk rocker the
future will ever see?” In the room, Fernand sat quietly, then slept and
snored lightly.
“Honey?” Astar said. Fernand woke, and crept over to her.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Are you okay.”
“Yes. I’m tired and everything feels fuzzy and weird. Strange mixture of
love and drugs. Look at him isn’t he just… perfect.” The cradled baby slept,
wheezing a humming tune.
“Seems to have music in his blood. We’ll teach him the harpsichord.”
Fernand poked his baby’s cheek. It dimpled. He laughed.
“Reckon he’ll develop like synaesthesia or something cool?”
“Don’t joke about that.” Astar said. “But it would be pretty cool, would
if he has the kind of mental condition that like unlocks telepathy or
telekinesis.” They laughed. “Well, so they told you about how he was silent at
birth?”
46
 “Yes, and what that could mean. How do you feel about that?”
“Yes. It’s okay, that’s not a matter to discuss now.” Astar sighed. “How
about we choose a name?” “Okay. Well, he has taken us on a rocky, perilous
journey ever since the idea of him was first spoken. Has begun a perilous
journey in birth, with…” “Thought you said we weren’t going to talk about
it.”
“But, in the end, I’m sure that everything will be just perfect.”
“Nothing ever is.”
“Oh, I know, well, depends, just got to adjust your definition of
perfection.” “What are you thinking?”
“Frodo!”
“No. Too… unoriginal. I do like the ‘do’ though. Maybe Docky?”
“Docky? Um. Doch? Frodoch?”
“Not Fro and not Mo.”
“Give pro quo (all though you know, you’re being played false.”)
“Quo…doch”
“Original… will probably dissolve into Woe-dok at some point.”
“Quodoch Eobardy.”
“Noone else in the world is going to have that name.”
“Good. Kind of rolls off the tongue.”
“Think he’ll be bullied for that name?”
“Yes, but I’ll teach him how to fight.”Astar laughed, then realised he was
serious.
The couple tried many other names, but none other seemed to stick. What kind
of person would a Quodoch be?

Through the open door, Astar could see her fiancé cradling their baby. Their
baby, the one she just gave birth to. It was a strange thought. I have created
a new human being that will live a life as vivid and real as my own.
Incomprehensible yet true. For the first time in exactly nine months, she
craved beer. Her baby – only seventy-two hours new –and she already wanted to
drink. Tsk tsk. But she felt as though she deserved it. Tension of the past
nine months, especially the past month, especially the past ninety six hours,
had been exhausting. Now she wanted the feelings to be a little bit more faded,
jaded and slimy. “Fernand?” She called. “Come here.”
In the other room, her husband was prodded by a nurse, awoken and sent in.
“Yes, my love?” He said, holding Quodoch.
“Would you commit sin for me?”
“Um… our entire relationship’s foundation is sin.”
“Good. Give me our son.” Astar said. “Go and get me some beer.”
Fernand paused. “No. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Well, I can’t exactly harm the baby, he’s born.”

47
 “Fair… enough. What about the medication?”
“I’m not on any, they ceased the painkillers yesterday, jeez don’t you
listen? I’m running on food and water alone. No caffeine, even. I want a beer.”
“You can’t drink it here.”
“I’m not allowed to drink it here. Doesn’t mean I can’t. You’re smart,
figure something out.” Reluctantly, and after much hesitation, Fernand gave his
fiancé her baby. She held the newborn with intense motherly love.
“Alright. I’ll oblige. When are you able to come home?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask while you’re out.”
“Alright.” Astar cradled her baby. She had created life. Was she not Mary
and did she not hold Jesus? Sure felt like it. Something about the love felt
beyond human to her, completely soulful. Brains, at the best of times can be
the absolute worst. While her emotions were full of positivity her mind
calculated, coldly and objectively. My son is damaged. The thought almost
became a mantra that spat out of her subconsciousness. How am I to deal
with this? (Not we, she realised, but I.) She thought of the Book of Job. A
story in the bible her year five teach her explained to her. That faith and
will can strengthen any person to everlasting goodness; even if they
systematically lose everything from their family, their love, children, and
eventually health. How does one not curse the creator after such tragedy? That
power of will, of finding a way, seemed to her the most powerful idea of all.
Quodoch awoke and goo-goo-gaga’d in a strangely clear and precise way. She
lightly played with him, by rocking, poking and cooing.
With each new activity he laughed more deliberately and his eyes beamed
brighter. (With love.) A strange voice in her head said.
What? She thought, but that strange voice did not return.
Fernand returned, his expression stout, in a baby-bag he cradled 6 drink
bottles. “How are you?” He asked.
Astar laughed. “Perfect.” She smiled. “Just gaining strength, mental strength
I suppose. Giving birth is draining.”
“I’m sure it is.” Fernand smiled back. “Before you drink anything yummy,
I want you to eat. Here’s a cheese and salad sandwich. Light, and not too full
of vinaigrette. Then, drink water.”
“Thank you honey. Can you help me prop the bed up so I can be upright?”
He played with the bed’s controls until they worked. She rose, like Darth Vader
on the slab. Then he placed the eatery tray before her and traded food and
water for baby. Fair exchange. She ate slowly and tenderly. Strength returned
with each swallow. Suddenly she felt completely okay –sober, calm, not in pain,
and very refreshed. “Open the curtain.” She said, Fernand did, and the yellow
noon sun shone in brightly, it was warm and soothing. Outside green trees
billowed in the wind on long brown trunks. Isn’t the world strange?
“How was lunch?”
“Exactly what I needed; I think.” She burped. “So –what have you got in
those drink bottles there?” “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He chuckled,

48
grabbed one, turned to ensure the door to the other room was shut, turned back
and handed her one. She smelled it, and its smell was stoutly strong. With one
long swallow, the black stout poured down her throat and fully invigorated her.
Instantly a strange energy swept into her being. It was extra and it was very
beautiful. She took another sip and oh, it didn’t double, but the joy
exponentially grew. Thirteen swallows later and she floated. Her whole body
pulsed with vibrant electricity, it was numb and soft and glorious.
Oh, beer, cold beer, I am returned I am right here, I would never live
without you. Wouldn’t ever want to. How I’ve missed you. How I love you.
“Drink water before you have another.” Fernand said, their child asleep
in his arms. Their child. Damn, I need a drink. Wait, did he say another?
Hadn’t even thought of that.
“Yeah,” she reached out and drank lots of water. They quenched the dry-
dam sensation that was forming in her stomach. Fernand passed her the second
drink bottle.
“How do you feel?” He said, tentatively.
“Amazing right now but I had a thought.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s our future like? Um –what does our next ten years look like? I do
want to get back to archaeological work, once my writing is done and my degree
complete. With the restoration of the Amazon, much evidence of ancient
civilisation has been unearthed. When I’m at full health I want to find out how
to keep on studying and practicing that.”
“Of course. Well, we’ll figure out how to settle, settle, and then return
to life work. Our future will be what we want it to be, we just need to plan
how to do that.”
“By the way.” Astar said. “I can go home tomorrow if my healing goes according
to plan.”
“Good; I’ll arrange the house and organise for you a good meal. I’ll have
the cot finished by then so we can settle Quodoch in.”
“Can I have one more beer?”
“One more, then you can only have water. I’ll be here with you.”
Eventually she fell asleep. Fernand sat there. He had a son, presently
being checked and looked after by nurses. Well, he was bound to the family now,
unless they both suddenly died in a terrible ‘accidental’ fire.
Busy at work, in too loud a suburb, in too small a house, they would
raise the family. Maybe not.
Well, soon, they would have more money, and maybe that would make everything a
little better. He hoped.
“Please, would you mind waiting in the other room?” Fernand awoke, to
three figures in white cloaks. They looked official. Without a word he nodded,
and went. “Astar?” The Doctor said, entering the room. “How are you?”
“Good, healthy, full of energy, ready to go home.”
“Of course, and we appreciate that. How are your emotions?”
49
 “Well, good I suppose, I’m very excited for the future, you know.”
“We wonder, if perhaps you’re putting the idea of happiness into this baby
completely.”
“What’s bad about that?”
“The sense of dependency. Without other meaningful endeavours to pursue
that bring joy and happiness, some new parents can depend on their child for
all their positivity. Then, it can happen, that, things are different, and an
inexplicable disappointment and depression may set-in. Can happen after several
months, can happen instantly. Postnatal-depression.”
“Oh, is that so?” Astar wondered, “interesting. No, I’m a writer, and an
archaeologist, by nature, though I haven’t worked with ancient rock in long
time, and do mean to return to the profession once my book is complete, I still
have my life to live. Why do you ask? Do you ask all new mothers?”
“No.” The Doctor said. “We are aware of your little beer stint, of
course, we allowed it to occur, we did not want to interrupt your process in
that moment, but; we must council you, by law, about how to be well to yourself
and your family in the next some weeks.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry, It’s just-”
“No excuses, please, we understand. Thankfully you did not have too much,
or do anything silly and we are glad you waited, you are not to be reprimanded,
per-se, but we worry about your future, you know, that you stay well and don’t
struggle.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, I think I will be okay, I’m not sad, that I know of,
I’m just tired and want to go home.”
“Indeed. Well, of course we have many support plans and health plans
should you need them and I have collected necessary pamphlets and would like
you to keep them close.”
“Thank you.”
“I would like to read your book, once you are done, please send me a
copy. Good luck with your archaeology, should you return and any other
pursuits.”
The doctors left, and had a similar, slightly harsher conversation with
Fernand in the other room. Astar could hear their voices rising and falling.
She felt she could really use a drink. Next morning, the outpatient process
began. “I’ll take a couple days off to see her well.” Fernand assured Nurseses
Myriam and Becket and the Doctor.
“Good. Any problems you may call me directly.” The Doctor said.
“It’s wonderful to see trees again.” Astar laughed, as she relaxed into
the car, with their child positioned nearby, safely buckled in his cot. “Yes,
well, at home, you’ll need to rest a few days. Recover and heal and relax.
First thing is shower, then bed.”
“Yeah, good idea, but I do want to walk again.”
“We’ll arrange a walk as soon as you’re fit to. Into Kuitpo, it’ll be a fun
time.”

50
Returned from the hospital, they lived shut-in lives in their quiet little
house in Glenelg, South Australia –a functional and adequate place.
“Now that we’ve got a new… human being… to look after, we need to talk
about how we can optimally do that.” Astar said, holding Quodoch on the couch
after breastfeeding.
Fernand had been out on the back porch smoking a pipe. He put it out, put
it away, had a drink then came and sat down on his couch.
(“It’s not your couch.”
“This one is. Anyone may sit on it, any time, but it’s mine.”)
“Mmm… smells really sweet whatever that was you were puffing.” Astar
said. “Sorry.” “No, it’s fine, you’re alright.”
“Well there is one thing we ought to discuss. Where do you want to live?
I remember you saying when we first moved in that this would be a practical
house. A house you emphasised, not a home.” “Yeah, I don’t want Quodoch
to grow up here, seems a little stiff, and Adelaide weather is so
unpredictable and moody. Like it’s always having some tantrum. Let’s move to
where it’s a little sunnier and more consistent.”
“Where?”
“Well, I’ll leave that for you to find. But a sunny coast in a warm, pretty
place.”
“Alright I can do that.”
Half an hour later, Fernand returned.

“It’s sudden, indeed, but want to move to a little town just out of Broome.
Western Australia this Friday?
With its great outback and sprawling towns, seems a wonderful place for a
person to be raised, and grow up.
Its aura was one of normalcy, unremarkable and comfortability. You know, it’s
kind of like here, just way sunnier, it seems.
Plus, I found the nicest little house perched on top
of a little hill.” “Yes, I do want to. Will your work
allow such a distant relocation?”
“Not exactly, I’ll be able to change roles, but still within the same
company, just new branch really, well I hope, will have to discuss that with
the superiors asap.”
“Well that’s alright. I still have enough savings for a few years, think
I’ll wait until Quodoch is a little older before I return to work, but we’ll
obviously have to work out finance details more clearly.”
“Well, let’s spend this week packing then.”

51
That week Quodoch’s activity decreased as if he could sense that a big change
was coming. Rather than exploring he sat in comfort, in familiarity and hardly
interacted with toys or games. Appetite decreased.
“I wonder what is bothering him.” Astar wondered.
“Well, it would be all the packing we’re doing. The house has been
stripped away in front of him and I guess he can feel that.” Fernand suggested.
“Yes.Well let’s have lunch and then see if I can feed him.”
“It’s only eleven thirty.”
“You don’t have to eat; I just think I should.” She went to the kitchen,
and heated up left overs in their deep iron pan. “Well, if you’re cooking, I’ll
have something.” Fernand said, Astar yepped, then he turned toward his tiny
child. “Hey –come here little guy.” He gestured to Quodoch, who stared, as if
trying to work out a deception, before crawling toward his father. Physical
play seemed to only decrease the baby’s interest and cause it to grumble with
dissatisfaction. So instead, Fernand propped the boy up, to a near stand,
balancing with his hands still, and began some soft singing warm ups.
“Do do do do do do do do.” Rising. “Dew dew dew dew dew dew dew dew dew.”
Falling.
Quodoch listened. Then copied. With terrible rhythm and bad pitch, he
made sounds that rose then
fell.
Fernand offered another pattern, easier. “Dew dew do,” (rising)
“da do” (falling) “do do.” Quodoch followed the pattern, with
improving grasp of pace and control. Five minutes later the two
hummed little duets.
“Lunch is ready, what’s that annoying sound? Did you leave the radio on?”
Astar entered from the kitchen. “Oh, you’re trying to sing to him. How
wonderful. How goes it?”
“He knows when to make his sounds and is okay at the music shape or so it
seems. Goes up in pitch when I do and down when I do.”
“Should we buy an instrument for him to play do you think?”
“Might be a good idea, yeah, could get a little electric keyboard that
has different kinds of sounds and pre-recorded songs on it, give him something
to be… familiar with that he can keep with him.” Fernand said.
“Why don’t we go to a music shop before the drive?” Astar suggested. “By
the way, lunch is ready.” Fernand got up, fetched the little portion that was
left for him, returned to the living room and dined.
“Funny to think this is the last lunch we’ll have here.”
“Everything is funny if you think about it funnily. I thought I would be
at least a little bit sad about getting out of here, we had some good memories
here,” she giggled in remembrance. “But I’m not, I’m glad to be gone and start
something new.”
“Well, hope Quodoch likes the new place.”
“First thing we’ll set up proper is his play space, of course.”
52
Full at eleven thirty, (strange sensation) Fernand decided to go to the music
store and inquire about an instrument. He got changed, and headed for the front
door. Astar sprawled on the couch with Quodoch feeding happily abreast.
“Had to give him a bit of mashed pumpkin and banana before he wanted me.
Had to trick him.” She laughed.
“Well, hopefully, he can ease out of this phase and just east the pumpkin and
banana. Can’t rely on your nutrients forever.”
“Yeah,” I’m producing less and less, so it will be time soon.” Finishing
up, she rewrapped her child, before covering herself. Then she put him to the
rocking bed to rest, went to the bedroom, to put on more comfortable clothes
and sat back down.
“Maybe put some lullaby music on, might be good for him to hear the
sounds. I’m going to go out to the music place and ask about an instrument. You
want to come?” “No, I’ll be okay here, need to rest a bit.”
Fernand nodded, then froze. “Why does the air smell like beer after you talk?”
“Sorry?”
He took a step toward her. “After you breastfed, right?”
“Of course.” Astar looked down. “Only having one.”
“That’s what they all say, then they change it to one more, which ends in
infinitum.” Fernand said.
“Don’t you think you’d be better off with a coffee?”
“To relax with? No.” The air seemed tighter. “Could use a gin though, maybe.”
“With coffee you wait for the crash, I love napping on a good coffee caffeine
crash.”
“Maybe I’ll have one after this.”
“Good idea. Keep eating and drinking water too.” Fernand sighed. “Alright,
well, I’ll be back in about an hour.”
At the music store, he could not erase a strange sensation from his soul. An
uncertainty, a doubt that he could not put his finger on. He returned with an
expensive gadget with a long battery life, great quality and variety of sound.
Inside, the house was quiet. He heard snoring. Astar lay where she was
before, a half empty beer bottle beside her. (Just check before she wakes.)
What? First, in the cot, Quodoch lay asleep, peacefully, but must have heard
Fernand’s footsteps because he began giggling and cooing.
Fernand visited his son, picked him up and nursed him a moment, then
placed him on the floor to roam. Around the couch he swooped, there was a
pungency to the air, maybe she’d spilled the beer. Closer to the beanbag it
smelled stronger. He kicked it damn, it’s going to be wet, he thought.
It was dry, but upon lifting he heard a clink sound. In a hidden
cardboard box four empties stood. He removed the box and carried it out to the
recycling.
Astar must have woken from the clanging. “Oh, you’re back.” She said as he
turned to look at her.
53
 “What did you get?”
“You can’t be asleep when you’re alone with the baby. Being asleep is one
thing, being drunk is another, what is wrong with you? Could have called for a
baby sitter if you wanted to go and get crunk.”
“Fuck off, what are you on about, I didn’t even finish one.”
“No, that would be your fifth. I removed your other four from behind the
beanbag.”
“Oh, well I knew you wouldn’t be long.”
“It doesn’t take long for something terrible to happen, a bullet passes
through a brain in less than a second, death comes immediately after.”
“Don’t think there’s a sniper around here.”
“Don’t make jokes. I actually cannot believe this. You’ve been off since
giving birth, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re irked by something, and
have problems that you cannot solve alone. I wish you’d talk about it to me
instead of going completely introverted, resulting in you bloody self-
medicating with drugs.”
“Mmm.”
“You need to be clear with me if there’s a problem, then we can solve it.
I don’t want you to fade away.”
“What now?”
“Now you’re going to go to bed and I’m going to test out this piano thing
with Quodoch.” Fernand said. “When we move, we’re going to need to address
this, new location, new life, new solutions, alright?” “I’m sorry.” She
said quietly.
“Look, it’s a fuck up, everyone fucks up and honestly I’m not blaming
you. I can understand and appreciate why you might want to quieten down
reality. Just can’t make mistakes anymore, not like that.” In bed, she slept.
Fernand closed the door, went downstairs to set up his new gadget. Cracks are
starting to show, got to fix them before they quake.

Early next morning, after making his rounds, the family of three sat down to
their final breakfast in their
Adelaide house. “Feel like we should have a toast of champagne to celebrate the
occasion.” Astar said. Fernand stared at her, coldly.
“I’m only joking.” She laughed but he could not comprehend the satire.
“Well, everything is packed and we’re ready to go. Just need to wash and
pack these final dishes, one last clean out of the fridge, fit Quodoch in
comfortably and we can leave.”
“Good.”

The outback was not very far away, Fernand was surprised to come upon it so
soon. But it was so very expansive. They had completed half of their journey.

54
Eventually came upon a small town known as Yulara on Highway Four. An eerie
little town seemed close, and the day darkened. Empty streets, quiet and dark
lanes. Having rested easy on the open highways, Quodoch seemed to awaken as
soon as they entered the town.
It was a poor place, seemingly without much presence of law, yet socially
stable. At the time, it seemed quite like a ghost town. They drove about the
twisted neighbourhood not knowing what they could find. Residential housing and
small –now closed –supermarkets populated the area. No town centre was
apparent, or much significant infrastructure. Several minutes of weird, corners
and unusual intersections later, Fernand finally uttered, “Oh, I see lights.” A
car passed them, and then another. Side streets were more frequent, and more
headlights appeared. “Ah, seems like we’ve hit some kind of activity corner.
Wonder what’s going on?”
“Yeah, well, oh there’s a pub.”
“Seems like a popular place.”
“If there’s somewhere to drink there must be somewhere nearby to sleep.
Pull down that side street.” Astar commanded, Fernand obliged. Seemed ordinary
but people populated the sidewalks, drunkenly walking hither and thither,
zigging and zagging as they went. “There.” Astar said, pointing to the left.
“There’s… the Gilroy Hotel. Sorry, the Gilly. Australia actually nicknames
their establishments? What is this place?”
“Looks like a shitty pub.”
“We can sleep there at least; can we pull over? Possibly we can figure out
someplace to stay, or at least find directions.”
“Do hotels even mean hotels? I don’t see any rooms? Only a bar area?”
“Let’s find out.” Fernand pulled the old car into a vacant space. Astar
retrieved Quodoch from the backseat, and they walked toward sliding doors, into
a gaming room where gazeless idiots repeated automatic movement to
consecutively lose gold coins.
They happened to a front desk, the clerk was late and looked tired.
“Do you guys actually have rooms?” Fernand cut to the chase.
“Yes, we do, we have a family room vacant at the moment.”
“Well that was easy, can we take it? Just for tonight?”
“Sure thing. It’ll cost you twenty thousand cents.”
“Mate, my heart stopped beating for a second. Two hundred bucks? Easy I’ll pay
it.”
“Feel free to head to the restaurant for a meal before you head up there,
it’s open about another two hours.”
“Sure, maybe, thanks.”
“Here’s the key, down the hall, up the stairs, down that hall, on your left.
Can’t miss it.”
“Fuck yeah, fucken oath.” The family found the room. “This place looks
ok.” Fernand laughed. Astar put Quodoch down. The baby perked up, full
of energy, and crawled around spastically, confused at the new environment.
55
Giggling and humming the little one investigated the new space. “Oh,”
Fernand said, unpacking his toothbrush and pyjamas from the backpack. “How
are we going to set Quodoch up? Can’t sleep with him one of us will crush him
to death, can’t leave him in an ordinary bed, he’ll roll off and crack his
head open on the floor.”
“Hadn’t thought about that. Well look at this. We’ll put the two arm
chairs together, like you did in hospital, stuff two pillows in that. Good and
comfortable, and he wouldn’t be able to climb over. We’ll put the chairs next
to us.”
“That’ll work, I guess.” Fernand placed the baby down. Quodoch crawled
over the armrests. “You
know, I think we’re going to have to take turns sleeping. Four hour shifts
until we’re both okay?”
“Seems there’s no other way. Someome has to stand guard though. Can you be
first?”
“As the sleeper? Yes.”
“No, as the guard, I’m so exhausted.”
“You weren’t the one driving.”
“Don’t fall asleep, and make sure Quodoch gets some.” Quodoch did not
sleep. Instead he crawled around, interested by the strangest of things, spider
webs and loose screws. Despite the dangerous nature of such objects, the child
handled them with ease and failed to harm himself. Fernand found he could not
look away but a single second. Much had been on his mind, many business ideas
that he wanted to process. He had thought that minding the child would be a
good space to think, but apparently the work was too time consuming and
required attentiveness to focus on a single idea. After an hour, he found that
there was little joy in the constant, unrelenting need to pay attention to a
little slobbering, shitting, meatbag. The changing of nappies was the worst.
How did a thing that ate only milk and mashed fruit produce such nasty faeces?
Disgusting. What happens when a hungry baby cries and refuses all appropriate
offerings? Obviously ask the mother, but it had been only two hours. Hundred
and twenty minutes remained still. By the time his shift was over, all his
emotions were negative. Fernand instantly fell asleep. Woke up angry and
exhausted. “It’s okay, Quodoch has fallen asleep. Maybe you can chill out
on the couch, quietly, and be able to rest.”
Of course when Fernand entered, the baby was standing upright, balancing
by holding the bedpost with his little hands and staring at him with a cold and
calculated look. Then he began to cry. Is this little fucker purposely
sabotaging me? I’ll beat his little newborn ass. The though was real for a
split second. The frustration turned to wonderment. Was the little fucker
trying to sabotage him? Could a human that young process the concepts of spite,
trickery, revenge or conscious manipulation, then act upon them?
By the way Quodoch giggled, then shat his nappy, seemed the answer was
yes, definitely, that little dickhead.

56
 A very roomy house beside its small size. First, beds and appliances were
set up, and the next three days were spent fixing and decorating the house.
Soon enough it was perfect.
Quodoch remained quiet and composed, though he was a very restless child
who had developed the most curious tendencies. The first year he displayed
little motivation beside basic necessity and natural functional progression.
After his first birthday, however, once his body was bigger and mind keener,
he, like a flower seemed to blossom in bloom season. Astar stood in the
kitchen, at the break of noon. She sipped a lager enjoying the cool crispness
and slight relaxation of the light beer, she watched her son in his play space
in the living room. He had no interest in the toys. He crawled to new areas of
the room to look at new things he hadn’t quite understood before. Like the T.V.
remote, little plant pots, chimney and fireplace, and the little indoor garden.
He examined leaves, cool coal, and pushed buttons. Astar took a sip, picked up
her baby and brought him outside, letting him onto the lawn. Where once he
navigated automatically to a particular patch of the rose garden, he did at
first go there, but pushed on southward to a new place he had never been.
Astar watched and did not hear Fernand approach behind her. “You’re drinking
beer at noon?” He said. Astar flinched, turned, and laughed. “Oh, well you
know I don’t have a lot. I want the freedom to drink when I please, if it
pleases me.”
“You don’t need to be defensive. Was wondering if there were any left.”
“Yeah, in the fridge door.” Fernand went inside, returned with a bottle and
took a sip.
“Where’s he going?”
“Not sure, just exploring I guess.”
“He’s already lost interest in the flower patch?”
“Apparently so, he won’t play with any of his toys anymore. Seems bored
of his regular food, only
interested in new things.”
“That’s good, he’s back to being himself again. He’s such a curious mind.
Wonder how he’ll be in school.”
“Should we start him at a pre-school so that he can socialise with others his
age?”
“Yes, I think that would be good. Give me time to work as well, get back
to that so we can have more income. Mostly so I can keep being busy and stop
being such a mother. Don’t want to be Oedipus.” “Of course. Well, let’s
arrange that early next year. Keep things easy this year.”
“Easy is a relative term.”
Fernand wandered around the back yard, up the two sets of stairs,
marvelling at its size. The back fence, (fifty metres from the back door) was
made of a very sturdy wood, and was just behind very lush grass. This’ll be
perfect. He decided.

57
Astar entered the front door, late in the afternoon after a day at the library
and found the house empty.
“Hello?” She called out, there was no response, no lights were on. She
walked to the kitchen, lured by a strange banging sound, it got louder the
further toward the back of the house. She armed herself with a knife and
proceeded to the backyard, slowly crept up the steps. “What the hell?” She
blurted.
“Ow!” In surprise, Fernand hammered his thumb. “Surprised me.”
“What is this?”
“It’s a cubby house. Had it delivered earlier today, figured I’d install
it before you got home. Kind of just adding finishing touches now.”
“Why did you… buy a cubby house? Supposed to be Quodoch’s playroom? Isn’t
he too young for that?”
“Yeah, now he probably is, won’t be in four years though.” Fernand said,
“but why do you think it’s for him? I made it so that we could have an office
separate from the house, I can work on my plans here while you can work on your
writing, I’ll install two desks, one on each end, though it’s doubtful we’ll
ever be in here together, kind of defeats the purpose, but at least we can have
our own spaces.”
“Oh, well, that’s thoughtful. Where’s Quodoch?”
“He’s inside. I didn’t want him here cause of all the banging but I put
him on the other side of the garden and the little guy just crawled his way
over.”
Astar proceeded into the cubby house, and found a crudely built basket-
cradle set up in the middle of the surprisingly large space. It was fully
decked out in blankets and pillows with her child happily staring at the roof
and giggling at sunshine.
“This is nice.” She said.

Six weeks passed, and the house had become a home. Quodoch found his energy and
became very motivated to investigate under all the beds and chairs. One day,
when playing in the living room with his mother, he persistently jabbed and
poked at her and himself, searching for boundaries, and then when apparently
comfortably aware, he crawled off her lap and began searching for whatever he
could find. Each time he was brought to a new location, he would establish
familiarity and then search out of bounds to learn more.
“There is a powerful energy in this guy.” Fernand continuously observed.
One day, at the park, Quodoch had found a way to crawl into the brush,
into a tiny grove. The grass grew thick there. He passionately looked at leaves
and bugs and grass and whatever else was there.
“Seems like an angry old soul is trying to escape, stuck in a child’s
body, looks like he’s trying to remember everything instead of learning it for
the first time.” Fernand hypothesised.
“That’s one way to think of it. Another is that he has a very strong
amount of protein, vitamins and
58
fats and is in absolutely optimal health and; was born with a faster processing
brain.”
“Doctors still don’t know?”
“No, it’s kind of hard to pin anything specific. Unless his behaviour is
abject and obviously queer, then we’ll just keep living. Quirks can be
relatively harmless, even if he does have a ‘condition’” She raises her fingers
to gesture. “Seems like everyone is mildly something or other, neurotic or
industrious or whatever anyway. Just a matter of how much.”

Last touch to the house was to set up the little instrument. As the electric
keyboard was fully set up, Fernand wondered what better but to give it a bit of
a bash himself. Vaguely he remembered bits and pieces about music. C Major
chord was easy enough, so was F and G. C Major scale was all white notes, so is
A minor?
Except for that G sharp… but only sometimes.
Despite that being all, he remembered, the number of patterns that could
be formed from even three basic scales, was infinite. With a smile, Fernand
wrangled other chords out of the instrument, some sounding happy, some bizarre,
some sad, some smooth; though he could not name them, he could make smooth
tunes with them, or so he thought.
Of course, the unusual sounds in the house drew Quodoch to the living
room. He squirmed underneath the piano bench, quietly, while his pa mucked
about on the keys. “Right-o.” Fernand eventually said, picking the tot up and
sitting him on his lap. “You have a go then.”
Reaching out, Quodoch slapped the keys, discovering less clashy sounds if
you play only one note at once. Some distances between notes relative to the
original one sounded better than others. And at different volumes and speeds.
Quodoch picked two notes, and played between them and only them until he felt
comfortable controlling them. Then he added one more note, it sounded different
and that was good, you could integrate different in different, fun ways.
Fernand sat in awe watching Quodoch so attentive at the keys, and listening so
carefully. Soon, Quodoch hummed along with the notes he tapped.
“We raising a little Mozart, are we?” Astar entered the room.
“I think so, sire, yes.” Fernand smiled. “He’s very tactful about his
approach.”
“Clever little guy. Well –apparently you can only develop perfect pitch
if you learn it as a baby. Or at least its way easier. Think we should
encourage the little guy to hum what he plays.”
“Let’s sing for him and show him?”
“We’ve never sung before.”
“Oh, how hard can it be?” Astar picked high notes, Fernand picked low
ones, and – eventually – (after some terrible, clashing, off-sounds) they found
their voices and sung together in a low hum. Quodoch sometimes giggled, he
sometimes cried, mostly he was silent, listening. “Listen honey.”“I know, I
hear, he’s humming too.”

59
 Quodoch had found a single note he could sing, and continued whining at that
sound.

That morning, at two, spooky sounds could be heard downstairs. The sound of
piano. Creeping downstairs, the couple found the two-year-old standing on the
stool, butt naked, playing piano in the near-total dark.
“My goodness.” Turning on a light, disturbed Quodoch, he stopped playing
and turned around, nearly fell off the stool but Astar was there to catch him.
Quodoch did not cry. Only hummed. The family laughed for a moment together at
the strange moment. Fernand retrieved his mobile phone and found a slow piano
music mix that the baby could listen to in his cot.
Every day, since that moment, Quodoch noisily tapped away at the little
instrument at odd hours of the night and day. The annoyance eventually became
somehow soothing to both parents.

His first day of pre-school began quietly. Woken earlier than he had expected,
mum and dad dressed him in in a smart shirt, tight leggings and new shoes,
Quodoch suspected that he would be exposed to a new experience. He obliged his
parents’ tugs and pulls as they dressed him, and fussed over his hair. A quick
breakfast later, and mum said, “this is called a lunchbox. Your food will be in
it for the day. It will be in your bag until recess when you can have a snack,
and then lunch later on.”
Quodoch examined the container and bag. (Why would mum and dad give food
like that? Would they not be there to provide at times of hunger?)
Freshened up, the little boy was put into the backseat of the family car
and mum drove slowly down the familiar windy streets, until she pulled into a
park and turned off the engine. Quodoch noticed that there were others like him
walking, being pushed in a pram, or being carried into the building by mums and
dads. Many squealed and cried, others laughed. Most were silent as they looked
about, and their parents chatted to other grown-ups.
The car door opened, and Quodoch was unstrapped and carried out. He stood
(about 3 feet high) and walked independently toward the entranceway, reassured
by mum and dad who were beside him. Before they entered, a tall woman
approached. She knelt and addressed Quodoch directly. “Good boy walking by
yourself!”
“He learns very quickly, but tends to work best alone. He refuses to hold
our hands. Quit the day he found his own balance.” Astar explained. “Hello, my
name is Astar, mother of Quodoch, and this is
Fernand.”
“Hi.”
All shook hands, “Around here I’m known as Ms B. Ms Bonnie, to be full,
Wendy Bonsworth, officially. I am the junior coordinator, for the younger
fellows and newcomers. Today, we are playing a big group game about sharing
items and remembering those items, it is a good ice breaker we find.”

60
 “Good. Well, we see that you’re very busy, seems like it’s a lot of
children’s first days. So, we will let you get to the others.”
“Yes, well, for some kids, every day is like their first day.” Ms B
laughed. “Well, we’ll see each other again for pick up at 3:30.”
Quodoch looked at his parents, mother hugged him, dad ruffled his hair.
Then they turned on their heels and disappeared down the pathway.
Instinctively, Quodoch started to follow, but Ms B, lightly touched his
shoulder. He looked up and saw her waving, she looked at him then at the
disappearing parents, and motioned for Quodoch to imitate the waving. He
hesitantly did. Then, she turned him around and welcomed him into the play-
room. Blue walls, white roof and comfortable coloured carpet filled the large,
single space. Tables had been set up in different areas, some forart and craft,
some for paint, some for hardcore spelling and mathematics. (“P, q, b, d are
the same! They cheated!” A girl cried in despair.) And others for what looked
like out-door study with lots of plants and fruit and dirt. For a moment, he
turned to look behind, but his parents were not there.
Only these strangers.
At least Ms B seems pleasant enough. Quite quickly, the new stimuli
distracted Quodoch enough that he forgot about his parents totally. Drawn to
the garden, he sat by himself and looked at the new leaves and grass that was
there. He had never seen a plum before, and there were a few, because there was
a plum tree. Suddenly a cold, wet sensation landed on his face. Mud had been
brewed and thrown.
“Dick! Don’t do that! Oh no you don’t throw mud! Richie! Come on. You
need to come to time out. No don’t pick up more mud!” A grown up scooped the
little Dick up, while another came to Quodoch. “I’m sorry little boy.” The
second grown up, a young man with pleasant features, wiped his face with a warm
flannel. “Some people are mean and need to learn to treat others better.”
Not a good first impression, Quodoch realised.
From then on, Quodoch faced away whilst inspecting new things to protect
from flung materials or disgusting goobers. When it was game time, however, his
privacy was intruded upon. Led to a forming ‘circle’ (rather shaped like a
poisonous bean,) Quodoch sat and watched the cacophony of grown-ups and others
like him, all scrambling to sit together in awe. Does anybody know what’s going
on? Twenty six balls were produced, each with a unique colour and letter of the
alphabet.
“Form a group, based on the first letter of your first name. If your name
is Adam or Alison, then, sit with the Amber ball.” Ms B held up a fiery orange
ball. “If your name is Boris or Bianca, sit with the Blue Ball.” (and so on…)
Each child, then, learned all the letters and learned to write their names.
When all the names were written, each child had to say their name out loud. All
the new names surprised Quodoch and made him smile. (What interesting sounds.)
When it came to his name, no one could spell it, or pronounce it easily.
Ms B got the roll and had to spell it out a letter at a time. “Can we all say.
‘Quodoch?’’’
“Road Block.”
61
 “Chod Dog.”
“Woe Duck.”
“Ko Doks.”
“Kwo” Ms B encouraged. “Qho” or “Coe” some said. “Dock” Ms B encouraged.
“Doc.” Or “Doh.”
Some said. “Please sit by the Quartz ball.”
Quodoch saw the faded pink ball with the letter Q on it and sat by it, alone.
“Now, funnily enough, there is at least one person for every ball. That does
not happen every term.
As you can all see. Not many Z names, only Zane here. Not many X’s, only Xavier
here. Not many Y’s.
Only Yvonne here. Not many Q’s only Quodoch here.”
Quodoch looked at the ball and enjoyed the shape of the letter that
represented him, and the colour of the ball. He dropped it and it bounced. He
tried from different heights.
Now that the groups were made, a game of trading the ball from letters Q
and P for example, until all children could say all letter and all names. It
was a long game.
When recess came, the place became quite silly. There was roaring,
jumping, climbing, crying, sleeping, and all the ing’s you could possibly think
of.
Including murder, as a group of crows were gathering on the outside lawn
murdering.
Quodoch took his quartz coloured ball and went to sit in the corner of
the garden to inspect a pot which had a lady bug on it.
(What a strange insect.)
“Aren’t you going to come and play?” Ms B encouraged.
Quodoch saw her tired eyes and simply said, “No. I like this bug too much.
It’s red.”
“Yes, it is red. It’s called a lady-bug.”
Quodoch thought for a moment. “Are they all girls?”
“No. It’s just a name.” Were they all girls? Insects are weird creatures,
most ants are female, aren’t they?
“Well, I’ll leave you to look at the bug then, and maybe you’d like to play
tomorrow.”
At the end of the day, when mum and dad came back, Quodoch led them to
the car. Very ready to be quiet and in his own space once again.
“We have a present for you for when you get home.” Fernand said, “First
we need to talk to Ms P.” “B.” Astar corrected.
Ms B came out. “Hello.”
“Well, how did he go?” Fernand asked.
“Good, he’s a very quiet boy. Prefers to be by himself that play with
others. That’s okay, he hasn’t displayed any negative behaviour. Only a little

62
bit antisocial. Tomorrow we will bring him into the tag game that we started
playing today.”
“Good.”

When tomorrow came, and that game began, Quodoch found that the lady bug no
longer interested him.
Curiosity made him watch the outside game. It involved running and around and
touching each other’s shoulders.
(Why not give it a
try?) And so he did.
It was very tiring.
Some kids, like Luke, were very quick but very weak, other kids, like
Jemima, were slow but very strong, easily tagging others out of their reach,
while very few kids, the winners, were both quick and strong. How could
they be beaten? Quodoch wondered, after getting tagged too often, and failing
to tag others, often relying on the slow, weak children who did not seem to
want to play to pass on the burden.
Taking a moment to pause, Quodoch saw the hierarchy quite plainly, and saw his
ranking in it.
Not very high.
After the game, he had only four tags, his body and mind ached.
Thankfully, naptime followed drink time, which was followed by lunch time.
Quodoch had never slept that well, and understood how people got tired. By
doing things. It wasn’t for him.
The following day, he found that in another plant pot sat a dragonfly.
Its long body reminded him of a lizard tail, but wings like a butterfly. It
flew about, buzzing just above his head. All play, drink and nap time he
followed it around the yard, rarely losing sight. All the wondering about
flying butterfly lizards made his head hurt, and so he did give himself
permission to go in for lunch time.
Seems that, the games had continued. Instead of balls or gentle touches,
however, food was thrown, as well as paper. People pushed instead of touched,
sometimes shoved. Grown-ups called in reinforcements to end the food fight. A
big little talk was held about why the throwing of projectiles aimed for faces
in spontaneous action tended not to be good for people’s health, thrower or
receiver.
Not the people involved, and not the observers. Some laughed, others cried,
most were silent.
From then on, Quodoch ate lunch alone at the table facing the wall.
Only grown-ups seemed to be useful. Children were just nuisances.
At three and a half years old, he graduated from kindergarten to preschool.
The pre-school building, only across the court yard, had a deep sandpit,
mechanical toys, make-up-mazes, swings and the fabled music room.

63
“Perhaps he will be more sociable around older kids, almost at primary school
age. He could find an easier role model with bigger, smarter, stronger
people.” Ms B said at the end of the year. Despite agreeing, Astar was
not certain.
Quodoch watched the others dabbling at advanced games. Their behaviour
was hardly better than the kindergarteners. Paying little attention to his
thoughts, or emotions, he heeded his senses. Upon paper he organised his
pictures in steadier and steadier imitation, and he imitated the rhythms of the
drum beats he could hear. Something about organising sound into time made him
think of the moment, the silence between the beats (is where the music is.)
Late that afternoon, when usually math games would be played, it was
declared that all were to go outside to learn a game of “bird’s nest.” A
Primary School game, how exciting!
In the hustle and bustle, the door to the music room was left open, just
a little bit. As the class marched out of the class room to the oval,
excitedly, Quodoch remained behind. With a finger, he pulled the door open,
just slightly, and crept into the dark room.
The outline of an open, wooden piano stood before him. (A keyboard made
of tree? How silly.) He pushed a note, and its sound was very strong,
and loud… but if he played softly the sound would quieten. Finding the six
notes he liked best, he tested them in new orders, the sound of the music gave
wonderful colour to the lightless room.
“Should we tell him off for disobeying instruction and touching what he
should not and going out of sight without permission?” Ms B asked the
university student, there on placement.
“You’re asking me?” Little Ms Newbie said, “um, how about I sit and
watch him while you go outside and play your sport, you know, he’s making
a wonderful sound, very controlled.” “Why do you say that?” Ms B asked.
“I’ve been watching this boy, he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t seem to like
to play, at first I thought he was kind of disruptive and bothersome, but,
maybe that’s because he needs a place for his imagination that suits him, if
people sport don’t do that, but music does, why interrupt that? I think that’s
a quality we ought to grow, and if he’s in his zone now, why disturb that?
We’ll talk to him after. Greats aren’t made by following the rules, and hey, at
least he’s not damaging anything, or hurting anyone like others have a tendency
of doing.”
“Interesting reasoning.” Ms B led the rest of the class out, leaving the young
noob to watch over him, listen to him.
Her mind fizzled into anxiety.
(Damn it, why didn’t she tell me if that was a good decision or not? Will
she write on my report sheet with red pen or blue at the end of the month? Will
she mention this incident? What will I say? I’ll have to talk to her after, but
maybe she’s calling the board of teaching now to report my mistreatment of a
child, by allowing them to be in an endangered, unsupervised situation, I was
supposed to lock the music room, thought I did, oh no. I must not have) Her
breathing fluctuated, her heart rate increased.
64
 “You can come in.” Noob looked up, Quodoch watched her, still playing, he
had the most curious eyes she had ever seen. “You can come in.” He repeated.
Noob stood, shook her head in reassurance, flicking away panic, and
entered the music room. At least I will be a teacher in this moment. “Thank
you.” Finding a chair, she sat. “You play well.”
“Just like the changing sound.” (Dum, dum, dum, dum, dahh, dah, dah, dah, dah,
dumm, do, do, dum, do do dah.)
Noob loved hearing him play, she felt as though she were listening to a
friend she had known for one hundred years play olden lullabies. Brought tears
to her eyes. She wiped them, listening to the controlled music. “Why don’t you
like the other children?”
“I don’t not like them. Just like doing drawings and finding new things
better than getting bruised.” “That’s okay, but getting bruised is very
important. It’s a vital part of growing up. If you don’t get bruised a bit
now, you’ll be frightened when you get bruised in the future.” “Maybe
tomorrow.” Quodoch said, honestly.
A clucky, parental force overwhelmed her. “Next time you need to ask if
you can come in here, we can find a time and let you play, but you need to ask,
do not come in here on your own.”
“Okay.”

Chapter Five

Primary School became the ultimate tester of his adaptability and functionality
of personality and intelligence. Never did he strive to make friends. Other
people only served to interrupt his focus. In class, sat alone.
“Mostly I like patterns.” He said one day to Ms Napier.
Astounded that he had approached and initiated conversation, she smiled
and sat down. “What patterns have you found there?”
He had removed a circular wooden stump from the garden display and held
it in his left hand, and a large piece of rock in the other. “When I broke the
rock, I saw the shell here.” He pointed casually to a ninety-million-year-old
fossil he had just discovered in the centre of a garden rock.
“Found that it swirled from the middle out. Just like the wood, look at the
rings. Maybe the oldest part is in the middle, and the newest part is on the
outside. I wonder if that is also true for our brains and for the world.”
“That…” Ms Napier could not grasp what she observed. “…Is a very
interesting pattern. I start drawing swirls by starting in the middle and going
out.”
“Yep. And I think that’s why we start life small and end life big.”
“Big life, well, big life is just as good as small life.” She smiled,
assuringly.

65
 “If I think hard enough, I can see it, all the shapes and colours,
sometimes more brightly than other times.”
“Can you? Well. That is a super power.” Child-safe-employment-training
kicked in and Ms Napier took note of that comment. “Would you let me see that
fossil?”
“What’s a pho-cyl?”
“When an animal is buried in the ocean; it can stay there in the sand for
a very long time. Sometimes the sand is dried, gets hard and forms a rock. The
buried animal is called a fossil and that is what you have found.”
“How long do they stay there?” He passed over the stone quickly but Ms
Napier handled it delicately.
“Some for millions of years.” She stood. “Now, let’s put this in the
science cabinet. I would like to show it to other teachers.”
She walked to the classroom but already Quodoch had become distracted and
tottled away. At the end of the day when Astar came to collect her son, Ms
Napier was at the door ready to greet her.
“Oh no.” Astar said. “What’s happened? What has been broken?”
“Well…” Ms Napier put on her serious teacher tone. “Your son went out into
the play yard and during lunch deliberately throw a large stone in a
dangerous manner. It caused significant archaeological discovery.”
“Excuse me?” Astar could not tell if Ms Napier was sarcastic or truthful
if her tone was real or sardonic and stared blankly. Ms Napier savoured the
moment, before breaking the tension with a giggle. “I will show you the
stone.” To the classroom Ms Napier led, and showed the fossil. “That is
seriously amazing, wow look at the layers. I am not sure if I am meant to
scold you, Quody or not.
Normally, don’t throw stones is good advice but wow I certainly wouldn’t mind
if you found an ancient gem you could carve me an amulet out of.”
“So, I should keep throwing stones to
find them?” “No, I was only joking.”
Astar half smiled.
“Can you tell me,” Ms Napier looked at the child warmly, “why did you
choose to throw the stone?” “I was meant to find the gem. A thought came to me
from far away which told me to. And I wanted to see the pattern on the snail.”
“How did you know the snail was there?” Ms Napier was very confused.
“Well, I was shown. When I thought hard enough there was a teacher in my
head. It wanted me to find this and keep it.” Quodoch held up a small, blue
object that looked at first glance like a pearl. “What is that?”
Quodoch sniffed. “Hmm?.”
“That, that you held up.”
“A pearl that was inside the
phocil.” “Fossil. May we see it?”
“No. I was told to keep it private.”

66
 “By who?”
“The teacher in my head.”
“Teacher in your… like… do you hear it?” Astar remembered the doctor’s words
all those years ago.
“Yes mum. The same one I walk and talk with in my own dreams. Different
to my thoughts.” The women exchanged a glance, both sets of eyes certain
that something strange was happening here, but they did not know what.
“Do you think he’s developed a tulpa?” Ms Napier asked. “Or a psychopomp?”
“A… oh… secondary personality? I… well no. No, I don’t think that but it
may be possible.” Astar said.
“Well,” Ms Napier stood and said, “It has been a very productive day.
But it is time to go home, I will see you again on Monday. Enjoy your
weekend.” She looked at Astar, with eyes that Astar interpreted as ‘get him
looked at. Figure out what that blue gem is. I’ll call the archaeologists to
work this out.’ Astar frowned, regretted that she had not completed her
qualifications to join them, then returned with eyes that she meant to mean
‘yeah, I am noticing this strangeness in his behaviour more and more we will
see what we can do to work on this.’

While playing in the living room, Quodoch had found some paper and crayons and
was carefully attempting to draw some of his toys with them in different
colours and styles; using many techniques including tracing and comparing.
“He truly is a possessed with some kind of magical energy.” Astar observed.
“Maybe he’s an old soul.” Mr Eobardy laughed, “who was once an artist
when he wasn’t at work geologising. Filled with ideas, he died too early to
complete his tasks. Now that same soul has been born again as our son and, the
frustration and pain of the unfinished work is forcing this intense drive.
Imagine being a genius being stuck in a baby’s stupid brain.
“If that were true, then the implications for evolutionary theory –like –
genetic memory or the existence of souls, would be truly astounding.” Astar
mused. “But I think you’re right. There’s something in there trying to get out;
some idea to manifest. Maybe the soul has brought back the Truth from heaven
and wants us all to see it.”
“We have a prophet child,do we?”
“He said that voices told him to find the snail.”
“Oh, that. I admit it is amazing, the chances that he found it, but it
cannot not have been dumb luck. Any other child could have thrown the same
stone and found the same thing. Just so happened to be him. It’s not like the
stone actually called out to him. No, children have very active imaginations,
especially this one. He would have smashed the rock, intentionally or
otherwise, and found the fossil, and then invented the story about knowing it
was there before getting it.” Fernand rationalised.
“But who are the teachers in his dreams?” Astar wondered.
“Who are…? Oh, who knows. Just last week you were telling me about the
dream you had about the otherworldly men that took you to space in a great
67
sphere made of energy. What was that all about? Who were those people? Who
knows what the hell we dream? These are questions for those scientists that
scan the brain or philosophers who think about the brain. I mean, what even are
dreams? What are thoughts even? Honestly, it’s all strange. But I do not think
that Quodoch is… especially strange. No different to anyone else.” Fernand
said.
Together, they watched their strange child draw the same fruit over and again,
but from different perspectives.
Though undisruptive and with intent focus heavy upon his expression as he
sat in a quiet corner of the class room examining a collection of leaves,
stones, twigs and small bugs, rarely was class work completed on time – if at
all.
Mildly problematic as without finished assignments how does the teacher
objectively assess all students fairly? Yet each time he did take on the
lessons and became engaged in an assignment, certain brilliance and other-way
made solving most problems quite easy.
“Bardy!” Mr Reitzcher laughed. “You did none of the history work; none of
the geography work; why now are you doing your numeracy work? You’re the first
to finish.”
“Most problems I enjoy are the kind mathematical.”
“How much have you done?”
“Skipped to, and finished chapter 9: equations simple and quadratical.”
“You didn’t do any of the fractions or algebra from chapter 1? We only
start chapter 2’s introductory passages in final term, and then properly get
into chapter 2 next year.” Mr Reitzcher half said to himself. “Yes –well I
sort of found those chapters to be transparent.”
“Transparent?”
“Yeah; I can just see the answers.”
“Where?”
“In my head, my inner teacher shows me the ways to think about the number-
planes.”
“Really? So tell me, if I asked you where the line intersects with x andy
axis if Y=x2-3x-102?” My focus went inward then. In the darkness behind
my eyes I beheld a cross aflame, at first, I considered it a crucifix; then an
intersection, then the lower-case letter ‘t’. All of these, I realise had a
singular commonality, they were on axis. Numbers north of the central point,
and east counted positively one way while south and west were mirrors, they
fell backwards and decounted negatively the other way. Measurements all. Then;
the numbers they made sense. In the gloom x squared without 3x without ten
squared loomed as a concept first but took shape as a curved line. A parabola
that did not align well with the flaming axis took shape, its centre point.
Rather it sat at -12y, 3x. Upward the arms went, reaching out and passing into
the above x-axis zone at (-2,0) on the left side and (5,0) on the right side;
cutting the Y axis, reaching out leftly at -10.“Oh.” Quodoch said. “I can see

68
that… wow that’s hot. It’s well negative two and five cutting Y at negative
ten.”
“You can see that can you?” Mr Reitzcher exclaimed, punching the equation
into a calculator and finding the correct results. “Yes, I suppose you can.” He
put the calculator down. “Let me ask you this: who led the first manned mission
to space?”
“You told us earlier in history. It was Yuri Gagarin from the Soviet
Union; flew in the Vostok on 12 April 1961. Given the Order of Lenin as reward
– the highest award that can be given to civilians. Ended the space race too.”
“So, you were listening. Yes, I told you but you need to give me evidence
that you’ve learnt what you’re supposed to, which is the point of the…
schoolwork.”
“Of course, I remember everything. I just cannot see the relevance to
anything, seems like a random fact about history that I can’t associate
usefully with anything, and so I just thought it was dull and so I zoned out.”
Quodoch honestly spake. “Thought it was more productive to analyse beauty and I
think it has something to do with symmetry because when leaves are healthy,
they are symmetrical; we are symmetrical, so if a tree or a face is lopsided it
is sick, or ailed in some way. We want strong and healthy babies. So –a pretty
face is a symmetrical face, because that person is probably healthy and can
probably produce a healthy child.”
“That… I cannot comment on.” Mr Reitzcher frowned, “Well, despite your
smarts you still need to do your work. I’ve had many brilliant students who are
incredibly lazy. Also, many who aren’t lazy and have gone on to do many
successful things. Don’t think you’rea special case of genius. You’re just
gifted, but not the only gifted.”

Final Year Seven exams were only three hours away. Quodoch lay in bed and
stared at the roof, overtired, he had not rested at all but now sleep finally
washed over him.
No, I have to focus. I need to be there today. I cannot flunk this.
Understanding the importance of high grades at this point in school, he refused
to let distraction and dreamy thoughts sabotage him, but his body felt so
heavy.
Can’t sleep now, or I’ll not wake up. Exhausted beyond anything he had
felt before, he pushed himself out of bed and struggled to the shower.
The clock red ten o’clock and he sighed, bones aching. The hot water was
extremely refreshing and awakening; as soon as he stepped out, however, he
needed sleep so it began shutting down; the water had been so relaxing.
No! He ate light fruit salad and drank a sugary tea to kick awake his
focus, he took his pearl for luck and slowly started waking up on the short
walk to school.
The pre-examination lecture was excruciatingly boring, causing Quodoch to yawn
loudly.
69
 He didn’t care; as long as he completed the damn paper and got away from
the school immediately after that. Fuelled by adrenaline he sat, ready,
focused; the gem pressing against his leg.
He looked at the paper and could make no sense of the squiggles, dots and
lines that made up letters and numbers. No symbol of the alphabet could be
recognised anymore; random, untranslated hieroglyphs as far as he was
concerned. The world became blurrier.
The first question read simply: How many times can seven go into sixty
three? Pretty simple start. Nice easy warm up question to get the brain juices
flowing. Quodoch stared at the paper in despair. (You’ll have to divide) a
faraway voice said, (divide sixty three, mate, divide it seven times. Pretty
simple aye.)
What? What does it mean to divide? How can 7 ‘go into’ 63? None of this makes
sense, he wondered momentarily but let his let his imagination drift somewhere
far away. He remembered his midnight excursion; thought of the fantastic dreams
he’d had since then. The journey to so many dreamworlds and magic, pure magic
like he’d never known before. All the colour he lacked, bloomed in all his
dreams. Now they swept into his waking thoughts. Shaking his head, he looked at
the paper. He stared it at. …sixty three divided by seven… his mind totally
blank. Resigned, he let his head sink to the desk to hide under his arms,
uncomfortable by the pressure of the moment. Usually when he closed his eyes,
he saw only darkness. But here, there was something else something he did
recognise. In the centre of his closed-eye vision a colour flashed from a point
in the two-dimensional blackness; it glowed luminous silver and seemed to
waver. Am I falling asleep? he dreaded. Behind his eyes, flashes of shapes of
vibrant colour formed and danced in the dark. It was as if a dream world opened
in his mind, while he remained awake. Overwhelmed, he snapped his eyes open and
found his confidence boosted, and his thoughts became clearer. The colours
danced
behind his eyes.
He raised his head, opened his eyes and stared at the paper, and there
was a rush in his concentration and, numbers at once began to make sense. A
smile set into his expression, and he laughed aloud. In his mind’s eye, he saw
sixty three dots form into a rectangle. Seven dots across and nine dots up,
immediately he realised taking one number and adding it onto itself the amount
of times by another is to multiply. To fit one number into another as many
times as it can is to divide. Visually seeing the dots allowed him to fully
comprehend the arithmetic and as he was deeply getting into the fun of the
flow, suddenly, the test was over, there were no questions. He turned the paper
over, and saw that all his answers were correct.
He handed the paper up, returned to his seat elated, very keen to
continue exploring the potential of his thoughts, these new, colourful
thoughts.
But the more he concentrated on them, the simpler and more basic they
became, as if whatever magic had swept over him, had suddenly dissipated. By
the time the class ended; his inner mind was back to normal. No longer could he
70
envision the dots; no longer could he hear the voice that whispered to him from
within his own skull. All returned aloneness and his own thoughts.
The Friday of school’s end, art teachers came and instructed a painting
session as part of a reward’s day. The classes’ task was to draw a dream, but
when he reflected, Quodoch could not make sense of his dreams.
One classmate told of a dream he had boating with his dad at their
holiday house they tend to visit during summer, another told of how their old
dog who died and their new dog were able to meet each other in their back yard.
While Quodoch remembered only strange light-like pillars that spun
kaleidoscopically upon the peaks of cloudy-hills that led into the endless
vistas of Unrest and the unusual beings that lived there and spoke to him. How
could such a place be drawn? Or spoken about? Or written about?
Ah, then he did remember. Memory or an idea made up in the moment, it was
impossible to tell: Downriver he floated, aboard a hammock-like-wooden-boat.
Water was dark and sloshy; reminding him of melted milk chocolate. On both
sides of the water, the banks were coated with murky plants, dying grasses and
contaminated soils. Ahead was the big tree. Seemed to open up a tunnel beneath
it for its roots to set deep; and trunk so tall that its branches began only
above the clouds. The water that filled the river fell from the top of the tree
and washed down the trunk like a waterfall began the fall fresh and clean but
became poisoned upon its fall. The boat continued forwards and the tree came
nearer. Soon Quodoch would make the ascent to where light and water comes from.
Mindlessly he held onto that image which fluctuated in its brightness and
clarity and let his hand pick up tools of graphite, ink and paint then transfer
the image directly from mind topaper. At the top of the clouds, Quodoch peered
in and beheld a strange city. Strange domed rooftops finished white, monolithic
towers and they were radiant, the cityscape was far away and could not be
reached and could not be drawn at all on the paper.
“Quody!” Ms Teacher said, “this is fantastic, wow, I did not know you had
such talent in you!” Before showing the class and interviewing him, “so
–how do you feel after constructing this masterpiece?”
“The same as I did before.” He answered simply.
“I’m tired.” Again, the powerful vision disappeared
once again.
Life lost much of the colour it had, everything seemed greyer, more faded,
less magical.

As the days and weeks after primary school continued, colour continued to seep
from his experience. In waking life, and in dreams. Despite how much he held
the pearl.
He could not return to that infinity he had been twice before in waking
life. Slowly, Quodoch felt withdrawn from even himself. There was no brilliance
to his natural thoughts, and he could not make them come back. Throughout the
school holidays, he spent much of his time trying to visualise the infinite
realm and reconnect to the voice, but there was only darkness and silence. Only
his own, personal thoughts and memories.
71
 Wonderment and awe of waking life waned to almost nothing, and no emotions
could be sparked within him.
After the second week, his mother entered his room and said, “You’ve been
struggling for too long, I should like you to see a doctor.”
Tired of feeling empty and distanced Quodoch agreed and went that very
day. “What is it you feel?” He was asked as he entered the doctor’s
office. Uneasily he let himself speak. Maybe the medic had a cure.
“Though I was often alone, I used to enjoy life. Then I had a vision that
showed me into a realm inside my head that contained infinite possibility and
showed me wisdom. A little while later, a wakingdream of a beautiful sky-city
that seemed as though I was in heaven. I’ve always had powerful dreams, always
preferred to live in my imagination. It had always been influenced by some
whimsical idea, that I was actually an explorer, that… I was really a hero. I
could project all that… thought into my actual life like no one else could. But
those two experiences were so incredible, and filled me with a sense of so much
life that ever since art, nothing has been enjoyable. It feels as though… all
the colour has disappeared. Everything is so bleak now, and I feel most
people have a sense of potential within them, but I feel empty, now knowing
that I can feel more but I don’t. Like, I see the light of the sun, and feel
its heat; but it doesn’t warm me deep inside. It is just nothing. Even on a
cold day, the sun just burns my skin.”
“When do you feel alive?”
“Only when I dream. My dreams were once brighter and more magical, but
they aren’t now. When I visit places of thought, of memory in my sleep I can
escape for a time but even then, I’m still a bit sad and I feel it even as I
sleep.”
After running a couple of tests, Doctor could not define any symptoms of
anything.
“Dreams are normal experiences, and indeed they do show more about life.
Sometimes, when we’re drowsy we dream when we are still awake. Quite simply,
you just need to take what you’ve learnt from them and apply it to life. Just
spend a week doing that and I think you’ll brighten up again. Listen to your
dreams, don’t ignore them, they’re there for a reason. I think you’ve been
ignoring them.”
“You can’t find any illness?” Astar asked.
“No. No symptoms besides a fascination with his own imagination. And a
disappointment from not being able to control it fully.”
“I don’t understand. How have my visions been true? Like my ability to see
maths?”
“By my estimation,” the doctor explained, “you were taught to divide; but
hadn’t realised that you’d learnt it yet. Under tension your brain clicked into
gear, and visually you could see what you have learnt.”
“And the painting?”
“You obviously dreamed the dream. Something simply made you remember it.
I do not know what else there is to say. You’re not going crazy.”
72
 When they left the office, Quodoch’s mind went numb.
He could not think clearly or straight, and could not conjure any imagination.
Somehow, he knew what the doctor told him was not the truth, whether or
not the doctor themself knew that. In his room that night, there was a distinct
void in his mind and it seemed to him thick and terrible. Frustrated at the
inability to comprehend thoughts and feelings properly he sat on his bed and
looked out to the dark world. In his hands – the gem he had found in the
ground. He gazed into the stretch of bushland behind their house, it was out
there but he was in his house.
Oh, is this what it means to be human.
Madness welled, he was all alone; and the four walls seemed to close him
in. He realised, suddenly that he had slumped into a heap on the floor.
Randomly, his body twitched and spasmed. Something was trying to possess him,
but couldn’t. Why couldn’t it? Because you are here in finite space. He
realised to himself.
Quite spontaneously, he took his school bag, went to the kitchen and put
in two bottles of water, then a couple of pieces of fruit and muesli bars, put
on a jacket and snuck outside, he took the one man tent his dad used when he
camped sometimes from the front porch and prepared a torch and fire-starter.
When he was ready, he heard footsteps.
“Where do you think you are going?” Astar asked as he crept back inside.
“Wanted to meet up with some friends; go adventure a little into the
fresh air of the night. We are probably going to go to the beach and hang out
there. Be back around midnight.”
“This is unusual for you.”
“Well, yeah but I decided I needed a bit of spontaneous socialising and
to discover the nightly streets and watch the black waters under the moon. Not
something I do, but, the night is there, so why don’t I see what the night has
to share?”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe organise something a little bit
more… organised then-”
Quodoch had stepped outside and pulled the door closed. “Well, I’m going;
see you later!” Off the porch and out into the night he fled. Mum had
reopened the door and stepped outside. “Why do you have a sleeping bag
then? You haven’t met a girl have you? I will call you!” Her voice was
increasingly angry. Youngsters will be youngsters; perhaps I should give him
some space, until midnight. He has to grow up and brave the world some time,
and better with friends than alone. Hope he’ll be okay. Wish his friends picked
him up. Should I offer to drive him? No let him be, he’ll be fine. She
realised as she watched his silhouette disappear into the distance, her eyes
darted to the wine cabinet.

Dang it; hope mum won’t follow me.Quodoch hurried down Kermit Street, and
found the alleyway that connected to the large outback area where much wildlife
roamed. Well even if she does, she cannot find me here.

73
 It was a clear night and he walked freely in it. There were no clouds,
but an infinite sea of stars above. There was no barrier between him and them
and he truly felt among them. Maybe that place can be found up there, somewhere
in the galaxy –probably like in a black hole or something. But how would I ever
get there?
Something in that openness relinquished the nothingness he felt within
himself, as if being out in the air, with the Earth freed him from his bodily
bothers, and mental strain. He walked into the open wilderness Northwards, and
hiked about a mile out of the little suburbia. With only a torch he followed a
hiking trail and buried his senses in the sounds of the night. Occasionally he
spied bright orange bands strapped to trees designed to orient lost walkers
that fell into the deep shrubbery. There were no thoughts in himself that were
particularly complex. Only the scent of the wind and the great outdoors, the
sound of nesting wildlife and the way the moonlight gave glow to the night
affected his mind. Finally, blank, he felt very primal. Aware of only immediate
surroundings and no considerations of the past or the future; the present was
but an immediacy of focus and at that moment there was darkness. Time seemed to
disappear, there were no minutes, and distance seemed irrelevant; the only
world was the one he could see by torch or moonlight. Fatigue began to assail
him, legs burned up so he found a fallen tree that seemed quite vacant that had
very thick grass grown all around it to sit. It was very strange being so
alone. So disconnected from the beings in his dreams and from the people in his
life. Now there was only him. Him and… he looked up. Many religious people
speak of a God, an all-encompassing love that gives strength and hope to people
in need for He is the creator. Perhaps God was with him, perhaps not. It seemed
not. It seemed he was only alone with himself. And in that aloneness he
listened and heard nothing, but it was not an empty nothing or a nothing of
coldness and rejection, it was a peaceful tranquillity. Zero vibrations and no
disturbance of any kind. Looked sort of like the moment before the ‘big bang.’
After a space, he felt a breeze blow from the south, to the north. As it crept
over his skin, he saw vague flashes of light in the dark behind his eyes. In
the crispness of that moving air, there was radiance, as if it carried intent.
The night had been cool, but the draft was thick and warm. In the depths of
his feeling, he felt colour
come into his experience, but only mildly, and a faint glow behind his eyes. It
is calling to me, he instinctively felt recognising the sensations. He
abandoned his tent to follow the pull of colour that had formed within him.
He walked, under the moonlight for a time; torch abandoned, he followed a
will that was somehow external and a light that was internal. It led off the
path, and forced him to climb through dense foliage and shrubbery. Thankfully
the moonlight gave enough light for him to see the way forwards. Eventually
there was a clearing and he stepped onto a stone pathway. Above the skies did
darken, coated by clouds. There was a different tinge to the place before him.
Giant boulders clumped together in a strange formation working as a foundation
to tall pillars. With the torchlight Quodoch could clearly see that they were
buried deep in the sand. Upon their surfaces were weird hieroglyphic carvings

74
not of any recognisable or even relatable script. They were unlike any
aboriginal or any kind of first islander or primitive text he had ever seen and
definitely not of modern design.
The images the carved shapes formed were not letters or numbers, but
perhaps representations of objects and places but none of them of any earthly
place. The stones were dark, but about them was an aura –a blue hue vaguely lit
around them, very ghostly-like light. Still his mind remained empty,
concentrated and contemplative but he heard the wind and the voices that spoke
there. Slowly they became louder, warmer. He felt for the pearl, and yes it
glowed. Although the night was cool, a very powerful warmth filled him. With
the warmth came colour, came the sensation that he had been missed by the
colours, that he was loved by the colours.
There, between the pillars, he lay, exposed to the elements and slept among
the colours.
In his dreams, experienced wild, eldritch visions, far more powerful than
he had ever known. Less like a dream, more an alternate reality that was far
more vivid and luminous than life and felt almost more real.
It was as though he was not allowing his imagination to be flexed but as
if physically visiting a different realm entirely. A realm with no form, no
space or time. There were only bizarre geometrical patterns, with angles that
did not make sense. Colours were vibrant and queer, many of which did not
appear on the red-violet spectrum.
He floated through the colours, encountering energies that seemed to have
awake minds. They led him up, through an electrical cloud, on top of which,
that fabulous white city stood tall. He marvelled at the sight, happy to
recognise it, but was pushed away from it towards the river he had dreamed
before. In the centre of it all was a single circular well. From deep below, a
blur of moving colours dithered and stirred. It rose and faced him, and all at
once he realised that it was these colours that communicated to him, that
granted such visions.
“Who are you?” Quodoch
asked. The originator of
colours said, “God.” “Stay
with me.” Quodoch said.
God said: “Honour me.”
“How?”
And then God showed a green image.

He woke in early dawn, as the stars faded into the heavens; and transformed
into sky blue. He felt vitalised, refreshed, happy.
Quodoch returned to his camp, packed up the tent, drank the rest of his
water and proceeded home with a great positive feeling.
“Where have you been?” His mother yelled as he returned. “You said
midnight, this is near midday. Who have you been with? Why didn’t you call?”

75
 “Oh; we just went around to the beach, went up to the Sea Cliff and
perched upon a little fire-site, there we spent the night. Didn’t sleep
really. Just kind of camped out.” “Who is we exactly?” She bellowed.
“Friends from school, I could name them but their names would not be familiar
to you.” Quodoch did seem chirpier.
“Well, I suppose I am glad you’re safe and returned but I don’t think I
like the idea of you out in the wild at night. Even with a bunch of lads and
lasses, anything could happen out there.” She scorned.
“That’s kind of the point, that’s why it is fun.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Did you rest?”
“Well enough, I don’t think I’ll need a nap to last until tonight though.”
“Alright then, well go and wash yourself up. You do look very grubby and smell
like a tree.”

76
High school had come.
In maths, by himself he sat attempting to illustrate what he had seen in last
night’s dreams-quest, between the pillars.
And he remembered: Surrounded by tall trees with dark wood, in a little
dell and under full moonlight, perfectly centre in the sky –like an iris of
heaven. In the ground, half sunk, lay an ancient artefact, buried under old
rubble of human creation. From the artefact, which seemed to be breathing,
seemed to be alive. Impossible colours floated and bled into the atmosphere.
Strange figures were present, surrounding the colours, gazing into the colours.
And, consciously and quite aware and in control, he drew the little green
wood and the strange artefact.

“Quodoch!” Mr Hayden said.

“Quit drawing these weird pictures and do your work!”
“I’ve finished the entire book, sir.” Quodoch reached into his desk found
his work-book and the study-book and passed it to the teacher.
“You got one of your siblings to do it for you? Older friend?” Mr Hayden
Tsked, “not one of your parents.”
“No. I just found it very easy.” Some of the class was staring across the
room at him, Mr Hayden grunted.
“Well, I’d like you to then get on with other work, we’ll discuss your
maths classes later. Educational work.”
“Is not the expression of human experience by symbolic representations an
educational endeavour? Is not everything we are surrounded by, but a symbol of
something else? That windmill, is not a windmill,” Quodoch pointed to a nice
painting a student did, displayed on the wall.
Mr Hayden scoffed. “Looks like a windmill to me.”
“Then, make it make wind. Make the wings move.” Mr Hayden looked like he
was stupid. (Did he refer to Quodoch or to himself? He didn’t know.) “It’s a
painting of a windmill, and those letters down the bottom represent sounds
which we combine to form words. These letters represent the name Thomas
Anderson who painted the picture. It’s all symbolic and I am continuing my
pursuit of understanding the qualities and complexities of symbolism in art.”
Mr Hayden simply walked away.

“Quodoch, what’s going on with you?” Jim, a classmate asked one day.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been far less animated, far less interested the past few weeks.
Much quieter than usual, although you are usually very quiet.”
“Well, I’ve just been reading.”
“You are always reading don’t you think you should do something else?”
“Don’t really enjoy anything else. Words are what make me feel colour.”
“Feel colour?”

77
 “Yeah, like… goodness inside, I guess. Everything else just makes me feel
grey. People, food, games, it all just feels grey. Dull.”
“Well, that’s kind of crappy. You should come have fun with us.”
“Maybe one day, but right now I want to finish these chapters.”
The class party to end term had been hyped for weeks. Quodoch began to
find the anticipation quite annoying. When the day came, Quodoch entered the
class as per normal, but found the tables pushed together with party food and
drink displayed on it. Balloons and all. Everyone cheered and chatted happily
but Quodoch sat on the outskirts and drew the scene, trying to copy all the
colour perfectly. With that complete, he picked up his book and continued to
read.
Afterward, at the end of the day, when all had quietened down, he raced
to get home but was approached by a cute female classmate who said, “Hey! I’ll
see you after the holidays!” She smiled at him, as she had everyone else.
Within him, he felt a surge of colour that imprinted in him and
impression that he very much enjoyed. It was a different kind of colour, a
human one.
An unfamiliar sensation. He liked it.
With school over for another year, Quodoch longed to be by himself in his
room. That very first night is when the nightmares truly began.
Before he slept that night, he discovered that the drawer where the he
stored the pearl glowed a faint blue, more and more often. At first, he thought
it was the reflection of the moonlight, and fell asleep feeling peaceful.
He awoke in the predawn to Astar bursting into his room.
The drawer still glowed, but faded now in the early morning glow.
“Is everything alright? Sounds like you are being murdered in here.”
“No… I had a dream…” Quodoch stammered. “I was in a strange wood of
burned black trees; I could smell smoke. There was another entity there; a mind
that wasn’t mine. It was so angry.” He cried. “So, so angry.”
“Everyone has nightmares darling.”
“I’ve been there before though. I’m scared because I keep going back.
Keep returning to that same place. I don’t know what’s at the twisted wood! I
don’t know what I’m supposed to see! Something keeps happening at the artifact
and I don’t understand!”
“What artifact?”
“I don’t know, but God is there and keeps creating
awful colours.” He sobbed until he fell asleep.
Each night he returned to the burned wood, and each night went a little
deeper into the twisted, overgrown landscape, until the fear dissipated and
became pure curiosity. Never did the originator of colour approach, only
watched him, fumed with rage and made colour.
Always, his drawer vaguely glowed.
No science he discovered directly explained the phenomenon inside him. In
research, he came upon the argument of whether or not our experiences were made
only out of matter, whether or not there was a soul. No conclusion could be

78
reached; the world was so full of impossibility –or at least phenomena that the
human mind cannot comprehend. Obviously either his mind or the universe was
trying to send him a message, one impossible to decipher. Others had speculated
endlessly on the matter; and for six weeks he read classic horror stories,
modern science fiction, classic and modern philosophic and scientific journals
in search of others like him, others afflicted with the condition of such
fantastic dreams and encounters with God.
More lucid tales could only be found in older and older texts. Any modern
references to tulpa, divine conversation and dream ghosts were full of
scientific scrutiny or clear fiction (although the fiction hinted at unrealised
truths.)
Genuine conversation about his experiences could be found mostly in
ancient religious texts, folklore and journals. He found strange similarities
between ancient American worshippers, followers of the Dharma, Amazonian tribes
and Australian Aboriginals that could hardly be explained with any scientific
principal. Wonderment about what knowledge from the ancient world was forever
lost bothered him greatly. Led to
the study of surviving reports from Conquistadors about the Aztec culture,
about the ancient Greece and Carthage feud, about the Egyptians and their
mathematical magic and masonic might. Though he lay in inactivity, his mind
whirred, getting closer and closer to information forever lost to time. Perhaps
there are people who know more. (But who?)

He discovered the word in a text written by Hunter Thompson: psychedelic.

The concept seemed quite profound: there were mushrooms that grew in the
ground, that gave magic vision to those who consumed it? The visions described
did not seemed altogether different to what he perceived. Why would something
like this exist?
He read that much of the world contains properties that if ingested in a
particular way would could magic visions. How have people ignored this? The
world is full of magic. We have just taught ourselves to be blind to it. Why?
You can’t control magic. The thought disturbed him more than he could
recognise.

“Do you remember that song you used to sing to me? How you’ll hold my hand and
behind me stand forever at our love’s command?” Astar had wrapped herself in
her gown, sat on the couch and sipped her drink.
“Yes. You know I do.” Fernand said.
“We’ve not been close lately. You’re always at work or sleeping, and
you haven’t been telling me much about what’s going on with you at all.”
“You’re right, I haven’t.” Fernand said.
“Why?”
Fernand looked at her, and saw wisps of her former beauty, he remembered
feeling love for her. He sighed and looked at the ground.

79
 “My work has suffered for the past thirteen years. Yes, I too thought
that our child would bring us happiness, but with his condition, he hasn’t made
any friends, we haven’t hosted any parties. All he does is sit by himself and
talk about the dream wizards and read. It isn’t fun. And you…”
“What about me?”
“What are you drinking?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Ever since Quodoch was born, you’ve slipped into this weird sadness, I’ve
never been able to figure
it out, and it’s not fun and my work isn’t getting done. I’m not getting any
younger. I had so many aspirations. My… naturally air conditioned office-space?
Never finished. I was so excited for that… ten years ago. Could have been
implemented by now, and I could be known around the world for it, and maybe it
would be time to start thinking about a child. But no, the gun was jumped, and
it misfired.”
“You’re frustrated here, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Terribly frustrated. I’m actually really starting to desperately hate
it.”
“What… are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”

Settling back into the routine of school was troublesome, all he wanted was to
let his mind imagine, but now he was forced into interaction with others, and
school work, and focus, and miss, and sir, and please, and thank you.
At class, his imagination continued to spin, often distracting him
entirely into a day dream that caused him to sketch whatever images his mind
conjured. At lunch times he began read to read the Arabian Nights, whilst
eating homegrown baked vegetables, bread and fruit.
“I’m curious.” A girl said, he recognised her, first by the feeling she
had given him at the end of last year. The feeling of colour. He looked up and
gazed into her beauty, their eyes met, and he breathed easily.
“Of?” A strange warmth fluttered through his chest causing him to writhe a
little, then shiver.
“Why are you by yourself all the time?”
“Because I like to read, I like to… learn things.”
“Don’t you want to learn how to laugh? Tell jokes? Be stupid?” She
looked genuinely curious. “If it happens it happens… I suppose, but mostly
I just… well… reading is easier than trying to be happy.”
“You know, you can come and be friends with us. We’re sitting on the
mound by the volleyball court, pretty much just talking about stuff, we’d
always welcome someone new. With all your reading, I’m sure you’d have plenty
of great stories to tell, we’d love to hear them.”
Quodoch smiled, and began to answer, “Um…” (No, I’m okay. I’d rather be
left alone.) She’s so beautiful. He had been reading about a leap of faith, one
80
character trying to blindly make the correct decision, it was suspenseful and
made for a good read.
“Well, alright.” (Could your life make for a good read?)
She held out her hand, he closed the blue and gold book, took her soft, warm
and very delicate hand and stood up.
“By the way I’m Annie, don’t know if we’ve ever properly spoken. You’re
Qhodok?”
“Less of a hard K, more of a Hh, and more uh less huh.”
“Can I just call you Coco?”
“Fine. And you said goodbye to me last year.”
“Oh, did I? Well guess I guess we have spoken then… but not properly really.”
“No, but it was nice though.” He felt his face redden, saw his blush in a
darkened window and wanted so badly to return to his book. (Heroes slay dragons
–surely you can speak to a girl.) But they’re brave.
“So, what are you reading about Coco?”
“Well, it’s a series of stories set in some mythical time before our
history that may or may not have actually happened. It’s set in ancient Arabia
and told by a captured woman about to be slain. She tells many different
stories. You’ll know Aladdin, that’s pretty much the only known story, but
there are others.” “Oh, poor girl, what’s her name?”
“Shahrazad.”
“What is with you and weird names?” Annie laughed.
“Um, well if you think about it, Annie is a weird name, relative to
Ancient Arabic culture, maybe, actually I don’t know, maybe they had an
‘Ahknii’or something.”
“You’re weird,” Annie laughed, then she thought, and she said, “Yeah, but
you’re not wrong.” Quodoch, with his new friend, walked side by side toward
the volleyball court.
Suddenly, from the English Corridor burst a strange looking fellow. Tears
streamed down his red and puffy face. Annie looked sympathetic toward him, then
frowned and looked disappointed, then looked sympathetic again and continued to
flip back and forth between the two extreme emotions.
“Fucken Daniel.” She said under her breath. “Bet he didn’t take my advice
and is whinging about the consequences of not taking my advice.”
“See this is why I hate people and read alone.”
“Fair enough.”
Daniel approached. “You talked to her didn’t you.” Annie said.
Daniel looked so incredibly guilty. “Well, you know, I thought, that
maybe, we could, if I, but did it properly this time, and…” The fool was a
spluttering mess.
Quodoch checked to see if he wet his pants but hadn’t… yet, then continued to
watch the fool cry with indifference.

81
 “You know. This is on you, and you know that.” Annie said. Suddenly she
followed him out of the English corridor, red as a tomato with fury.
“You need to understand that I’m starting to hate you. If you ever want
to talk to me again shut up and stop talking to me. I’m starting to regret ever
bloody seeing you and letting you kiss me, I’m sorry about that. I’ve moved on,
and I’ve kissed again.” – the pain on Daniel’s face at hearing this was deep,
like in three swift words, all hope was forever lost. She saw that, smiled, and
said, “Michael.” Her smile disappeared as soon as she said the name as she saw
a Daniel sigh very deeply.
Quodoch wasn’t entirely sure who Michael was, and he didn’t care, but by
the sound of Daniel’s breathing after hearing that name, he felt something… was
it compassion? No, it was pure pity.
“Okay.” Daniel said quietly and walked away with his shoulders slumped.
Quodoch stood there feeling ill. On one hand people could be wonderful,
maybe with friends, he could let himself feel colour, then; how painful
experiences with feelings looked. He thought of his parents. Their colour had
faded too.
Books didn’t break hearts. He sighed and watched Daniel walk away wishing
he hadn’t been disturbed from his reading.
“You know, there’s a theory,” Annie said, “with significant scientific
backing, that states: Whenever there is an awkward moment, somewhere in the
world a gay baby is born.”
Quodoch, surprised by the joke, laughed, the girls giggled and everything
eased. “I can believe that.”
“Well,” Annie said. “Sophie, meet Coco. My new friend.”
Friend. Warm feelings, warm indeed, like melting honey. (Annie… she’s…
with that complexion of perfection of gorgeousness… she’s… lovely.)
“Isn’t he that weirdo loner loser?” Sophie said, looking at
Quodoch directly. “Yes.” Quodoch said.
“Awesome, pleased to meet you… Coco? Weird name.”
“It was just given to me, about four minutes ago. I’m Quodoch.”
“Oh yeah, that weirdo name no one can pronounce.”
“Well,” Quodoch said, “aren’t you charming?”
Sophie laughed. All looked over to Daniels direction, he sat, limp and
head low under a tree, not moving. “Apparently.” Sophie said. “I charmed him.”
They all laughed again. Then he followed them to the mound to hear all
about Daniel. Turns out, he was a very passionate person who felt a deep love
for everything. It attached to a person, Sophie, and did not let go, and he did
not know how to behave properly and so made some of the worst romantic
decisions of all history, ever. Michael, however, actually had some game.

When Quodoch got home, it seemed that a fight had recently occurred. Astar sat,
drinking a beer in the kitchen while Fernand smoked a pipe outside. Ignoring

82
them completely, he went to his room to continue reading but stopped when he
saw the kitchen table. Upon it lay what he first thought was his pearl, and so
took it and hurried upstairs to his pearl-drawer, opened it to find pearl still
there. Its hue was blue. From his pocket he pulled the new one, wondering where
on Earth it could have come from. He set the second one down in the drawer.
Before his eyes, the two different coloured fragments seemed to contact each
other from a distance, causing each other to move. They –like magnets-crawled
around until they struck each other and merged together. He picked the weird
stone up and examined it; there was no trace of the stone ever being split.
Still spongy yet rigid to the touch, yet the glow died down. For a long while
he stared at the singular stone and wondered what strangeness he had witnessed,
what physically impossible magic had taken place here? He laughed knowing that
he would keep it a secret. When he lay down, tired of the day to sleep, and
closed his eyes there was the profound silence. It did return and it was quite
lonely. Sleep returned him to the realm beyond ours, and once again he was with
the grand spirits in his deepest dreams.
The next morning Fernand seemed to absent mindedly be searching for the pearl.
My colour is made by these pearls. Why is my consciousness affected but
his isn’t? [How do you know his isn’t?]
How that made sense, he did not know; only certain that it was true. In
the kitchen he found a very small glass jar with a large centre space that
unscrewed in the centre. It was filled with the remains of some jam. And so
after a hearty breakfast of toast, butter and jam he rinsed out that jar and
fashioned a small hole in one of its corners by drilling with a hot skewer.
Eventually, with determination and effort, it worked. Back to his room, he
found a long, thin chain; looped it around the hole in the jar thrice and
managed to place the magic stone in the glass case. Once he had completed the
pendant, he donned it and to him it was almost like wearing glasses. Colour and
vibrancy returned to the world all at once and he could not really remember why
he felt miserable in the first place. The grey scale faded away and the drear
cheered. Thoughts that filled his heads were full of vital vigour and were like
a storm, a whirlwind of very powerful considerations, so many that he could not
process them all, all at once. Seeing all things in macro and micro
perspectives all at once, considering all points of view with attempts to
understand the signifying aspects of everything. Too much thought disabled a
person from moving and functioning properly as a human being; there is simply
to much to process to also pay attention to the surrounding outside. Life’s
qualities did improve significantly over all and at once the phenomenon of
being alive was tolerable, even pleasant. Whispers from the dark world
constantly spun in his mind, but he could separate their tones from his own. A
waypoint seemed to form within him over time. First as a vague image in his
mind: he saw a desert, a desolate and empty landscape, the image developed and,
in the desert, there were large basalt stones, formed together in a strange
heap. They reminded him very much of the old temple he had found as a young
boy, where he had found that strange stone but these were in a different place;
he had never been to such flat-land desert before. Buried in the earth below,

83
hidden from all for hundreds of years, lay a forgotten tomb buried long ago. In
dreams and with deep thought, he could see it but not what was there, nor where
it was.

The school day had been difficult, but he enjoyed new friends.
“I’m home everyone!” Quodoch entered the house, found it silent. It had
been a stupid week of stupid high school and he walked tiredly. Slumped on the
couch, and napped for a moment before even getting a drink. Nobody greeted him
back, despite the cars being there, oh well.
Stomach rumbles, can be quite angry at times. An empty sensation woke him
up, the house was still dark and quiet. Sun had set. He went to the kitchen to
look, wondering where anyone else was. He looked for a note of some kind, none
could be found. Fridge was pretty much empty, nothing sustainable, cupboards
seemed to be as well. He went to his room to put his stuff away, and call mum.
No answer, but he thought he heard a vibrating sound outside, and followed it
to the sound of heavy breathing from the master bedroom.
“Mum?” he knocked and heard nothing. Opening the door, he beheld his
mother, on her armchair, slumped, a pretty much empty bottle of red wine,
balanced on a very empty one that lay dripping blood-like drops onto the
carpet. He sighed, and almost left her there, something stopped him.
“Wake up you fucking idiot.” He went to the bathroom, filled a tub with
water, and splashed her with it.
She awoke with a shriek. “What did you do that for? How dare you!”
“You’re drunk you worthless, miserable piece of shit. There’s no food in
the house, it’s late and nothing is planned. I just had a fucked week at high
school and now the house is abandoned, its upkeep neglected and I’m hungry,
cold and tired.”
“Well, no,” she muttered, “I’ve just been quite tired.”
Temptation to smash her head with a wine bottle did flare, but he
resisted. He grabbed one, but felt no drive to cause any harm. Instead Quodoch
it down, down, intending to break it and succeeded.
“What the Hell?” Astar shrieked.
“I’m going.” Quodoch left the room. On the kitchen table lay her handbag,
it was open and her purse was just there. Without a thought he opened it, found
a hefty $450 in various cash notes. He picked and chose until he had $115,
wondering if she’d notice or say anything, then left slamming the front door
behind him.
He walked the empty streets, first with a huff, then with serenity. It
was a lovely, albeit dark and stormy, night. At the main road, he followed it
down to where some of the restaurants were. Eventually finding one little
Vietnamese-Laos place that was open and not too busy.
Recently eighteen, he ordered a beer with his meal, and then another half
way through. On the walk back, counting his change, he laughed. It had actually
been quite a nice night and he felt very free. Only… he remembered where he was
returning to and the laughter died.

84
85
With high school’s end looming, Quodoch realised that the future was nothing
but unrealised potential. No path was to be set for him, no guardian
angel to lead him forth. All would depend on himself and his own actions. Home
had become a troubling place.
Mother’s activity had dwindled. While her writing and financial income
seemed stable and increasing, it seemed that her mind was deteriorating, like
there was nothing much left for her, all her glory days had passed.
Often when taking the recycling out, he noticed that it was a lot heavier
than he expected, and when he inspected, he discovered empty beer, wine and
spirit bottles. Of late mother had been quiet and very introverted, said she
was working on a very difficult project.
Quodoch was educated, and tended to see through untruths quite easily. He
realised it was time for him to go.

86
Quodoch watched Annie dry herself, the golden sun reflecting from her bronze
skin, her legs covered in sand, and her long, dark hair dripping with
saltwater. The day had been exhausting. The school prepared for sports day by
hosting triathlons and high jumps and long jumps on the oval and in the sand
pit. At the end of the day, classes went to the beach for a swim in the hot
three o’clock sun, supervised by many parents and teachers. While Quodoch
mostly sat on the sand, he did admire the life around him… and… her body.
Visions of animal satisfaction stirred him; a profound sexual curiosity,
flashes of vivid images of the two of them, in his bed, under the covers at
three o’clock in the morning, moving with each other, breathing with each other
and making each other moan. (This is so irrational –how would that happen? Stop
thinking about things that aren’t going to happen.) But I want it to.
“Hey,” Annie must’ve noticed him notice her, “you alright?”
She wrapped the towel around her waist. “Yeah, just thinking.” Quodoch
said.Annie giggled, and hurried over to sit beside him. She took the book he
held, closed it, and put it far out of his reach.
“You spend too much time in your own brain, you overthink and
overcalculate everything, sometimes you just have to forget about all that and
just live regardless of what your brain says, or; against what your brain
says.”
“Oh, sure. Guess that’s what… well… that’s…” He stammered. “Sophie, and I
are going to go out for lunch, would you want to come? You look so lonely over
here, you always do.” Quodoch frowned, a little frustrated; he wanted to return
to Ancient Abyssinia but agreed.
At the café, over sandwiches and coffee, the trio discussed certain
emotional matters, regarding failed romances and lovely hopes and dreams for
the future.
“Coco, I’ve been meaning to ask you… have you ever had a
girlfriend?” Annie said. Sophie laughed, as if the answer was
obviousl.
“No.”
“Been kissed?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s sad.” Sophie said, in an offhand way.
“Not really, the thought has never really crossed my mind. I haven’t
really considered those matters, well, until recently I suppose.”
“What happened recently?” Annie said. He looked at her face, both cute
and beautiful at the same time. It was the perfect face for her bubbly and
happy personality and smiles came easily to her eyes. She reached out her hand
and put one on his, friendly, bro-like. A thought, which almost drove him to
action, appeared in full in his mind. (Because ideas have people, not the other
way around.) He fantasised of simply climbing over the table, pushing Annie to
the floor, and expressing whatever tingling feeling burned under his skin,
there and then. (She’s noticing!)

87
 Quodoch took a strategic sip of his vanilla soy coffee. “Um…” (Tell the
truth; or at least don’t lie.) “… guess biological processes are performing
their rite of manhood rituals by allowing feelings and hormones to affect my
mind.”
“What? Can you just say things simply? You’re confusing me.” Annie said.
Sophie looked at him, as though she may not have understood fully all the words
he had just said, she understood his meaning. Annie wondered why he spoke of
puberty and feeling physical sensations with such disdain. Being horny was a
fun sensation, wasn’t it? Why did it seem frustrating to him? She shrugged and
sipped her chai. Boys are weird.
“You’re growing up.” Sophie said quietly.
At the end of the afternoon, when it was time to return to the hub, Sophie
hurried back.
Annie and he walked side by side. “You know, it’s been great talking to
you. I’m glad you came out with us, you really should do it more often, we are
your friends.” Annie said.
“Yeah, I know.” They got to the point of split paths, and knew they would have
to say good evening,
good night and possibly good morning all in one moment. The school day was
almost over.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Annie turned around to walk away,
Quodoch calculated a bad move, and knew it to be silly, and
uncharacteristically foolish of him, and chose not to do it, consciously. Of
course, he did it anyway. What a dumb idiot.
“Annie?” He called out. She stopped and turned around.
“Wait.” He walked up toher, and it was like she fully understood his
intentions. She raised her arms like Jesus on the cross, allowing Quodoch to
walk into her warm embrace, and there they stood together, under the forming
clouds, holding each other.
“Mmm, are you okay?” Annie asked, again. “You seem to be battling dragons
in your head again, you need to stop doing that. Just live.”
Quodoch felt the strangest anxiety, a fiery panic flared inside him. (You
fool! You foolish fool!) “Just live? Like it’s that easy?” He said.
“Coco, it is that easy, just do it.”
“Annie.”
“What?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Of course, you can.” And for a moment, that
initially felt very awkward, but once they found a slow rhythm, the world
disappeared, there was no world, there was only them sharing love. They broke
apart and stepped back.
“Goodnight Annie.”
“Goodnight my love.”

88
For the first time in his living memory, he did not want those… strange colours
to swarm his mind. He did not want god. He wanted the colour of the world, he
wanted… life. Had he let the beast out of the gate? What beast? He remembered
that moment and could not shake the memory of the feeling. (The one that
hungers for that sensation!)
Well, as brainy as he may wish to be, he is only a brainy animal after
all, and, after reading many of hours of nature documentaries, animals are
pretty…well… animalistic, and tend to easily give into their base needs and
wants without much consideration.
After some wonderful dates, Annie and Quodoch had become quite close and spent
more and more time together.
Though, with many disruptions and distractions that interrupted the flow of
love, despite that the couple endured.
Since it was his parents house, they had authority over all aspects.
Seventeen, and unable to find work, he remained institutionalised in the
high school, and trapped at home. Because it was his parents house and not his
own, standards had to be kept, and all rooms must be accessible at all times.
Too often had Quodoch lay abed, minding his own business and spending
time discovering himself, when the door not only burst open, but his mum or dad
would enter and begin tedious conversation, walking up to his bed, and refusing
to understand the situation. Pants down and pornography loaded, Quodoch
scrambled to cover himself and hide the illicit material, with a large load
waiting to spurt. How incredibly uncomfortable. Do they not realise, or do they
not care? Which one is worse? How am I ever going to bring a girl here?

He brought Annie home one day when Astar was at the market and Fernand at work.
Desire had mixed with hormones and on top of him knelt a beautiful naked girl.
Then the sound of a
car entering the driveway disturbed the moment.
“I thought you said that they wouldn’t be back until six?”
“That’s what they told me. Fuck, maybe they just forgot something.”
“What do we do?” She worried.
“Nothing, don’t worry.” Two seconds later, the dreaded, “hello!”
Rang out through the house. Astar began chatting, to no one in
particular, “we forgot to grab the badge for the market that gives us a
discount. Where could it be? By the way, I’m going to run a load of laundry
before I leave again.”
Her footsteps approached, quickly. “Quodoch, are you there?”
Then the door flung open, and shestepped in. Annie flinched and shot down to
cover herself.
Quodoch expected that she would just leave but she didn’t. His mother stepped
forward, deeper into the room and said, “Oh, hello, who might you be?”
Quodoch could feel Annie shaking beneath the covers. “Can you go away?” He
said.

89
 “Don’t you think it’s important that I introduce myself? I like to know
who you invite into the house and would like to know who is here.”
“Go away! Fuck off!”
“Don’t you speak to me like that.”
“Fuck!”
“Thought I taught you to have better manners.”
“You need to go away mum, seriously.”
Finally, Astar retreated and exited, leaving the door wide open. Annie
jumped out of the covers, closed the door, dressed, opened the door, and dashed
for the front door without saying a word. Her face was red, and her eyes stared
a thousand miles away.
Quodoch stood, naked, in his room. The day had been ruined. He
dressed and walked out to the kitchen where Astar stood. You didn’t
leave?
“Would you like some tea?” She said, politely. “Where did your friend go?”
Quodoch readied to launch into a rage of intense verbal abuse, but found
he could not. He could only stare.
“Kind of rude of them to leave without introducing themselves or saying
goodbye.”
“What the fuck mum!” Quodoch spat. “Why do you just walk into my room
without knocking? You told me you would be back at six o’clock. Not three
o’clock. I expected to have privacy. Why the fuck did you come back and why the
fuck did you enter my room what is wrong with you?”
“You will not swear at me, we provided you with a roof, we raised you,
and neither me or your father will be disrespected.”
“Mum.” A sudden calm flashed into Quodoch’s voice, a sharp, bitter calm.
“Do you think she’s going to come back here? Do you think I’ll lose my
virginity with her now? I was about to. Do you think she’ll be comfortable here
– knowing that my parents could intrude on our love at any moment? Do you think
she’s going to want to keep being with me? Do you not think that you’ve
embarrassed the fuck out of her? Literally?”
“You should have told us that you had company.” Astar said nonchalantly.
“Were you never a fucking teenager? Did you not want to discover yourself
without your parent’s explicit permission? How sexy is that? My mum said I can
show you my balls? Can’t you respect that I want that?”
“It’s our house.”
“So how am I supposed to discover myself as a man with a woman?”
“Appropriately.”
“You’ve just ruined this relationship.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I seriously hate you.”

90
Fernand knocked quietly on Quodoch’s door, later that evening. “Heard what
happened.”
“She’s crazy.”
“Yes… she is. Listen I’ve been thinking. I think it’s time for you to move
out. Think you’ll do better living away from here.”
“Yes, I’d really like that but I can’t afford that.”
“No, I’ll pay for you, for a year. Help you find a place and get you some
roommates and get you out of here.

Only two neighbourhoods from the school, Quodoch entered the small three person
share house and immediately felt at home. He met his roomies, he and Fernand
unpacked and set up the bed all in one afternoon. With a smile, he pulled out
his phone and called.
“Annie?”
“Yes?”
“We haven’t spoken much lately.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened. How are you?”
“I am.”
“I have news.”
“What’s that.”
“Finally dropped my mother, finally, I’ve moved out of home, effective
immediately.”
“Where are you then?”
“Southwick. Only ten minutes away.”
“Really. That’s a bit of a leap of faith.”
“Wasn’t it you who told me to just live?”
“Mmm… that was a long time ago.” Annie said.
“The place is really nice. Pretty much already moved in. Bedrooms are
big, and have thick doors and locks. It’s a place where we can be alone, do
things the way we’ve always wanted to.”
“No, I don’t think we can.”
“Yeah, we can I’m standing in our bedroom now.”
“Your bedroom. Look, the past month hasn’t been easy for me.”
“Hasn’t been easy for either of us but isn’t the point of a relationship
to endure? To beat back all terribilities and overcome struggle?”
“No. It’s up to the individual to overcome their own struggle. And, I’ve
overcome mine. Our whole relationship recently has felt so strained and I
didn’t want that, I hated that, you know I wanted to make things better.”
“Yeah, me too, and now things can be better.”
“Things already are.”

91
 “What do you mean? We haven’t exactly seen each other in almost a month,
figured I’d have all this sorted when you got back as kind of a surprise.”
“While I’ve been gone, I’ve let myself be unrestrained.”
“Yes, so am I that’s what I’m telling you.”
“You’re not understanding what I’m telling you.”
“What are you telling me?”
“Well, that, I’m no longer longing for good sex, that good sex that we never
had.”
“What?”
“Someone else cured it for
me.” “What are you talking
about?”
“All I want to tell you is that don’t get your hopes up, don’t dream about us
anymore, we have no more future.”
“What? Are you?”
“Yes, and before you go on, there isn’t anything that will change my
mind, we can’t fix this, and we aren’t going to be, no matter what, I’ve made
up my mind. Too late anyway, I’ve moved on.”
“But…”
“Sorry.” She hung up, and that was that, all alone in the empty house,
the realisation that he would never experience love with her the way he had
wanted to for months, some random had given that to her. Not only did his
emotions hurt, but his hormones did too. The love for her and anticipation to
love her continued to thrive inside him, but there was nowhere for them to go,
nowhere for those intense sensations to be relieved at all. All at once rage
flared, but immediately became smothered with a festering, dark, slimy, heavy
feeling of just nothingness. Of hopelessness. Of misery. Of indescribable woe.
Of the diminishment of self-worth and self-esteem. A complete and utter retreat
into the dark labyrinths of his twisted, anger fuelled mind. He drank himself
into oblivion that night, and the next day, unthinkingly with no beauty or
grace. He sat down and could not stop thinking of Annie, and, somehow all his
emotions had gotten far, far worse.
Realising that there was no solution to the problem –he could not make
love with hired sex, he could not trust himself or others to start a
relationship anew, too much baggage would be brought onto the new person and
they would be used for relief and not genuine love. The only solution was wait,
in the knowledge that his lover was being fucked every night and probably
brought to climactic orgasm while he was forced to get it out of himself, alone
in the shower, so that energy didn’t drive him insane during the day, and then
once again before bed. No sexy thoughts hung in his mind, pure, alcoholic,
animal urges which left him more dissatisfied and angrier afterward, for he was
alone, and knew that she wasn’t alone.

92
 Sleep only came with powerful blasts of potent medicinal herb,
administered by milky bong rips to the face at extremely high doses. In those
fat rips, a lesson came to him, down from the heavens.
Translate all emotion into intellectual thought. Do not live. Instead,
only think. Thinking cannot hurt you. Animals have this tendency to feel. Would
that he could become a robot, and simply cancel the program which runs pain, to
more efficiently work on practical and actual problems. What is my sex drive to
the fate of the universe? He wondered. Nothing at all. Nobody cares about that
but me so it shouldn’t matter and it doesn’t matter, so I no longer care.
And… all the colour drained from the world. The gem shone brightly… and
he… accepted the colour. The rage had intensified. The rage was bigger than
himself. The rage was God’s rage.
Adapted to all the quirks of his inner mind and those weird connections,
it became clear to him that his life’s function was to listen to the voices and
do as they command. Why else would they be with him than to guide him? They did
seem as guardians after all. But inner knowledge alone would not be adequate to
fully comprehend and actively work with the strangers from the dream world. He
withdrew into himself again.

After high school, Quodoch Eobardy enrolled at the Charles Darwin University in
Broome to study many biology, chemistry, physics, archaeology, geology,
cosmology, sociology, psychology, mathematics philosophy, theology and various
other modes of comprehending the physical and non-physical aspects of the
universe in which we live.
With knowledge, perhaps the meaning of the inner whispers and the buried
tomb can be uncovered somehow. Maybe he could find meaning.
He sat alone in his room, in the dark, in the silence. Yet another heart
ache, yet another failed romance. What had he done so wrong? “It’s not you,
really, it’s just I don’t think I’m a good girlfriend to you and I don’t want
to keep wasting your time wanting for things that… won’t happen.”
Worse words could not be spoken. If he wasn’t at fault, and he did
everything perfectly, then why was he alone, in his room with a heavy sex drive
but no way to relieve it? Why did every part of his being hurt so badly? Why
was breathing hard because of the thought that he was in his room, alone, and
would remain until morning, and there was no way to not be alone. Nobody to
talk to, nobody to reach out to. Just alone. Why couldn’t she tell him his
flaws so that he could come to a better understanding of himself, improve and
carry a positive attitude of improvement into whatever next relationship might
blossom. Instead –he would bring panic and a heavy baggage of frustration and
wanting. How could he relax enough to calmly love another person? How could he
address the incredible pain that he experienced? In his bedroom, alone, by
himself, in the dark, he sat in rumination. There was nothing he could do to
calm the pain he felt that night. Perhaps he could hit the bottle, there was
about half a bottle remaining of powerful gin, something like fifty five
percent alcohol content. That had been the solution the past week, that and
cone after cone of whacky, that, after a while the nothing. Surely processing

93
the problem would be far more beneficial and better, with a clean and sharp
mind.Yet the pain made breathing hard. How does a person achieve release? Never
had such been experienced, and he could not fathom how a person could be naked
and in a loving embrace with another person. How did that happen?
Alone, in a room, he sat by himself.
Pain pounded each nerve in his circuit. Thoughts intensified, rumination,
lost promises, lies, unfilled wishes, and they leaked a dark, putrid liquid
into his soul. God was not there to ease the pain, and the Devil laughed with
delight. Well, now, he seemed to say, more you suffer more I gain.With
trepidation he opened the door to his bedroom and proceeded to the toilet, to
relieve the pushed bladder pain. When he returned to his bedroom, the bottle of
whisky sat in his hand. Slowly, he watched the bottle drain. Then, he felt
tiredness and could no longer feel pain, but a putrid, ghastly feeling came
instead, a kind of sickness. With the packing of a cone, and the sparking of a
lighter, that sensation eased too. Then, there was nothing. He awoke to a
sudden flash. (Really can’t wait until we have the perfect opportunity.”“For
what? To spoon?”“No, to really make love. I want you to rock my world… after I
rock yours… then we rock each others.) Silence filled the room.
Instinctively he reached out his arm, she had just been there. She was not
there, and hadn’t been, will never be. Heavily sighing, fighting waves of
fatigue, he arose, and sought the shower. Maybe the hot water would be good,
nice and refreshing. Head heavy, he sat upright. Stomach grotesque he vomited
onto his carpet. Staring at the disgusting pile, he felt nothing, and walked to
the shower. Under the hot stream of water, sleep finally came restfully. Able
to turn the taps off, he stumbled to his room, alone. The smell was unbearably
putrid. Soon his roommates would surely say something. He dragged the carpet
outside, and hosed it down until there was no more yellow. Thankfully none got
on the bed or the floor. Spraying the room down with disinfectant and then
lighting candles, the physical exercise stimulated a good sensation within his
soul. Packing another cone, he smoked the room out, then drifted off into
dreamless oblivion, only to wake up alone an hour before noon. Emotions, at
times, can be strong and incomprehensible. Pain or joy flooding a system with
no rhyme or reason. As if they were a product of some kind of evolutionary
hiccup, and fully insane, he regarded them with spite. All negativity he felt
became instantly translated into thought which, although debilitatingly
thoughtfully excruciating, they could be understood and therefore expressed in
written word. Easier to manage than an abstract, unidentifiable emotion. Make
the body perform routine or good action, the brain will eventually catch up.
Good advice, probably written by people who had never felt intense despair and
hopelessness. After showering, eating, drinking coffee, dressing well,
freshening up and arriving ten minutes early to his work, he felt nothing, or
perhaps slightly worse than how he woke up. As if it wasn’t that the computer
had been unplugged, but the whole block had no power and, would never have
power again. If the computer had been unplugged, he could plug it back in. It
was plugged in, with no power. A strange conflict formed in his thoughts. My

94
body cries out for love, hardcore wild love. In my mind I see a future of God
that I may bring about. Why would
God’s path deny me love?
(For the greater good.)

In class, he sat alone.

“Hey.” He looked up. “Hello? Do you need me to move?”
“No. Just noticed that you always sat here alone, would you like to join
our group?” Her smile was sweet and very genuine. For the first time, a flutter
made itself known in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, she is gorgeous.
“No. Can’t do that to myself again.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just can’t, I’m better here, I can’t bother you this way.”
“You wouldn’t bother us, we’d accommodate you.”
“No, I don’t want to be with you, I want to be alone, please just leave
me alone.” His voice decrescendoed, and ritardandoed. With a final sorry stare,
she walked down to her row and re-joined her friends without looking back. Why
did you do that? (Imagine if she teased you then fucked some other guy.)
Oh, that’s why. Yeah, nah, keep your distance.

Your place is not among the natural world. You do not belong to pleasures of
the flesh. Your purpose is far greater, yours is the purpose of the soul, and
you will transform into a being of infinite good. Will your will intend
goodness or will your actions simply perform it? That is unknown. Give up
wants. Give up desires.
Devote yourself to Me.
From the dream he awoke, performed his routine, and attended university.
With a sense of purpose, he rested easy. There were times when the human
surfaced within him. What is one human to the entirety of reality? Reality was
a strange place, and his mortal, human mind could not comprehend his own
sensations, let alone the entirety. At night the guide showed him dreams of
fantastic and impossible cities. Begins to see a green meadow. Perhaps the same
meadow in which the dirty river flowed and where the tree joined heaven and
hell. Lush and bountiful o that place may have been. Now it was poisoned. One
night, his thoughts were very green and his weary mind went to the meadow but
when the deeper dreams surfaced there was only a desolate, dry, deserted,
desert. Dusty winds howled, roaring loudly. It was hard to see anything, but
there were strange shapes on the horizon. Instinctively, Quodoch pushed himself
toward the place and came upon a rocky formation. Intent on inspecting the
place, he peered forwards but fell down, sank below the earth an entered a
large stone room. There was a single coffin in the centre, made of stone and
sealed closed. On the walls were strange carvings, weird scriptures that he
could not recognise but definitely seemed familiar; they were patterns of long,
curvilinear lines. On top of that coffin there lay a large black leather-bound
book that gave off very evil vibes. The book seemed to warn away all people
95
stupid enough to gaze upon it. Dare open a page, and terror be upon you.
Perhaps the books would lead him to the green meadow. Overwhelmed with terror
at the presence of the book; he moved to turn around and saw that he was not
alone. There were strange beings with him that were unlike the teachers. They
were unholy creatures that made no anatomical sense; but they seemed to
resemble a physical form. Vaguely conical; with a jelly fish-like lower body;
instead of being divided bilaterally like most animals on Earth, beside sea-
stars; they were quadrilateral with four distinct sides, rather than two. Above
the mid-section protruded four very long cervices. Two of which ended in
powerful-looking crablike pincers; one of which ended in four tubular cannon-
like barrels, almost like an organic gun; and the last ended in an amalgamation
of rods, tendrils and deep black, reflective muscles –like eyes that stared in
all directions. Silently the creatures slid about the stone room; the tomb, and
they seemed unperturbed by his presence; almost as if they had not noticed it
or it was of the least significance. Dozens of them slithered about
noiselessly. When he awoke there was certainly a difference in the realm. New
ideas developed inside his mind that had not been there before. He heard winds
bellow to the north and to the east.

96
Astar served the roast she had spent all evening preparing. Vegetables had
blended, forming a soft bed on which the chicken lay, its marinade dripped and
bubbled, mixing with all the other flavours. Two plates, not three. Had she
prepared too big a meal?
“The smell is incredible.” Fernand said, cutting the bird open. “Yes,
poked the whole bird multiple times so the juices would seep in.”
(“Would you like some wine?” “Thank you.” White or red” “Red.” “Okay.”)
Fernand sat down, with two plates, balancing two glasses. “Here’s to us,
and our own space.” Their glasses chimed as they cheered, and they drank
deeply.
“Bonne appetite.” Astar watched her husband with awe. An extreme,
existential idea floated in her mind. He’s not that attractive. Or that
interesting. Yes, he’s successful, we’re successful, we’ve done well, but he
isn’t exciting. After dinner, she sat and poured another glass, emptying the
bottle. Fernand had gone upstairs, (to the bathroom, then to put on his gown
and slippers?) No. He returned fully dressed. “I’m going out with a few work
friends, thought we’d see one of the shows at the Fringe, Derek got tickets, so
why not.”
“Oh, okay honey, have fun.”
He disappeared, door closed behind his back. So crashed the wave.
Without much thought, she opened another bottle, filled her glass to the brim,
drained it, again, drained it, again drained it, and again, then drained it.
The world whirled. Will I be able to work the damn thing?
In the storage closet, behind the cupboard was the safe. Numbers, what
were those four numbers? Muscle memory punched them in. The weapon felt heavier
than she had remembered. The bullets looked kind of funny, like yellow parking
cones with a black beret on top, a slightly convex beret. The bullet fit into
the magazine, and clicked in with a satisfying click. I don’t need more than
one. Into the gun she slid the magazine. (Where should I put it?) These are
hollow-points, it does not matter. (Will I hear the boom?) No. To her temple
she raised the weapon, then she started to laugh, quite happily. She didn’t
hear the boom.

Drunk on pale ale, after a very successful day at work, he walked the streets
alone. All swirled, (why didn’t I accept the ride home?) Cause you thought the
night was too nice not to walk. (Well, at least Astar will warm me up, oh I’m
so glad to have her, she’s so lovely, now that Quodoch is off at University, I
can properly enjoy our love.)
Such a wonderful feeling, beholding your own front door, knowing the
journey is complete. Silently, he opened it and crept inside. A quick go at the
bathroom relieved what felt like two million litres of beer from… Mr One Eyed
Trouser Snake. He laughed as he urinated, splashing the yellow onto his pants.
Stripping naked, he wet a flannel and wiped himself down. On the rack outside,
he retrieved pyjama pants, donned them, then went to bed. He didn’t hear the
97
sound of breathing. (Maybe she went out?) Yeah, and went to treasure island. He
clicked the light on. Damn it what has she spilled? Where is she? (Oh, she did
go out.)
By out, he meant, brains were out of her head, her eye sockets black and
empty, face peeled off, no skull to speak of. Red had splashed the walls with
pink and grey matter, and the floor was soaked. Her limp body lay there,
soulless, cold, like a melted mannequin. A hand grabbed his shoulder, another
pulled him back, he fell to the ground. Someone walked into the room, then
walked out. The two holding him, lifted him and brought him downstairs and out
of the house. Red and blue lights flashed. Frantically, someone ran out of the
house fetched two blue chaps and tugged them toward and into the house.
“Mr Eobardy please breathe, one death is plenty we don’t want two.” (What
the fuck did she mean one death?) Oh my god, she had no eyes.
“We’re here to help.” She made us a roast… we ate a roast together.”
“Well, please keep breathing, we’re going to put you on a bed and take you to
safety, okay? Is that alrightMr Eobardy?”
“We? Where? No. No, I want to sleep with my wife. Well, after I have some left
overs, pretty hungry still.” Shock set in.
“We can get you some food, then you can sleep, okay Mr Eobardy?”
“Stop calling me that.”
Sirens wailed, all around the world rumbled… soothingly… Mr Fernand Eobardy
fell asleep on the way to hospital.

Part III America

Quodoch listened to the police, then hung up the phone and returned packing. He
was going anyway. He stood on the edge of the highway, back to
civilisation, staring into the wilderness. Should he walk down the embankment
and into the woods and find the grove of his dreams to forever abandon the life
of an upright tailless, shaved, shoe-wearing monkey and become that of Vision?
Or… go back to be an ordinary, regular, everyday normal guy with love problems?
With a deep sigh, he crossed the roads and walked into the woods.
Spooky sounds filled the night air, of insects squeaking and birds
squawking and the wind blowing, and he did not shake nervously. One foot after
the other he trudged into the unknown. In his pocket, the pearl radiated, the
warmth spread all through his body and produced waves of positivity. He looked
down at the ground and found he had lost the path. A very strange anxiety he
had never before felt swelt inside him – what sane person was alone by
themselves pursuing a dream at three o’clock in the morning. Fatigued, he
looked around desperately, there were only trees, he sat down on a fallen
trunk. Drowned in the sounds of nature he settled, and began to think about
sleep, when, among the sounds, he heard a hum carry in the wind. A hum
billowing through the trees. Faint, like Gregorian priests gathered to chant
one hundred miles away, but distinctive, human. Had hallucinations set or were

98
these the voices of people? Voices of reason? Reasonability or a reason to go
on? Giddy at the thought, he listened hard, and yes, he heard that strange song
being sung. Lost, and disoriented, Quodoch figured the direction that the
sounds may originate and travelled that way. Exhausted from the long march, but
glad because the sounds had become louder, he almost stopped to rest before
seeing the outline of a black triangle almost his height. With hesitance, he
approached, and was shocked when he heard “who is there?” call out from the
dark.
“I am a poor wayfaring stranger travelling through this world of
woe.” Quodoch said. “Aren’t we all?” The voice said.
“Who are you? And why do you camp here?” Quodoch asked.
“We are the Visionary Order and we are here to return the light, for the
light has commanded all mankind for its return, yet it remains dead.”
“What light?”
“That which charges electrons, enchants dreams and originates existence.”
“God?”
“God indeed, God indeed.”
“What has the light tasked you with?”
“Activate the ancient energy imbued within thought manifest and cast to
Earth.”
“You mean… like this?” Quodoch held the pearl that he held since he was a
child.
“Ah –you are no wayfaring stranger, my friend, you are a tasked one, one who
will return the light.
Come closer, do not be afraid.”
Quodoch approached.
“Do you require food and water?” The voice offered.
“Yes.”
“Dine with us, our dearest one. We have prepared wildberries, grown
vetetables, goats’ cheese and goat’s meat into this delicious recipe. And
brewed very sour wine.”
“All my life I thought I was broken, had no idea why I felt directed all
the time. Never knew there were others that carried pearls.”
“Pearl? You call it a pearl? We’ve heard; gem, stone, or fragment. Well, what
a fitting name. We call it the essence.”
Quodoch’s stomach rumbled. “How did you prepare the meat?”
“Well, when the goat, escaped from old Farmer Yakowsky last night escaped
its pen and entered our place of prayer, we saw it as an offering. We slew it,
boiled the skin for leather, and the bones for soup, gave the organs to the
Earth, and cooked the soul from the meat, offering it to God, then, cooked the
fresh meat on open fire.” (The taste is indescribably natural.)
Cold in the small tent that they had offered him, he stepped out into the
night.

99
 Dewy grass beneath his feet chilled him further, the bitter wind didn’t
particularly help. It was warm earlier; why’d the temperature drop?
Four fires had been lit around a central fire that seemed to always be
ablaze. Each step he took closer toward the smoky smell and dancing light, the
warmer and more comforted he felt. He found a patch of soft, wet grass about a
meter and a half away from the fire where the temperature was perfect. And lay
down. He continued to twist, swapping the hot side for the cold side until he
found perfect equilibrium and made a tactic for keeping the temperature
regulated. No worry bothered his mind and he slept perfectly. He awoke and
found that all fires had finally burned down to ash. Dawn was breaking.
Something about the coolness of the air he found refreshing. Beside him saw one
of the Visionaries.
“Who guided you here?” The stranger said.
“No one.” Quodoch said, “I found my own way here.”
“How?”
“When I was seven, I uncovered a fossil; inside was a weird purple gem.
I’ve kept that gem ever since. Without it, the world seemed bleak and grey;
with it I could think clearer. Could never figure out if this strange affect
was real or imagined. Eventually I followed whatever it put into my dreams,
lead me to some strange places… led me here. Had no idea what I was searching
for in this forest. Then… I happened upon you people. I am glad to know that my
condition wasn’t unique to me. That there is purpose to this.
That there is a God.”
“Fascinating. You’ve been with a gem since you were a child? I
am impressed.” “How long… have you known?” Quodoch asked.
“When I was twenty, I was a wealthy man, with an ordinary life. Then my
whole family was massacred by random gang violence. They weren’t shot, they
were hacked with axes and swords, and not in obviously vital places meaning
they probably died slow, screaming.”
“Oh.”
“So… I snapped into some kind of strange schizophrenia where I could not
believe reality if I wanted to. There was no way my mind would accept what had
happened and what my life had become. It was… a weird time. Literally just
upped, got stole keys from a discarded purse, probably belonging to a nurse,
went to the car park and drove, madness leading me out of the psychiatric ward.
On the free-way I found a group of stranded hippies. They weren’t hitch hiking,
they were lost… after picking wild mushrooms in some botanic reserve and I
offered them a ride. They paid for petrol, which was good. Was a fun ride. We
told each other our individual stories; some of theirs were crazier than mine.
Eventually we came to a hotel. On the balcony of that hotel, they sorted
through their harvest and organised the pickings into different bowls. In one
bowl they put long-blue-stemmed-tiny-capped mushrooms. “You ever floated free?”
Said Hippy Mcgee.“No.” I told him. He gave me the mushrooms. Insane and in a
wild, manic, uncontrollable, disillusioned depression I ate the handful. First,
I started seeing things… as they were. I was an animal, grieving after the loss
of animals. I regarded the nature that I could see off the balcony. There were
100
many critters roaming about, insects buzzing. The sky was filled with birds. I
was part of all of that. I realised pretty much for the first time. I’d never
contemplated the idea before really. After the second hour of becoming far more
in touch with myself, my mind, my soul and the world than I ever had before, I
left the keys to the stolen car and simply walked away again. I slept beneath
the trunk of a tree one night, lost. But I didn’t mind. It felt… different and
different was good because… each time I thought about what life I had escaped
the twisted suicidal feeling exploded inside me. Boy was I close to it a few
times. So, I kept my mind on what was different and sought out what was
different. Then, I was found. Four members had found me. I don’t know how. They
brought me in. They fed and healed me… and they gave me more mushrooms and
other… potions as I told them who I was. Ate and drank what they gave me,
because I didn’t care, I sought different, and… if being poisoned and killed
was different… hell I’d take that. I had completely let go of everything that
ever mattered to me, and aggressively pushed to destroy my old self…
aggressively
and self destructively. Anyway, I was allowed to sleep with a few others. They
all worshipped the gems and, in their presence, … I felt… completely sane. Like
I was in the right place, like I belonged. They gave me a gem along with black
robes and a staff before imitating me properly into the Vision.” The man said.
“Oh… you totally fucked up those hippies’ lives if they took the car.” Quodoch
said.
“Yeah I sometimes think about that.” He shrugged. “Probably got them sent
to prison. Oh well. Guilt from causing problems in other people’s lives was
different.”
“Who are you?” Quodoch asked.
“I’m Zin.”

Quodoch went to the tent designated to him and slept.

Awakened by the chirruping of birds, Quodoch woke in pre-dawn light. He
walked out of the community and up the small hill and sat down at the peak.
Fresh morning air rejuvenated his senses and he felt very much alive. A split
occurred in his psyche. Heart ache did swell inside him, he missed being in
love, his family and was sad that his mother was no more, alone in this world
and in the company of selfproclaimed wizards. When he thought about it like
that, he began feeling worse; lost and alone. (What am I doing here?) Do I not
have a life to repair? Am I not escaping? Uncertainty bothered him and lowered
his mood, with a deep sigh, he let his head fall limp into his lap, and he
squeezed his eyes shut. What is a lost human to do?
Rain fell, and the splashes of water itched at the back of his neck.
Flicking his head up, to raise his hood, he saw it. Without thought, he
observed the world around him. Mist fell from a grey sky; all the green grasses
breathed fresh life and filled the world with earthen aromas. Wind whistled
through the trees and carrying rain and dampening the world. Quodoch lay on his
back and tasted the rain, it tasted natural and vaguely sweet. The deeper he
breathed, the more he could feel his soul radiate with raw life. Then a strange
101
question formed in his head that lead to a sudden complete epiphany: how many
people have felt what I feel now?
Considering the mass amounts of artificial processes in the modern,
capitalist, industrious world of political economics and the constant mental
health crises. Lately, loneliness has been discussed as a genuine public health
risk, and small communities push to unite people with strangers so that people
can finally have friends, or maybe even find real love. Such initiatives
continue to be drowned by the selling of luxurious, impressive but unnecessary
and harmful technological devices, that, admittedly are fun, at the cost of
humanness, however. It is easier to buy a virtual reality imitation to
experience graphic sex than find an appropriate partner, and why would people
risk pain when they can just enjoy the same stimulation in a simulation?
Discussion of the Meat House warped from old, crazy science fiction to possible
truth. Yet, all that is extinguished, with a single breath of fresh air and the
absolute assurance that you are where you are supposed to be. Quodoch sat alone
in the hut, stoking the fire. He wondered at his surroundings and the
community. Secluded in twisted woods among dense foliage, the Visionary Order
had established their place. In handmade shanties they slept with only basic
fires to keep light and warmth. Without electric light yellowing the paved
streets, blocking the dark of the night above, the universe sprawls out
infinitely and the many armed milky way reaches out to forever. Quodoch stared
into great shadow and felt the gaze of the cosmos watching him in return.
In the endless above he felt the presence. Ancient people would have seen
this each night of their existences, bright days end with a display from the
Heavens. Modern people have lost that wonder almost entirely. And there, he
felt tranquillity as he never had before. Yet, despite the experience of glory,
of momentary sensory exhilaration, pain still existed within him. No more will
I let that hinder me. He decided. It will motivate me, stay as a reminder as to
why I should not have faith or trust for any person. And he felt himself
transform into a purely intellectual beast. Pain waited in the darkness, eager
and ready to return should his guard ever drop. Our world is Godless. How can
this be remedied? One way is to become God. Another way is to resurrect him.
Quodoch did not trust humanity to play the game of God. And, in a single line
of logic, he decided that he would devote himself to the task, no matter how
hopeless his efforts might seem, no matter what danger he would expose himself
to and no matter the cost. Was there anything else worth living for? No.
Quodoch entered the temple and knelt before the old wizard who stood behind the
black pedestal. “Nature has spoken to me.” He confessed. “Has healed my
thoughts. For… now I understand the great purpose, I realize the plight.”
“Good.” The wizard said. “In thirty moons, the solstice shall be upon us
and the ancient ceremony will take place at the shrine. You will join us with
the ritual, that, with the help of god we will heal the world as your thoughts
have been healed.”
Midnight had come. Quodoch proceeded through the overgrown wilderness, toward
the ‘Holy

102
Grove’ where the dark altar stood. Overwhelmed with a sense of positivity he
allowed the Light to guide the way. The sound of voices filled the night air. A
gloomy radiance illuminated the meadow and he could sense a manic energy.
Weirdly and unpleasantly he no longer felt alone. Movement in the trees
indicated the presence of people. Hood lowered he reached the place and watched
strangers congregate. All dressed in dark they chattered with impatience. On
the other side he recognised Randolph Carter, that old evil spirit, approach.
“Hush!” boomed Carter’s croaky voice. “Each of us has been brought here for
what shall take place this night. Vision has found you, joined with you and led
you. Together the vision shall intensify and activate. Place your fragments
upon the slab. One by one, the darkly robed interlopers placed their gems down.
Quodoch loomed closer, took off his amulet and set it down. With all the stones
down, Carter placed a hand on the altar and uttered strange words and the night
became darker. As if magnetically charged they began to move; forming together
into a single stone. The chant became heavier and grew louder for the others
began imitating. Quodoch joined in the choir of strange singing, feeling as
though he was meant to. Sudden strong winds began to blow and thunder
crackled in the sky.

Finally, he had found a place for him to belong, where he felt genuinely
included where he fit in.
“It’s time.” The husky voice said quietly.
Quodoch stood, cradling the gem, and stepped out into the night. Quietly
he made his way through the twisted wood toward the altar.
Winter had turned the air crisp, and the winds billowed coldly. Only
wrapped in a few layers of corduroys, and out-fitted with a heavy hooded cloak,
the cool air caused him to shiver and huddle himself as he traversed the twiggy
path.
Rain began to fall – which brought out many sweet fragrances from the
dirt and the young grass and budding flowers. Smoke billowed through the trees,
and he followed that grey smell toward a flickering firelight.
The grove was a circular field in the wood, in the centre of which was a
black altar with four platforms supporting it. The lower levels had fires
blazing, the central platform remained unlit
All around stood strange dark cloaked figures, Quodoch could not
recognise any faces besides Zin. Then, the leader spoke. “Welcome. Few are
still to come. Take a seat by one of the fires; we have five at the moment but
Dyne is setting up another one. There is meat here, and mead, and wine, and
plenty to smoke.”
Quodoch enjoyed the man’s expression, filled with with
friendliness and comfort. “Mate, shove over.”
He looked up to see a young lad, probably eighteen, who wanted a spot on
the log, so Quodoch made room.
“We must look like so strange to anyone, if they saw us. Like occultists.”
“Isn’t that exactly what we are?”

103
 “No, well… we’re sages, prophets. Occultists are just fanatics of false
gods. We are truth seekers, light finders and magic bringers.”
“Alright, we’re wizards too.”
“We will be.”

Others had arrived, then the ceremony

begun. “All present, place your
gems upon the altar.” With
hesitation, Quodoch did so.
A strange man appeared – he did not wear robes but was dressed as a
lumberjack and wielded a woodcutter’s axe. In his hand he held a large gem,
handed it to the leader, Feri, and disappeared back into the woods. Feri
laughed. Then began to mutter in some strange language below his breath, and
the gem in his hand glowed purple. All around, the other gems glowed purple
as well. In both hands he held the magic.
Around him, black-cloaks began throwing substances onto the pyre that
resembled ordinary treebark, roots, fruits and grass, because they were exactly
ordinary tree-bark, roots, fruits and grass, but together they created magic.
By magic I do not mean casting blasts at foes; by magic I mean communication
with the foundation of the universe and the thoughts that govern physics. With
magic, one can see into the proper and total state of reality. With magic one
integrates into God. The pyre-stander carefully placed the natural material
where he stood. Then he removed the cloak, and I could see that he was very
slick, covered in oils.
“Now – let us dream, let us see. My pathway forwards into the next place
has come, and I shall cast myself toward the heavens in this ceremony. Let my
blood be the medium for the great vision. Blessed are you all.” Feri did
receive two stones from the pyre; and he did slam them together to create
sparks. Once, twice and thrice. Until a spark found the oil upon his skin,
which set the whole central pyre aflame.
Truly horrific the sound of a man burned to death, putrid was the smell
of overburnt flesh, the taste in the air was a morbid mixture of blood and
smoke. Smoke wafted thickly black and grey burning fresh leaf, dry wood and the
Magic that had been placed.
Although he logically comprehend the grotesquery of human flesh melting
away, he did not flinch or look away.
The Visionary Order began the chant.
The firepit flared in impossible colours as Feri burned to death. Thunder
boomed, and a red strike smashed down into the altar. The red continued to
flash violently in Quodoch’s inner vision. He could feel the power flow.
His eyes snapped open, and he felt the heavy clumsiness of
his physical body. There was nothing left on any pyre but piles
of black dust and charred coal.

He awoke alone. Upon the altar were four fragments. Quodoch approached, and
touched one. It felt stronger than before. Something had changed.
104
The Visonary Order had disappeared. The woods were abandoned, and no tents
remained standing.
Eobard remembered long ago high school days when he had first learned basic
biology and psychology. One student, Yemar, had been torn between science,
religion and a strange mixture of the two from a young age. “Is life
organic from within, like – a network of complexity with a hardwired desire to
continue existing, by staying alive and pro-creating that has adapted from a
singular celluloid to adapt and grow to become us; apes shaved and wearing
shoes with millions of generations of evolution crafting the way we think and
react to this world into which we are thrown? Or are lives a way for God to
experience His own creation by creating points of views in the Heavenly skies,
to then craft Angels, who then cast their souls into the world giving form to
consciousness. An external signal projected from Heaven, received by our brains
and lived by our bodies? Like a way of manifesting reality, and that’s why we
have ideas and can write words on paper because the Angel inside us, or our
soul is trying to breach into physicality and make an impact on the Universe,
God’s creation? What is our bloody mind?”
The class was silent and Professor Mularma laughed. “Or, what is our
spiritual mind. Well, your existential crisis is essentially what we’re all
wondering. Truth is, nobody knows and the more you think about it, the more
likely you are to go quite mad. Makes sense to believe in the former, can do
science with the former. Our experience is very much from within. However, I
suppose, that could still be interpreted as the universe experiencing itself.”
“Maybe our inner selves, subconscious minds, instincts, and deep brains
are still connected. The deeper into thought, the deeper into the oneness we
all go. Death is not an end, but a return to infinity; to
Heaven, where we are all connected; as angels who are all a part of God.”
“Are you saying that, God is the Universe, we are the Universe; actually
star-dust, just like our planet, and consciousness is but the Universe
experiencing itself?”
“Yes, and that we are of the Universe, that we are of itself, and so; we
are God. All of us. All life, in all forms from the deepest ocean invertebrate
to the oak trees outside are all God.”
A tunnel vision had formed, locking Eobard and the Professor together;
the class faded away. Until Lyra shouted, “shut up nerds. You’re so damn
boring. Pretentious philosophizing isn’t going to help me understand the
scientific method and how to do conclusions.”
Most of the class had zoned out.
“Well,” Some other kid, Wembley or something said, “well, God or Universe
what’s magic is that we even exist now at all in any way here and now. We’re
all and aware alive right this very moment. You do have an awareness; and
choice. In a room, alone, you are not just a kind of organic meat bag, you
fully experience being a meat-bag by awareness of the moment, senses, memory.
They are not just processes, you feel it. It happens, and then passes.
Something… lives that. The chemical reactions happen, but to what? Like; our
105
sight is absorbed by our eyes; edited by our brains and… come to life? Mind and
the soul.” “But why? If something like that is the how, but why?”
Professor grinned.
“We do not and will never know. Perhaps a supreme consciousnesses of an all
binding all-encompassing spiritual icon that is the base of all life, and each
individual entity is its way of sensing its own existence. Perhaps it is just
idiotic energy, blind and screaming in the abyssal chaos that is the cosmos,
raging furiously against the dying of the light, maniacally clawing through
this weird realm with every force of thought it could unfeelingly muster. So;
thrownness. Perhaps nothing we can ever comprehend and the momentum of
everything that is, is far too magnificent for any pee-wit human brain to even
start to question. We’re here to survive, not to know.” Yemar thought aloud,
trying to comprehend.
That was when the Professor went into deep think and went quite still. “What do
you know?” Eoboard was curious. Professor whispered, “All I can say
definitively, is that, there is something else. Whatever our minds are, they
are a part of something else. When I studied at the Miskatonic University in
Arkham, I saw a manifestation of whatever is the echo of life. It was a Sunday
late-morning, but it was grim and dark though there were no clouds. All was
silent and no wind blew. Grey everywhere. The men in charcoal cloaks, who
lurked in the courtyard sang with voices that rolled through the trees. I
cannot tell you what kind of disgusting incantation they were spewing… I saw
them. They all stood around a table, and prayed to a black tome which they
burned among weird grasses. A flash of fire sparked in the sky, like lightning
but… fire. A mist formed into a kind of warp. It shaped into a raindrop, and
radiated a kind of frustration. The praying people continued their daemoniac
wails. The thing lingered a moment before fading away. My dreams ever since
that night have been broken fragments trying to remember that strangeness that
flashed before then. Nightmare cities beneath lakes, desolate dark pits of oily
stone, plateaus of ice upon mountains peaks upon which were caves that were of
a structure and formation not of this Earth. Walls that twisted in impossible
geometric shapes; that seemed to fold into themselves. Angles that did not
behave properly; obtuse had swapped with acute. Above there is nothingness, a
timeless void. In that nothing, in the pit of the deepest night gaunt, there
roosts the damaged abomination: the maker of heavens. I felt the pull… the pull
towards the tunnel. It was not me being pulled towards it though, it was just…
energy.” The professor collapsed nervously, “The book is still out there!” Her
voice was distant, her eyes saw memories, she was once again there. No student
seriously believed the claims of the teacher. The bell rang and the class
ended, most students walking out, zoned out. But the following day she was let
go, never to return to the school.
Arkham. Miskatonic. Those word remained with him, guiding him
towards the mad science of digital life preservation.

Quodoch determined to return to Arkham.

106
From the tree line, a stranger entered. Dressed for gardening work, he held in
his hand a dark stone. It flew from his palm to the mound. The very instant it
hit; a red strike flared in the sky. It flashed down. Quodoch saw a kingdom of
light in the deep of black, far in the distance. He felt grass upon his face
and noticed that his eyelids were shut. Still the kingdom glowed a brilliant
white and it appeared to get closer. He saw palaces with great spires and domed
roofs, towers of light and gardens of rainbow flowers. Spiritual entities
populated the gleaming realm, they danced delightfully. Then… he fell; down…
through the ground. Blasted through the wispy white streets, and into a dark
chasm that was infinitely deep and infinitely familiar. Pain burned everywhere
in the chaotic abyss. He sat up. Alone. The grove had been abandoned.
Quodoch sat up, felt extremely sick and weak, and looked at the altar. A
collection of small, dark red pebbles remained there. He touched one and memory
of that white city returned to him; as well as the pain. Each time he closed
his eyes, he saw that dark, empty place –each time you close your eyes you see
it. Only when the mind escapes conscious reality any light be found. Despite
the debilitating pain coursing through his body, he trudged up the path he had
trudged down the previous night. Along the twisted, hidden pathway toward where
the Visionary Order had been.
It had been completely abandoned. Thankfully he found water, beer and
food and nourished himself enough for the march back to civilisation. He
entered Arkham through Hangman’s brook and continued up Hill Street in search
of accommodation. Despite the brightness of the day the City of Arkham had a
dreary gloom to its aspect.
Quodoch admired the old-style architecture. Much of it remained unkept.
Moss had formed on many of the building’s walls from ages of dampening and
decay and the once red bricks had darkened to a faded honey smothered by a
grimy grey hue. He walked the quiet streets in search of accommodation. Near
nightfall he had come to Derby Street in the small down-town area. The Wilmarth
Hotel did not stand out. A quiet square establishment that towered up to the
sky with four great spires, it’s pointed roof in the Gothic fashion. The silent
ugly gargoyles stared down at all who enter and all who leave.
“Can I help you, traveller?” The Clerk said in a sullen way.
“Tonight, I’ll need a place to stay.”
“Well, as long as you can pay. A single room for one night will set you
back a good sixty bucks.” Quodoch produced the money and signed
necessary papers.
“Why are you in town? People don’t normally pass through this way on
their tours of the country – unless they have to see dreaded relatives that
reside here.”
“On academic matters. Some research can only be done in certain places.”
“You’ll find the Miskatonic University’s main campus if you continue a way
down Garrison Street.

107
That’s all I can tell you.” The Clerk sniffed and gave Quodoch a look that
meant anything else?
Quodoch shook his head, accepted the offered key and found Room 14 which
was as ordinary as any hotel room he’d seen. Inside he found the Arkham
Gazette.

On the morning of Tuesday 18th December, residents of Derry awoke to the sound
of a boom. From outer space had come an asteroid that had broken into the
Earth’s atmosphere at speeds faster than sound. Fortunately, much of the space-
rock disintegrated and burned up before hitting land. One fragment, however,
did strike ground. Found in the barrens by Police Chief Debora Gardner who
contacted meteorologists from Westford University. Examiners of the space-rock
report extreme curiosity for the material that formed it was not any known
substance. Speculation of whether it is terrain of a destroyed planet flung
into space or a strange chemical solid formed in an astronomical smog continue
throughout the scientific community. The initial researchers who had prolonged,
direct exposure have reported symptoms of fever and nausea –one requiring
hospitalisation. Likely toxic with radiation the strange space-rock has been
moved to a secret location to be kept in containment. Further analysis has
concluded that the material has demonstrated properties of life by transforming
its shape, colour and texture apparently dependant on temperature, pressure,
light and air density. More will be reported once additional discoveries can be
made.

Next day he found his way to the Miskatonic University and began looking for
books.

Frustrated at the repetitive and useless information spewed into the old books
Quodoch sighed. An ill feeling came over him, a thought, that perhaps texts
with the most significant information would be kept hid and accessed only by
certain professors.
With great attention he spent the next week keenly observing everyone.
One particular tutor gave him weird vibes. Professor of Psychology Eland Bovary
had hypothesised that any being aware of death will live its existence
motivated absolute terror of that possibility and live in preparation. Ancient
civilisations, however, motivated by this drive had broken the barrier between
earth and heaven and peered inside. To them, death was part of the great
journey. Modern societies have lost the insight and have descended into a
panicked, nihilistic frenzy.
“Thankfully,” she said, in conclusion, “we may relearn the path toward
that connection, once we break the spell that much of the world is under.”
Afterward, Quodoch went to visit her in her office, but she was not
there. He let himself inside and peered around at her collections of old books.
Curiously he opened an unlocked top drawer and discovered a yellow package. He

108
opened it and saw that an old book was inside. He replaced the old book with
one of his own, and left the office.
Drove to New York and went to Foundation University. In the dark of the
University Library Quodoch examined the old text.
Written in some ancient Arabic form, he knew he would have to translate
the book page by page by comparing to similar scriptures. After a long while he
discovered the book was a collection of speculations from ancient spiritual
healers entitled the Pnaktoic manuscripts discovered in the ancient library of
Pnakotus.
Only one other page made any sense to him and that was a chart but he
could not decipher the symbols.
Following day he sought out Eleanora, cartographer and geographical
analyst and showed her the charts.
“Ah I’ve seen these symbols before. In ancient Egyptian scriptures and
early Chinese cultures.” She studied the page. “I’m going to need an Atlas.”
With one, she made and compared notes. “Yes!” “What have you found?”
Quodoch asked.
“Coordinates. If I have them correctly. 22° 3′ 14″ South Latitude, 125°0′ 39″
East Longitude. In the Australian desert.”
Australia.
“What is this map?”
“There are features of the world are forgotten to us. Important knowledge
has been lost. I’ve been trying to find any information about where we might
find it.”
“What do you think this is?”
“A place where magic has taken place, and where it may still reside.”

He took that strange information and sat in internal struggle. Eventually came
to a conclusion: he packed the manuscripts into a suitcase and slunk away from
the campus in the early hours of the morning to drive to Arkham, return the
book and announce his discovery.
When he arrived, he was met with extreme doubt and caution, but after
showing the evidence, one of the professors there said what he thought. “These
are coordinates.”
Excited by the prospect of having found a secret, ancient location –
something his mother would have dearly loved to be a part of – he asked to
organise an expedition, though he had no formal training in that field. After
much discussion, the Miskatonic University agreed and established a team to
conduct a secret search in the Alice Springs desert.
While the grants were processed over the next weeks, Quodoch flew back to
Australia and returned to those locations when he was young.
First; the primary school, the fence he easily climbed over then he drove
deep into the outback and retraced his memory to find that stone formation.
Took quite a long time of blind driving but at three o’clock in the morning he
stumbled upon it. It appeared unchanged from how he remembered it, as if nobody
109
else had been here since. The carvings were the same as that strange tomb from
his dreams. Perhaps he remembered these patterns and applied them to his new
dreams? Perhaps he had seen a new place. Impossible to know. Next year, the
grants were passed and Quodoch had been included in the expedition that would
last the entirety of one fortnight sometime in April.
First week was quite eventless. Nothing of interest was found; the oldest
piece of history dated back to 1845 –an old gravestone that had near crumbled
away entirely. “---cy Cl-----” was all that remained of the name. On the tenth
night all changed when a wicked storm came in from the west. In thegreat
desert, there was usually little wind, and the sands remained consistent and
orderly mostly due to lack of trees to carry and continue it. But that night,
when he entered the tent-office in which he slept, a terrible gale began
suddenly that blew in from faraway east. It changed the very formation of the
dunes and flats. Next day, all the dig-sites were destroyed. Tools buried. Most
of the morning was a recovery effort to sift through the sand and return all
the tools. The sand moved very easily asit had not set and it did not take long
to rake through and find a large majority of them. With the found tools, the
digging continued, easier now with loose sand. By the early evening the holes
had deepened to about seven metres. Quodoch sat quietly inhis tent wondering if
they were in the wrong place. Maybe their dig should be pushed further East,
further North.
Then a young digger he recognised as Berenice Madonna entered holding a
fearsome black curved blade. “Our location was perfect. We’ve recovered
multiple items. Three bronze weapons, weird carven stone tablets and rock-made
tools. Many have a weird, flowy hieroglyph pattern, Azir said he recognised
some of the symbols that they are part of an ancient Arabian language, one or
two letters are still used in modern Arabic languages.”
Next morning, Quodoch went out to inspect the region; nine metres down
the main dig-site had been fashioned. Five people were digging downwards. One
pulled out what first seemed to be a very found stone, until they turned it
over and discovered a set of human teeth that had decayed over possibly
hundreds of years. Some bones were unearthed as well. “I’ve found something
different.” A young boy named
Wimbleson claimed. “Seems soft, rather than rocky. Almost like leather.” With a
digging dagger he stabbed at it the strange thing stuck in the Western wall.
“What is it?” Berenice looked over. “Don’t cut into it, cut around it.”
Together, the two pulled out a dusty book, its pages so dry they were
liable to snap. Quodoch approached. “Perhaps other diggers have been here in
the past. Maybe this is a journal. I will study it this afternoon and see if I
can find any information.” He retreated to his office-tent and examined the
book. Boiling water he allowed the steam to rise through the book
moistening the pages after he swept off much of the dust that had been caked
then he let it set in powder letting the wet pages dry evenly. After the
process, the book was still in very bad shape but it could be opened and some
of the content examined. On the front cover, imprinted in gold were the words:
Journal of Nathaniel Wingate Peaslee. 1930-1940. Many of the writings
110
illegible, many of the drawings incomprehensible. In the middle of the book
however were a good number of pages left intact. Maps, charts and one long work
of text. This work of text seemed to be the final entry in the whole journal
and it was dated August 5th1935. Curious Quodoch read the entry all the way
through. Its title was Shadow out of Time.
Peaslee had lived in Boston, America when he first experienced the outer
forces and adopted the secondary personality. He dreamed of great pillars of
Cyclopean masonry buried in sands, very similar to those Quodoch had found.
Then, he received a letter from a man who said he had seen carved blocks in the
Australian desert about coordinates 22o 3’14” South Latitude, 125o 0’ 39” East
Longitude. In the letter, the man –Robert F.B. Mackenzie carefully described:
“The place can be reached from Pilbarra in about 4 days by motor tractor—which
we’d need for our apparatus. It is somewhat west and south of Warburton’s path
of 1873, and 100 miles southeast of Joanna Spring. We could float things up the
De Grey River instead of starting from Pilbarra—but all that can be talked over
later. Roughly, the stones lie at a point about 22° 3′
14″ South Latitude, 125°0′ 39″ East Longitude.”
After finding that place, he told of seeing a great library below the
earth where a great race from elder planets beyond the solar system had stored
information from across the Universe. When Peaslee found the location, he
uncovered a chamber, below which were several stories of rooms that went deep
into the Earth. And there he learned hints of the strange things that plagued
his mind. Terror caused him to flee on boat back to America.
Quodoch stared at the diary for a long time. Blood boiled inside him and
he wiped away sweat from his brow. Seemed as though another had been
infiltrated by outside forces and managed to live long enough to write about
them. The text was more than one hundred and fifty years old. Why is it here?
Did someone bury it? Did Peaslee die here, nearby the site of the coordinates,
and over time became buried by the shifting sands? Were these his bones that
had been found? Perhaps. Authorities would promptly be called to address the
human remnants, but the search did not stop due to the force of the scientific
inquiry and interest.
“What did you find?” Madonna had tiptoed into the tent quietly; or
loudly, and Quodoch had just been so deep in focus, either way, he did not
notice her enter. He looked up quickly, and with no expression said, “bring
your four favourite workers here. We need to go to a new location; but only a
few of us.” “Can we do that? Don’t you have to get clearance from the
University?” She looked bemused. “Well,” Quodoch stood. “Yes, in normal
circumstances; but I have found some information that is extremely significant
and thus I deem pressing.”
“What information?”
“Get a map.” Berenice opened an electronic map and sprawled it out on the
table.
“We’re here.” She said vaguely, pointing. “Yes. Maybe five hours away.
I’m sure we could slip there spend a day and slip back.”
111
 “Quody –what are you talking about? What did you find in that old book?”
“An explorer that came before us, found something. Its secrets he wrote
in the book you found. If nobody else has seen the book since eighteen hundred
and whatever, then, we… will find the treasure that he has written about.”
“Let’s get clearance first.” Berenice was adamant,
she frowned. “No, let’s go now.” Quodoch was
adamant, she smiled.
“Alright then. I’ll bring back a team in
half an hour then.” “No, no. We’ll leave at
fifty minutes past mid night.” She
frowned. “You’re the boss.” And left.

The drive was horrible. Not only is Quodoch’s company truly dreadful, but it
was hot and it seemed that we were lost for the majority of the drive. Fifteen
hours later the mad-man who drove the Jeep screeched the car to a halt. In the
gravel it slid for another fifty metres and spun around one-eighty degrees.
“What!” Gideon yelled, holding on for dear life.
“Wooohoo!” Bart yelped; his body limp, thrown around. “Ow! Aww.”
“Why have you stopped here?”
Berenice spat. She looked around. The sun set red in the deep blue sky and lit
the sand of the
Australian desert aflame in a glorious red. Truly a beautiful moment inside a
beautiful country, but there was nothing nearby, just endless plains.
“We’re here.” Eobard stared at a point outside the car. There was nothing
there. “We’ve found it.” “Are you going to murder us?” Gideon was very
serious.
“Yes.” Eobard said, expression unchanged. “But before then,
let’s set up the tents.” “Are you serious?” Berenice could not
figure out what was going on. Clearly.
“Yes I’m serious.” Eobard killed the car’s engine, stepped out.
“We’ll get some sleep now and get to work at dawn.”
“Exactly where are we digging?” Bart laughed. “See those small rocks there?”
Quodoch pointed.
“Those like pebbles?”
“They’re the tips of enormous ice burgs. Unless I’m terribly wrong.
Which, if I am, my reputation and credibility will be damaged. But I’m not. I
can see it.”
“What do you suppose is down below these pebbles?” Berenice scoffed. “A
magic dungeon which is a vortex to a library beyond time and space as we

112
comprehend it.” Nobody could tell whether of not he joked, and so all three
laughed, Quodoch’s expression did not change.
“Well, let’s get our tents up before dark. We aren’t getting back home
tonight anyway so might as well at least stay this night.” And so, they did.
And the following morning they began work digging around those monolithic
pebbles that went nine hundred metres belowground.

Drenched in sweat, Berenice Madonna uplifted a last pile of sand to even the 1m
deep hole, four metres long and wide. She dropped her spade and sat back to
watch the sunset for a moment. On the eastern sky, she noticed the first stars
were already out. Though the air was cool, her body was fire. Each breath
cleansed and purified her thoughts as her heartrate slowed and her body
relaxed. Thank you, she nodded the Heavens, for the strength to restore my
weariness and keeping me fit for the effort. Wind breezed soft and sweet;
Berenice felt holy radiance in the air. She thought it residue of God’s
happiness. Within her mind, she knew she was where she ought to be. She stood,
and felt a rush of energy that had not been with her beforehand. With new
strength, she stabbed down with her spade and hit something solid. A rock? On
her hands and knees, she dug and found a strange metallic globule. It had an
oily texture and was hard upon impact; but soft on touch. She picked it up and
felt that it had some heft, despite being small, and ittwisted in uncanny ways.
She took the piece and placed it in her satchel for later examination.
As she felt the weight plonk down in the bag, she realised her fatigue
and could not continue work. Dusk had set to night and she felt her exhaustion
return. The lords blessing had faded. Perhaps you wanted me to find this. She
contemplated. I’ve found it. Climbing out of the hole, she made her way to the
centre of the site where the collection was being conducted and gave the four
spearheads, three arrowheads and two iron plates that she had found.
Professor Eobard sat at the desk. “What have you found?”
Suddenly nervous, she said, “arrow heads,” then placed a hammer on the table,
“and this.”
“Nothing else?”
“Not so far. I think I will retire for a few hours, then continue
widening my space.” She left the office and then went to her swag.
She reflected on the energy she had been given by ethereality, and
meditated on its giver. Gazing into the two-dimensional blackness behind her
eyelids she saw depth. Somewhere so deep in her perception there was a blur of
colour that reminded her of dreams, though she was not asleep. As her thoughts
fell in sync with her heartbeat and breathing, she heard a loud clangour and a
stampede of triumphant footsteps. Suddenly the colour disappeared.
“…It’s just funny to think how much we don’t know about the land we’re
on.” Bartholomew’s voice cheered. “Though, I wish we could decipher what these
symbols and markings mean.” “Seems like Middle Easterners came here, many
thousands of years ago.” Gideon suggested. “Yeah! –the history school
and museums will take great pleasure these findings.” Sophie commented.

113
 Gideon said, “of course; these ancient pieces would be worth so much.”
“We’re not selling anything.” Sophie snapped, “I would not dare treat
this as financial, selling it to the highest bidder might end it up in some
trophy cabinet lost and unstudied. These materials have to be known, it’s our
whole reason for being here. Not to turn a damn profit.” “Whatever.”
Gideon lulled.
“Hey, where the hell is Beese?” Bart asked.
Bart rushed to her tent, opened Berenice’s room, filling it with unnatural
light. “Hey we’re back!”
“Yeah… I heard.”
“Oh sorry, didn’t realise you were… praying…hm…” He eyed the pile of
books. “So… exactly what religion do you worship? I’ve always wanted to ask.”
She turned back to her shrine, tried to reconnect to the moment. Shook her
head. “All of them…
None of them.” She shrugged, looking at Bart, “I feel the Gods within me, as
all spiritual folk do. We mere mortals are incapable of interpreting the
signals that are sent to us, so nobody can definitely say what is or what is
not holy, because we do not know. I pray to the feeling, not to the constructed
institution or the vaguely anthropomorphic image… but I feel them. Especially
here out in the open, under the glow of the sacred night. I feel their
presence.”
“But how do you know there is anything at all, and the feeling you have
is not just chemicals in yourbrain… y’know? Like delusions. Why give credence
to something that has no evidence?”
“There is no physical proof, no. But I feel greater forces; and in
dreams, after meditation, I have visited other dimensions that I cannot
explain. Truly I believe thereis something more than physicality in this
universe, and I open my soul to find it within myself.”
Sophie had come up, and thought for a moment, said: “I am not certain we
should seek to find out. We naturally cannot see beyond the veil of life.
All whohave peered behind it enough to see the truth have either died,
forgotten all they’ve seen or gone mad. I think this is because such complexity
cannot be known by small minds. Knowledge of the mechanisms of space, time, and
their causal relationship is far grander than any mortal can behold. One must
obtain infinity, to see into infinity. Our tiny death-prone minds will never
truly be able to comprehend such thoughts, because maybe we shouldn’t know. It
is too much for us.”
“Funny you discuss that.” Professor Eobard had walked in. “There is
something else out there. I don’t know what it is. Whatever created life is
still connected to us; and us to it. We are a part of the essence. I organised
this expedition to discover what things were buried in the sand. We’ve found an
array of old tools and weapons; though they will need evaluation. But in the
office, I have found something else.” He produced Nathaniel Wingate Peaslee’s
journal and showed it to the students. “The spiritual world contacted this man;

114
and he found the truth. According to his writings; outer beings came and
entered his mind, led him to a library beneath the desert sands here in
Australia. There, he found the truth of the universe.”
Bart opened the book and flipped through multiple drawings of weird alien-like
creatures.
Bart was interested, simply because he enjoyed prospecting new things
Sophie, fascinated by Australian history wanted to know what could
potentially be there. Gideon knew that if they found something
entirely new, they could sell their knowledge and information.
Berenice desperately sought the truth of her faith, she wanted to know what
she prayed to.

All down the strange stone tower were those eerie carvings.
Berenice felt a holy connection with the very Universe itself. Despite
three years of mammalian biology, understanding the connections between
thoughts and actions and the intangibly small details that make up the human
system, never had shebeen convinced that consciousness was simply an organic
function made up of trillions of cells. Here in the desert though, it felt
almost impossible that humans are nothing but spirits, bodies only vehicles and
shells.
Berenice was in her tent praying tofind purpose in the sea of stars and
time, waiting for the evening to set. Beside her bed, a collection of
philosophies and holy books, they were her only possessions. Everyone told
her she was stupid for holding onto faith, but she always insisted that there
was a magic to the texts, a magic undefinable; as there is a magic to life that
is undefinable. In a trance like concentration, of flow, she forcefully dug 1 m
x 1m x 1m square in the sand, smashed the side of the deep stone. “I’ve hit
it!” She called out. Every one else worked to expand the hole, then go another
level deeper. By four day’s end, they had uncovered two and a half metres
down, and fashioned a 15 degree angle to level with the normal sand.
Professor Eobard wandered about them for a while muttering: “Here…here. The
entrance must be
here, I think that we need to dig, oh yes let us dig more. But where? There?
No… no here.”
Gideon had approached, said: “Who are you talking to?”
Professor Eobard ignored the question and said, “These artefacts are more
than seventy million years old. They were designed by they who ruled here
before humans were born.”
“What artefacts? What dinosaurs?”
“No. The race who came from the stars, from a world beyond our galaxy.
These are the tops of great windowless spires, building blocks of their
immaculate cities.”
“Um… sure.” Gideon shook his head. The man sounded crazy. But when he
touched the things, their texture was nothing like he had felt, so incredibly

115
dense and thick, stickily coated in oily consistency. He noticed that the
carvings could not have been natural, and they were deeply inscribed in the
stone.
“Ah here!”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just am.”
Taking spaces, the professor and Gideon dug away sand until they came to
another buried block; but this one was not dark black like the rest, but a
stony grey colour. As they cleared away sand, they discovered hinges that were
quite rusted. Hinges meant there was a door.
“Aha!” Professor yelped, “here it is. This is the entrance.”
“To… what? The library?”
“Yes, yes. Go and assemble the others.”
Gideon Shultz poked his head into the tent where Berenice sat. “So sorry
to disturb you, but we’ve found it.”
She stood up and faced him instantly. “Really?” There was no lie in his eyes,
only excitement.
“already?”
“Yeah, Peabrain’s map was pretty accurate. It’s way on the far side, and
the night is cool.” Gideon nodded towards her robes. Berenice dressed and
followed.
Bart and Sophie were working on forcing it open outwards with the
professor. They managed to pull it open. Berenice stared at the pit in the
ground, uncertain. Then she went down the narrow staircase and into a tight
tomb. On a slab, was a thick tome that Professor had seen in his dreams. There
was a tunnel that lead further below, and one by one the team descended. The
vault was large, round and fully two hundred feet across, with nothing carved
upon the dark-hued stonework.
Gideon could not make sense of the place uncovered, and shrieked totally
astounded. “What is this place?”
The chamber below, was largely empty, fallen pillars and blocks strewn all
about.
“Some library.” Bart laughed. “Seems just like a forgotten crypt.”
Professor said: “let us return up and examine that book.”
They ascended and Berenice looked at the cover but could not read what looked
like ancient Arabic.
“If this is the great manuscript, it won’t get us far if we cannot read it.”
“The writing isn’t all that arcane.” Sophie explained. “It is similar
modern-day Arabic, but even more so to older versions of the language. I think
the title translates to something like Kitab al-Azif… or um… ‘dead book’”
Gideon opened the cover. On the second page there was a map and a name written
in the Alphabet.
“Another map…”

116
 “This seems to show where the author was while they wrote this.” Sophie
pointed out.
“That…looks like the Red Sea. Between Saudi Arabia and Egypt.” Bart said,
then laughed. “Well that should be kind of obvious considering the writings.”
Sophie did not understand the implications of the map, but managed to decipher a
single name.
“Well, it was written by… Ab…Abdul… Al-uh-Alhazred… in… 730 A.D.”
“Egypt?” Gideon seemed confused, “so why is it here? How did… Peabrain know it
was here?
Unless…”
“Unless?”
“This could be a hoax. It feels nicely set up, like a treasure hunt. Or
maybe Peabrain just went insane in the desert here or there, lost his mind,
came here with two books, buried one… hid the other?” “Or perhaps there
is something significant about this place. Why would he come way from Boston
just to bury a book in this vault… how… did this vault get here? Surely he
didn’t make it, that wouldn’t make sense.”
“You saw the space below, its enormity. It can’t just be here for no reason.”
Without thought, Berenice opened to the next page. What she saw was
something so terrifying, not because of its uncanny, but its familiarity. An
artistic vision of an old stone city built in the sand. On the horizon the
setting sun, above it the Milky Way, which spiralled upwards indiscernibly.
Below it was a sort of shadow; dark cloud which seeped from an opening and
poured down into the town, its presence encompassing all.
Berenice had read previously of this essence in the Bible, Quaran,
Bhagavad Gita, and other spiritual interpretations. Never before had a
depiction been so… accurate. As she prayed and studied, she felt God in the
world. But never before witnessed its form, and this impression felt authentic
to experience. Suddenly nervous she pulled her hand away. Then she stood frozen
in contemplation. What is this book? Others had began turning the pages. On
each were indescribable things that had no place in this life, or on Earth.
Demented creatures, fishlike birds, winged lizards and semi-polypus forms that
resembled fungi.
There were inter-universal maps, and drawings of vegetables, of weeds, and of
mollusc-like anomalies. The implication of vegetables placed beside animals
seemed to mean… the vegetables were indeed a kind of sentience. None of the
depictions were at all Earthly. Sophie saw that on a cloud, high above the
galaxy was a city; tall spires and slanted walls that were black; dark,
lightless, oily black, above which shapeless shadows seemed to be drawn. “The
great stones… are they… fragments of this cloud city?” Nobody had any
answers and were truly baffled.
“Cloud city?” Gideon said. They continued to flip over the pages.
They only stopped when they came to a page that, on the left had a very
vague map with arrows and lines. On the other, the most abhorrent depiction of
a semi-metallic but organic substance, it was like a twisted rock but with
117
arterial openings all over it, and a point at its tip, from which a flow of
ripples breathed out of it forming an aura.
“That is like your necklace.” Bart observed.
“And like this stone I found in the excavation site.” Berenice produced
the globule and it glowed.” “There were more below, I saw, in the ruins.”
Bart said.
Gideon suggested: “Shall we collect them?”
The boys returned below, picked up seven fragments, brought them back up.
They placed them on the table, with the book and watched in awe as the stones
moved of their own accord. They wriggled about the table, apparently magnetised
to each other and fused to form one object. Now Professor knew to take out his
fragment from the locket; and it too fused into one larger globule.
“That… does not make any sense. How are these stones moving, despite all
Earthen physical laws?”
“I think,” Professor said, “these did not originate here, but they are pieces
of the great outside that abide outside laws.”
“How did it come to Earth?”
That could not be answered. Confused and exhausted, the five returned to
their tent, closed the chamber and went to sleep.
But that night, things were not normal. They all dreamed a singular
dream, where they were told by a foreign entity that the world has died; and
needs to be revived. To do that, God must return to the Universe. This can
only be done if the stony messenger is reassembled, and its power unleashed
once more.When they woke, none disbelieved. They were all totally convinced.
When they returned to the Charles Darwin, studied furiously for any evidence
pertaining to the globules. They found almost nothing. A single journal
article published in a 1885 in an American Newspaper called the Arkham Gazette
contained the smallest information. ‘In 1882, a meteorite fell from the heavens
and landed in a blasted heath near the farmyards to the West. No such material
had been detected before. In six months, the town decayed; the soil died,
animals went mad. Town was abandoned in 1883.” There was a pause and then
Berenice suggested, “The map might be from that town, the meteorite might be…
this.” She pointed to the organic stone.Having seen the vision, all five knew
that there was credence in that newspaper clipping. Spontaneously; Professor
Armitage arranged transport to America. The four students, returned to their
homes; informed their households of their plans, and returned the following day
with bags packed. The plan was to go for a month, enough time to investigate
the anomalous hints in the terror-shrouded Kitab alAzif.
By drone shuttle they flew to New York. They stayed only for a day; and
then they hired a car and drove their way up the Hudson river to its most
northern point. Then followed as the Miskatonic rushed eastwards until they
came to the foreboding town of Arkham on the coast.

118
Quodoch held the darkly glowing cosmic gem and felt the increased power burn in
his hand. It was as if he held the keyhole to heaven.
If he opened it… what would come through the portal? He hefted the gem in
his hand and it vibrated lowly. Powerhe realised unlimited power. Even his
profoundly twisted mind could not begin to comprehend the implications of that
concept. What would humanity do if they could harness infinity?Away from the
ceremonial grove, he returned, with the Pnakotic Manuscripts, Peaslee’s Journal
and the Necronomicon, to the Miskatonic University. Reputation proceeded him.
He went to the library and spoke to the librarian.
“I require a room for experimentation and study.”
“You’re Quodoch.” She said, her eyes angry. “You stole from us.”
“I borrowed. The book is here.” He showed the Manuscripts. “I wish to continue
to examine it and these others.”
“Why should I let you?”
“The Visionary Order met once again, just a fortnight past. It was the
strongest successful ritual in perhaps nine hundred years.”
From his bag he produced three purpling gems. “It is almost time, and
we are almost ready.” A strange, horrific look sank into the
Librarian’s expression. She sat back and nodded.
“Take Workshop Nine.” She passed him keys.“Thank you."

In the old library, sat over weird documents, Quodoch smoked a pipe, he watched
the streams bounce off the table and form swirly patterns. For the first time
he felt properly settled and integrated into a good community with a purpose.
In the second year of his studying –he went to the hub to seek
sustenance –and from across the room he noticed eyes upon him. The young man
approached. “You are of the Visionary Order.”
“Excuse me?” Quodoch was taken aback. “Were you in the woods that night
when the red lightning struck?”
“Yes.”
“What was that?”
“Who are you?”
“My father was a environmentalist on a mission to heal the woodland west
of Arkham. One night – the night I had the dream –he came home traumatised.
Drove us away. He’s been paranoid ever since.” Quodoch remembered the face of
the terrified man who first appeared, then disappeared.
“I remember him, you’re his son?”
“Yes, I’ve come back because my whole life, I’ve wondered what happened
to him. He never revealed anything to me. When I was in high school, I read him
a Batman comic set in Arkham Asylum. He flinched at the name and told me not to
read such filth. Confused I researched the name and found… this hidden
university. Nobody has told me anything. I’ve seen you lurk in the shadows
poring over old books. I’ve seen you with those strange gems –exactly as my
father had described has. He had one like that too.”

119
 “Had?” Quodoch asked.
“I have it now.”
“What’s your name?” Quodoch leaned back, studying the young man, recognising
features.
“Eszarquer, but most people call me Zarque.”
“Tell me about your dream, Zarque.”
[longer conversation.]
Quodoch invites Zarque into the laboratory. They experimented in secret
on the stones, finding them very awkward and seemingly random. They did not
seem to obey earthly physics. Eobard found that they would flare more
powerfully under more extreme conditions. In a mild pressure, there is no
forceful push to generate the strong forces of the Heath Stone.In the basement
of the Miskatonic University in the private laboratory Quodoch and his young
partner worked feverishly.
Power from the fragment had been blessed, indeed it had become stronger,
but he could not discover how to access, activate or use the power. His world
had become so small. With a bed installed in a closet adjoining to the work-
space, he slept, had food and drink brought to him –he had submitted a direct
request for the service with an offer of substantial monetary payment for the
extra work –and the university’s restaurant accepted and obliged, often sending
some lackey to deliver and take away his meals. Despair overcame him and
settled into a fervent depression, his endless days had been hopeless and the
might within him seemed to fade with the power of the stones, like their
potency had diminished. Furious, he kicked over his chair, and exited the
underground workspace. It was daylight out and the hit of sun instantly
improved his low mood. All the colour in the world, the fresh air and the faces
of people that were part of his community pleased him and he remembered the
bliss he had felt on the hill at the beginning of his enlightenment. In the
dark room, Quodoch continued to experiment with the gems. Thoughts of his own
resulted in catastrophe and failure, determination pushed him to continue, he
needed thoughts from elsewhere.
Moonless nights were the most potent for deep imaginings. Upon the mat he
sat, and held the two fragments in either hand. Like a master of kundalini
yoga, he pushed away all that resembled himself and listened to the nothingness
in his mind, and fully washed himself in the moment… the eternal now.When he
woke, he felt… refreshed. With an empty stomach and unsettled mind, he returned
to the laboratory. In the metal basin he, without consideration, filled it with
a mixture of flammable oils and ethanol. Then he placed the gems into the
basin… and let them soak. He sought food, ate, returned, and continued the
procedure by setting the basin aflame. In a crazy woosh, a jet of blue-red
flames burst into the air and continued combusting quite relentlessly. Quodoch
jumped back and hid behind a table. Fire roared in the library’s underground
laboratory and continued furiously burning until… it stopped. All the fuel had
been powerfully spent. A burnt and bitter smell filled the air causing Quodoch
to gag, cough and splutter. In the basin he saw that the fragments had broken
partly into crumbles… but all had enlarged and gleamed brightly. He took the
120
smallest in a gloved hand and felt the heat throughout, a low, medium,
radiance. Over to the work bench, he tested it by coating a battery tip with
some that had smeared onto his glove. Punched on the automaton that usually sat
at 30% power unless it was charged for three days. Immediately it filled with
maximum energy.
Satisfied with the day’s work, he packed up the experimentation, recovered all
fragments of the gem and went out to the world. The university café bustled
with nervous, unprepared undergraduates.
Tension in the air told him that there was probably an exam that afternoon. He
laughed, went to the
Afghan restaurant and ordered a drink while scanning the menu. Then… he saw
something strange. As if… he had been looking into a sea of grey… and a single
person stood in glorious colour. Something about that strange, unknown woman
glimmered gold. Is this what poets mean by love at first sight? Don’t even know
who she is – but wait – I have seen her before. He overlooked her, and tried to
turn away away and continue with his lunch. His stomach twisted and his
appetite had changed. God damn it.
Why did biology have such a strong hold of him still? Hadn’t he shunned
it all away? Why couldn’t he just be a mind and be at peace? Not be disturbed
by this stupid, raw, animal… she’s so beautiful.
Quodoch shut his eyes and let his head droop. “Yes?” A girly voice said.
Quodoch looked up. Up close he noticed the fine details of her skin. She
wore no make-up so he could see each freckle, each imperfection, each
perfection. Her eyes looked so honest. “Hmm…?” What could he say?
“Oh, thought I saw you looking at me, figured you might’ve recognised me
or something. Looked like you did.”
“No… you just… caught my eye, I guess. Hard to look away when… well…um.”
He stammered. “You had lunch yet?”
“Seriously?” She stared in disbelief.
He flinched. No, not serious. Only joking. Please go away so I can be left
alone. His soul screamed.
“Uh… well it is lunch time.” She laughed. “I am hungry. You’re not going
to ask me on an on the spot blind date, are you?”
Quodoch frowned. What are you doing? Idiot. “Did… you just
ask me on one?” She hadn’t.
“No… but I can if you want.”
“Go ahead.” He said. (What have I got to lose?)Self-esteem, emotional and
mental stability. Remember what the fuck happened last time. (Fuck you.)“
Want to have lunch?”
“Sure. You like Afghan?”
“My favourite.” Well… that was easy. She put down her bags, Quodoch stood
and side by side they walked to the restaurant. “You’re not going to ask my
name?” She asked. “When you know someone’s name you grow attached to them.”
“Oh.” She said. “I understand… then why did you accept my date offer?”

121
 “Cause… what a dream it would be to actually go on a date with so
spontaneously.” He said and she laughed. “My name is Clarys –Clarys Eurydice
Edgars.”
“Mother of the Goddess who escaped Hades?... Yeah I can see that.”
“Stop it.” Clarys blushed, red cheeks against blue eyes… icy… blue eyes that
twinkled like the brightest stars in the night sky. “So, who the hell are
you? Or do I just call you creep who stared at me in a creepy way?”
“Fitting.” He laughed. “Quodoch Eobardy.”
“You what? Leo-tardy?”
“…”
“Sorry.”
“Quo-doch Eobard-y… you know… when I was in school there was this girl
who just called me Coco. She found it way easier.”
“Well… Coco. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand and he took it and
shook it. They got to the front of the line.
“Hello my darlings, what can I do for you beautifuls?” The staff-girl
said, smiling sweetly. “Narenj palaw and another rose tea for me… and…” He
gestured toward Clarys who was still deciding
“Oh… give me the naan-rice with lamb.”
“Rose tea too?”
“Please.”
“Of course, my love.” Staff-girl said.
Quodoch paid before Clarys could react.
“Smooth move, groovy guy.” The staff-girl laughed.
“What the hell?” Clarys snapped, holding her purse. “I asked you on this
date –and you pay? That’s not how invitations work.”
Staff-girl kept laughing. “You guys are so cute! Just wait over there a moment
and I’ll call out when your food is ready.”

Clarys said, “You don’t strike me as an undergraduate.”

“I’m not a professor either.”
“What are you doing here in this elusive university?”
“Got a bit of a secret project.”
“Here you go,” staff-girl appeared with the food, “thank you guys.”
“Thanks.
Thank you.”
“Project?” Clarys seemed interested.
“Well, I did say it was secret. Um… bit of an advancement in thought. I’ll say
that much.”
“And you’ve come to Arkham to do that?”
“Maybe I was always here. What about you?”
“Funny actually, I graduated last year, might return to further study
later but not here. My brother is a computer technician or whatever. Graduates

122
next year from… Brown University down in Rhode Island. Anyway, there, he’s been
hearing whisperings of strange, magic cults. Call themselves Visionaries. That
have been experimenting with what he referred to as dark magic. He has an
active imagination. Told me that many studied at this here institution. And,
something about this place and this town does give me that vibe. Came to find
out what it is all about.”
“On behalf of…?”
“Myself really but I would love to become of the Engineers.”
“You know something, Clarys?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Magic is but incomprehensible science.”
“You’re not of the Order are
you?” Quodoch laughed.

Without second thought, Eobard took a fragment, melted it between silver and
steel crushing it with such pressure that would shatter it. Instead, it glowed
and produced a mild heat that would remain constant. He made an amulet of it
and gave it to Clarys. She did not care for him and did not accept the
jewel.And the realisation dawned on him, that…yes, Clarys is truly beautiful; a
genuine Nyad, had become part of his life. Despite his best efforts he
had fallen in love with her. Yet, no magical gifts, no delicate poetry, no
display of affection and love could ever make her change her feeling toward
him. His mind fully and consciously realised this, but; emotionally the fact
was too painful to accept. Pain always followed when she said goodbye.
Realisation that she would never say goodnight and spend the night with him.
She would never be curled warmly in his arms. He would never feel her heart
beat through against his... so he could feel it on his chest. Is that even a
thing? Do people feel that when they snuggle nakedly? Quodoch realised that he
had no idea. That sent a torrent of resentfulness surging through him that
quickly bled into a dark, powerful, seething anger. And all over again, like
the moment from his early twenties…he felt himself snap. All his emotions
flared with bitterness and hatred.
“Listen Coco,” she had said, soothingly, “we can still be friends?”
And the snap was complete. “Fuck my life.”
Quodoch said out loud, the thought echoed into his mind and echoed deep
into his soul. In a strange mix of prayer and self-talk, he bled all emotions.
In a physical ritual, with a clean, sharp blade he met his skin each time a
powerful emotion surfaced. He purged. Let the blood trickle down his arm, a
physical, painful reminder of why never to feel actual emotions; because then,
you’ll have to feel the blade! Good old classical conditioning. Quodoch
thought. And if my emotions do not listen then I’ll have to keep reminding them
until they learn. No. Well yes. But no…because not just fuck his life. Fuck
everyone else’s too. The resentment toward emotion grew into something he could
not comprehend and it continued to drown himThat night he had a dream. All
around him he felt the presence of all who he had opened his heart to.
123
 From his mother, to any friend he’d ever known, everyone had melted
together into a single entity and they faced him, taunted him, mocked him,
laughed at him.
They grabbed him, with two infinite hands, they gripped him tightly,
hatefully, and they pulled him…into a submarine. A yellow submarine which
floated by the little dock at the beach. Thrust into the vessel by the
conglomeration of horrible faces that had formed together like a mist-wraith.
Quodoch fought to fight against them but was easily overpowered. Pushed
into a corner and held down he watched outside…he saw the sunlight…dip under
water. Deeper and deeper, down into the depths of the Earth. Darkness covered
the windows and he felt the vessel descend. Held down, choked by the wraith
with a thousand faces, he could not move. Each struggle to breathe brought more
exhaustion to him. There was a sudden thud. Blackness drank the atmosphere. And
suddenly the wraith was gone, there were no more faces, no more pressure
pushing him down. He was utterly and totally alone, there, stuck in a dream at
the bottom of the ocean in the dark. Aware of this, he pushed himself awake but
only became more and more lucid in the dream. Everything became more and more
tangential. Maybe I just need to swim away. He crawled through the dark,
slipping on the slippery metallic floors. He found a wall. Good. He pushed his
way along it and found a hatch. Better than remaining here. He thought. Whether
this is a dream or not. He pulled the handle of the hatch, and was sucked out
into the ocean and he instantly regretted pulling the hatch. The pressure of a
thousand oceans crushed him, pressing into his lungs, squeezing him, but he
didn’t die, he kept getting throttled by the might of all those millions of
tonnes of water. All in pure darkness, all alone.
Quodoch snapped awake, he lay in the darkness all alone. The might of a
thousand oceans continued to crush him. “BUT I’VE WOKEN UP!”
The sensation never left him as long as he lived.
Driven slightly mad by this, he went quite freestyle experimenting the
most insane things using illegal animals and methods and the power of stone
fragments. She would never love him, he realised. He would have to think of
something else. So many threats of not only expulsion but banishment and exile
hindered him not until he met the attention he sought. His final experiment was
horrific. He took two primates and extracted their brains, keeping them alive,
and swapped left to right sides of both brains placing them back in. Using
heath-stones to support the programmes, he broke the barrier of death and
completed the surgery with Zarque’s bidden assistance. “Tell me –what do you
believe life is?” Eobard asked Eszarquer the junior.
“Honestly –I do not think we know enough for anyone to answer that with
any sort of certainty, but to put it simply, it seems as if life is something
grows organically. Be that a tree or a flower or a bee, or a pig, or a bug, or
a virus, or a mushroom, or you or me. People talk about consciousness as if
it’s a thing that exists singularly. I… it seems… it’s just a blend of all
immediate senses, emotions –which seem to be manifestations of unconsciousness,
memories, thoughts, predictions of the futures which form a series of…
pictures. We experience it in one way, though, definitely all people experience
124
it quite differently, different sensations, memories and such. All life
experiences in some capacity, in the way that suits them. In a way, it’s like
life is an act of God, a way for the Universe to experience itself.”
“You mean that consciousness is… intrinsic?” Eobard asked.
“Possibly –I mean –if our experience is not one wholeness, just a
combination of infinitely many sensory experiences stitched together… and to
us, who live to survive, not to know, it seems as if there is a… self… and many
selves make a reliant community… practically speaking… maybe. How can ‘dead’
cells make an ‘alive’ human? The terms stop making sense. But… if all matter
has a form of consciousness, a form of awareness, and different clumps of
organic material adapt unique ‘minds’ based on their form and environment.
Then it’s weird and oppressive to think that everything is alive, just as much
as we are. From
mushrooms to star fish to fungi growing on extragalactic asteroids.” Eszarquer
took a breath.
“Why do you ask?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course.”
“Doesn’t matter either way. I’ll kill you if you betray this secret to another
soul.”
Zarque could not tell if Eobard was honest, so he chuckled and said,
“What even is death?” Eobard laughed and led the way into the laboratory.
Inside, two machines were hooked to either side of the room. Each one
hummed. They were each fitted with a partially melted stony material that
burned a bright purple. Between them was a slab covered by a blue tarpaulin.
Eobard pulled the cover away and revealed a comatose monkey. “What the fuck.”
Zarque’s face paled. “Stole it from the Agricultural School. They had hundreds;
doubt they’ll miss one.” Eobard said. Zarque saw that on the bench on the other
side of the room lay a collar. The monkey’s name was Daphne.
“Life… I think… is electricity. A certain frequency… a certain vibration…
a certain spark. Sent by God to begin His materialisation. I need you to help
me with this.”
“What are you doing.” Zarque stared at Eobard, anger flared. “I’m going
to kill this monkey. Let it be dead for ten minutes. Then reactivate it’s
central nervous system and heart at the same time.”
“I don’t believe you.” Zarque said staring at the nearly dead monkey laying on
the slab. “I’ll need
you to keep the heart activation gauge ready. I’ll operate the brain
activation gauge.” “Why?”Eobard’s eyes darkened and voice narrowed.
“Because it’s necessary.”
Reluctanly, Zarque approached the table. At least the monkey didn’t seem
to be in pain. Eobard turned to the bench, on which the collar was, produced a
black leather-bound book that was extremely massive. Its pages were coated with
gold.Zarque looked to examine but Eobard lay out his arm to push him back, then

125
led the way to the heart-side machine. “When I say, you’ll need to push the gem
in, turn the key and slowly push down this pedal with your foot. The effect
won’t happen immediately, it’ll certainly take some time to activate. You’ll
know once it does. ”Have you done this before? ”Only with birds and rats.”
“And?”
“They… came back.” Eobard turned away. Faced the monkey and pulled out
the rigged life support system. Beep…beep…beep… beep.
In horribly morbid fascination, Zarque stared at the dead monkey and wondered
what was going to happen next. In near silence, while Eobard consulted the
book some more, Zarque silently let the time pass. Wondering. Fearing.
“Okay.” Eobard said. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get ready.”
Together, they turned the activators on.
The machines hummed lowly and vibrated… but nothing happened.
Until …beep…beep…beepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEP.
Zarque saw the creature’s chest rise and fall slowly, softly, easily.
And then its eyes opened, red and blood shot with no pupil to speak of. In an
explosion of primal fear, the creature violently shook in its restrains.
“Get back!” Zarque yelled, fleeing the room. Behind him, he heard
restrains breaking, and Eobard screaming. Zarque turned at the doorway to see
the monkey, with a bloodied mouth gnash its fangs toward him, screeching like a
zebra eaten alive by a hyena. He ducked and allowed the beast to bounce off his
back and out the door which he slammed shut instinctively. Outside… he heard
the quiet library filled with deathly screams and the wailing of sheer panic
and terror. Tables flipped and books thrown? Thud thud thud. Eobard stood
smiling. “Ah!” He said happily. “I’ve figured it out! Obviously, it’ll need
some tweaking but I can’t believe it worked.”
Eszarquer stared at him in absolute disbelief. “What?”
“Oh…” Eobard snapped back to reality. “We have to leave.”
“We?! I’m going to hospital.”
“Go there and you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, and don’t
suspect that life will be long. We have a small window to escape from.” Eobard
looked at the window, and chuckled at his accidental pun.” A horrified thought
came to Zarque. “Did you plan this? Did you plan to revive it and let it out?”
“Of course, had to buy us time, as well as make confusion so that we could get
out of here unnoticed. People will be too worried about their throats being
torn out than arresting us or even suspecting us.” “Oh, they’ll suspect
you.”
“Not immediately, they’ll be too fearful. Anyway, enough chit-chat we
need to go.” Eobard produced a firearm, loaded it, flipped off the safety and
aimed it steadily. “Open that window.” With his other hand, Eobard was
collecting the two gems from the machines and stashing them into his coat.

126
Wrought with distress, Zarque obeyed. “It’s okay.” Eobard said crawling out. “I
have a contingency plan, very happy to come to the answers before then.”
Sirens screeched all over the campus. Students and professors fled the
ground in a crazed frenzy. In the madness, Eobard led the way, hood up and head
low. Zarque followed behind. Across the Humanities Courtyard he saw the chimp
chased a group of undergraduates toward the carpark. The slowest of the group
got grabbed, and torn down. Gunshots rang out. Campus security with pistols,
one with a sawn-off aimed and fired at will. Zarque counted it took twenty nine
direct body and head hits from forty-fours, three nine sevens… and a couple of
twelve gauge slugs. It bled black. Zarque could hear Eobard laugh as he
witnessed the death of his creation, his proto-creature of Frankenstein. Eobard
had parked in an illegal, hidden place and apparently had not been found. He
climbed in the driver’s seat, Zarque sat in the back and Eobard sped away.
It was a mild night, a light wind. Zarque had fallen asleep, it had
rained; but he had been so exhausted and the rain had been warm, that he could
not move. He felt somehow at peace, hope was on the horizon. When he woke it
was as if he was in a different area. They mildly blue stones were now glowing.
In the dirt about this area were luminous blue stones that shone and glowed,
their aura was drug-like, orgasmic, intoxicating and they provided warmth and
generated energy, despite terrible outside weather. Enough to generate a small
amount of electricity for light and to power make shift apparatus. During this
time, Zarque and Eobard collected all the fragments that they could, even when
inactive to use for experiments later. Eventually, he plotted his return to
the world and Zarque, young and impressionable wanted to impress, ignorant of
the severity of the act his teacher had committed.
They arrived at the queer lodgings. Lonely and alone Quodoch examined his
machine. Theoretically it was modelled and calibrated correctly but he would
need to actually use it to know for sure. He thought long and hard about
exactly how he would practice his…digital necromancy. Tiredness panged at him,
and he began to feel human all over again, what a horrible feeling.
A single thought manifested in his mind. Clarys Eurydice Edgars. That
horrible witch who intentionally let him feel love, then discarded it as if it
meant less than nothing. And…oh…ferocious energy tormented him, brutalised him,
how he hated her. Hated. It wasn’t even her fault in particular, the build-up
of the lifetime of disappointment and frustration needed a target, and so,
there she was. Daughter of Apollo and Ceres, Eurydice, the demi-goddess was
sent to the underworld. Charon, the ferryman did not take her payment and
Cerberus barked sadly at her arrival. She sat by Hades in torment until her
true love, her foolish human paramour, came to rescue her.
Orpheus shall not come for you. Quodoch swore. He’ll be too dead for
that. Ah, but no.
Quodoch realised. What good would it be if she was dead?
She can’t…realise the impact of her negligence if she’s dead. Ahh, she has a
brother…and a lover.
Anger flared. But…the realisation was good. Danforth Edgars. I’m sorrythat you
were caught in the crossfire. And Chadwyk Thundustrum…ever felt a knife between
127
the ribs? You will. Banished from Arkham, they went to Fraryport, and sought
the Foundation University where his Eobard’ love Clarys now worked at the
hospital… hiding from Eobard’s tyranny, and her brother Danforth was a computer
engineering student at Fraryport’s Foundation University It was graduation
time, end of semester two. He would be graduating. It was the perfect
opportunity!

128
CATACLYSM OF THE ETERNAL MIND

Danforth I – Interval
Zarque II – resistance and attack, reveal.
Danforth II – Cyborg
Zarque III – subdue,
arrest Danforth III
Transcendence

Cataclysm of the Eternal Mind

Zarque I
Eobard’s experiment

Winter winds roared outside, rain poured and lightning electrified the night.
Zarque paced the length of the laboratory anxiously. Although glad to be hidden
at last, he longed to go outside and experience weather, but that would be too
dangerous now. Seven days had they been trapped in the laboratory. He squirmed
at the strange pungency that filled the room, and began coughing. He could hear
that the mad scientist had stopped working. Only the hum of the machines
continued to operate.
Eobard gazed out the window indulging in the wild of the storm,
distracting himself from impatience, seemingly not noticing the smell. When the
body squirmed, Eobard would turn to gaze at it, sigh, and look away again. Each
time seemed to be no different to the last, in the past hour there had been no
change to the body’s energy. Soon enough, unless they were careful, they would
surely be found and imprisoned. Devil on their trail from way over in New
England. Away now, in a dark corner of the Missouri out-back, at the doomed
man’s house, a space of time had been found, but their luck would run out
eventually, it always did.
“What about him is still alive; does concentration swim with inner life,
is he aware of anything sensory?” Zarque stared at the body, nervously curious
until abjection revolted him. He glared at Quodoch Eobard, the scientist,
conducting this abominable attempt at digital necromancy. The corpse had been
pale and cold for two days, yet a faint heart beat could still be detected and
pulses of electrical command did flare inside his brain. Zarque uneasily
watched the still and silent body noticing rot and decomposition begin to set
into the mostly dead body. The corpses eyes opened and darted around, unseeing
and its body did twitch. Mumbled groans dribbled from its mouth, and its head
rocked from side to side. Zarque had not become desensitised. Sick sloshed in
his stomach, more than anything, he wanted to the abandon this galvany, and
leave the makeshift bunker never to look back. But Eobard watched with a purely
129
scientific stare, unmoved by the suffering that had to be occurring within the
broken mind of the thing that was once been Danforth
Listers. “When will this conclude, when will we let him die?”
Eobard sullenly stared at his apprentice with a feverish look. “There are
still unextracted thoughts in swimming in his head, for this to work, the
process will require absolute completion. His awareness will remain until the
process is complete, to ensure a complete transfer.” Eobard explained matter-
of-factly. He moved to watch the progress on the monitor… 95%... Despite his
middle age, Eobard had the energy and curiosity as a newborn, his inner turmoil
fuelled the weirdness. Zarque had observed that his interest in things seemed
not mawkish but purely intellectual. His pupils did not dilate or contract,
they calculated without sentiment. His raspy voice had a musical undertone, as
if he always long ago sung; back during better days.
Atop the work bench, the black leather-bound book was open to the middle
page. Its grotesque imagery frightened Zarque profoundly, perversely, though he
could not make out the weird symbols and scriptures. There was a presence about
that book, a malevolence. Upon the open page descriptions of a strange black
stone-like substance and images of what seemed fungi. The text was old Arabic
scripture. Translation papers sprawled messily around the book, notes made – in
English – and crossed out, and remade. Kitab al-Azif.
Zarque’s eyes flicked to the window, it was above a book-case, high and
narrow; but it seemed the only way out, all doors had been deadlocked, bolted
shut and they were hidden. Indeed, this experiment was interesting with
monumentally world-changing and paradigm-shifting results; but it struck the
young man as biologically immoral. Something that would very much upset God;
should He lurk in the infinity above, or below as Quodoch claimed.
As conductor of the work, Eobard would not allow the experiment to be
forsaken, and would prevent it at any cost. Ever since escaping the Miskatonic,
this had been his one focus; Zarque knew that, and was terrified. Every once in
a while, Zarque tried to reason his way out, “The setup is done, you no longer
need me. This is your dream, not mine.” But that had only led to death threats
and rejection. Too late he realised, he was trapped and the only way to get out
was endure the horrific, gruesome experiment or fight. But Eobard, although
peculiar and stayed very dangerous, a little insane and extremely easy to
anger. Eobard sat back in the deceased host’s red leather couch, nonchalant,
trying to relax. He watched patiently as the body twitched and convulsed as it
slowly died.
“Good, good. I think all of his subconscious mind is panicking with acute
anxiety bringing on heavy psychological trauma… especially in the drawn out,
looming death. The more intense sensations should be uploading now.”
“His suffering his horrible to watch.”
“All life is a form of suffering is it not?” Eobard shrugged, now back from
memory lane. “You know
I will not let you leave.” His eyes never left the gurgling body. “We’re in
this together.”

130
 That much was true. Zarque turned around, faced the madman. “But I never
wanted to be. I can’t do this. I want out, man, this is fucked. I don’t want my
life to be over.” Outside the window, the dark world hung eerily. The police
would soon arrive. He trembled, though the temperature was mild.
“Not until we are finished here. We will leave together.” Eobard
insisted, once again. Irritation rising in his tone. “Another three days at
most. Then we will both be gone. Until then, we both stay put and continue this
extraction.”
Zarque nodded, though his face was distorted, frustrated. “Hopeful
thinking. I think we are running out of time. We don’t know when they’ll find
us, but we know they’re searching. If we are caught, we will never be free.”
“This work will change the world and forever alter scientific practice
and understanding. We can now interact with the generator of consciousness
directly. Have you no idea of such significance?” Eobard seemed so excited; he
was blind to the horror of the act.
“It’s beyond me.” Zarque glanced at the bloated corpse. Rot wafted,
thickening the air with a pungent swollen stench. It still twitched, but less
so, and in a final spasm it lay fully still. “It’s done. Let’s go. They’ll be
here soon. Let’s just gather the data and go.”
“No.” Eobard commanded, “we have time, project it. Now. I must see this.”
Reluctantly, Zarque activated the projection mainframe. His tone was
quite pale, though they had only been out of the sun an hour. Often – he shot
nervous glances towards to the man on the edge, watching death succumb
thoughtfully. “This… you do realise this is wrong what we’re doing, don’t
you?” “Indeed not!” Eobard stood at the operating table. “The computer is
performing perfectly, the download was seemless. The projection should be
clear. All systems are go.” His grin was infectious. “No, no – I meant… he
suffered worse than any human ever has before, I’m sure. I know he did not
want this.” The stench complimented the disgust.
“Human emotion does not factor into developing science; feelings are
personal, knowledge is might. Sacrifice is always necessary for a remarkable
new discovery. What we learn is far more valuable than the life that is lost.”
Eobard’s tone was monotonous, inexpressive, emotionless. “And we are developing
a better existence for our future. What do you think war is about? Progression
at great expense! It’s how we’ve made it to today. We are but vessels for the
past to transform to the future.”
“Sacrificing organic life to better computer simulations and robotics,
have we not lost our humanity?” His teeth chattered. “In a scientist’s mind
what is the importance of life? What about it matters? If we’re just an aspect
of the universe, as everything else, what makes us so necessarily special? Why
is the future so important? Why is that more important than now?” Panic
fluttered his voice.
“Time goes forward, Zarque. You should know that. Enough with the
questions. The display is ready.”
Zarque did not like what was being practiced, but now that it was finished, he
could not resist feeling excited. He put aside his nerves to experience.
131
 “This is it.” Holographically projecting the data on a three-dimensional
scape, Eobard befell in wonder and awe. Blue tinged the room, and a model of
Danforth’s brain displayed all inner networking and connexions in memory and
thought. All neurons, and synapses, and membranous tissue orderly formatted in
a readable fashion. “I can’t believe it, we’ve done it! We’ve digitised the
brain!” The projection smoothly displayed the content, but, flickers and flares
did erupt to distort the flow. “Is… is he still… there?” Zarque could not
comprehend what could cause such interruption.
“I do not know. And at the moment that matters not, we have what we need.”
Despite the wonder, Zarque couldn’t help but think aloud, “What is the
end? Like, what’s our purpose exactly; as you and me, as a society, as a
species? To technically dominate the galaxy, to control it, to make it ours? It
is not ours. Were our ambitions to live amongst the stars as artists,
discovering the wonders, and intricate sophistication science has to over I
would be more on board. But I feel as though, we seek to control and use all
galactic resources for our own personal advantage, rather than to better
existence in whatever small way possible. I get that this information is wicked
cool, and I am excited for it, but I am seriously disturbed. I do not like
this.”
“Whether you like it or not is no concern of mine, Zarque. Your task is
to assist me extract and document this data in the most accurate and
objectively true way possible; which you have done. I need not your opinion.”
Odds against him, he gave in and continued work. “We will not get away
with this.” His lips trembling. “Our lives henceforth are doomed. Are you to
say that don’t matter?”
Eobard looked unflushed, indifferent. “It doesn’t.”
Zarque extracted the information and transformed it into print. “Finally!”
Danforth had been a curious man in life, and a wonder in death. His
thoughts were so deeply layered with memories, contemplation and holy vision.
Dense though they were, much felt fragmented, removed, unnaturally so. Some of
the pulses were definitely not originated from him.Attached to the corpses
skull, wires and cords connected to a computational generator. It projected the
assembled thoughts of Danforth as a three-dimensional holograph, organised into
formatted memories. Sounds, visions and external emotion filled the room.
Together, Eobard and Zarque experienced Danforth’s perspective.

Danforth I Fraryport – Graduation > Home > Work > Home

First memory

Wide reading, especially about the progression of robotics, caused me to see

the world mechanically from an early age. Everything seemed to work on a
mechanism. From bike gears to piano keys, how the world fit together fascinated
me. I remember receiving my first computer at the age of six. How could such a
machine produce an active monitor? The idea seemed so strange, and, the more I
computed, the more it seemed as if I was a computer, an organic one. That

132
thought, I could never shake, and began seeing even my own body as purely
biologically mechanical.
Though, despite being aware and in control of my inner self; the wild
animal remained alive and well below the surface.
I saw two worlds; the world of Earth and realness and the world of the
Internet which had become God-like in its omni-presence and omni-potence.
An early analogy that hung in my mind was that scientists understood the
universe like an average person uses a computer. They can open programs and
navigate some applications and operate some systems; but have zero idea how the
device itself operates, how electricity and wiring create a computer
experience.
I, from then on, always wanted to understand computers.
Schooling was very much a way for me to learn physics, to learn
biochemistry, to learn mathematics and computer engineering. Friends and foes
made so little difference to me. Rather I worked alone in my own mind so often
discovering new inclinations in my thoughts and inner mind. All this came to a
close when high school ended.

I always lived at home with my sister Clarys and my parents. Normalcy and
routine tended to frustrate me, and so, as often as I could, I dreamed. Clarys
always nagging me to come back to earth and do the dishes.

Graduation was a strange event I remember. Formal education had become so

insignificant to my work at the local electronics store, first as a cleaner,
then a customer service agent, and now a technical worker out the back. Hands
on experience outweighed lay understandings that underpaid teachers can
abstractly articulate. But, it’s tradition to attend, so I found myself at
school that ceremonious day.
It was a cold and miserable night; droplets fell from above dampening the
atmosphere. The excitement of all my fellow graduates did little to quench my
anticipation for this event to be finished with. At home, I had work’s Calibur
Processor that I had been tasked with upgrading, there were challenges with
that device’s magnetic processor, a balance issue really that I was eager
solve, that would have to wait though, got to do a stupid public ceremony
instead. Lame. I was amongst my good fellows, all of whom were so joyously lax.
All of their hard work had amounted to this utter distraction, hip-hip hoorah.
There are more important things to do than waste time celebrating other
people’s successes. My pathway had never been academic in the traditional
sense, but for personal development. The university had utilities and stations
that I could use at leisure with no disturbances, and workshops with all the
tools and gadgets I needed to build with. My degree would be used for nothing.
Perhaps the paper could be used as toilet tissue. But the skills developed
would carry on.
Professor Armitage led us behind the stage to sit and wait until we would
be called upon. Most sat in eagerness, but I was uncomfortable. Nothing before
or since had been so dreadfully dull.
133
 Principal Zizich addressed all in the auditorium where the ceremony was
held. Quietly the audience listened with pride, their focus singular and
unwavering, as if they were all one monstrous organism. I have no idea what the
principal said. My thoughts were elsewhere, scatted. As I gazed out to the
shadowy focus, a flashing movement interrupted my attention. Mum had found me
among the students and was waving pompously. Dad was slouched, probably half
asleep. I could not blame him, truly. In the back row, a strange motion rhythm
captured my gaze; a man was scribbling furiously on a notepad heeding no mind
to those around him or the graduating students. Once in a while he would look
up and gaze around the room, before returning to the scribble.
“Edgar Danforth.”
Now all attention was focused on me. Professor Armitage smiled, all
those to my left had already spoken on the stage and it was suddenly my turn. I
could not make a fool of myself, should I mumble or stutter, they will feel my
discomfort, which will only serve to escalate the tension. I dropped my speech
card, realised I hadn’t memorised it but would look a chump picking it up, so I
continued to the microphone. “Now to make use of all this,” he said, half
to himself, “I’d rather be at work now, but; what’s one night? Glad tonight
brings pride to you all, thank you.”
For moment there was darkness, silence. Was what I said weird? Oh, who cares.
Then there was the regular applause, and all tension dissipated, they
probably just thought it sounded like all the other mini half-assed speeches.
I returned to my place studying the details of faces in the audience. The
scribbler had ceased his work, his focus was instead upon me; our eyes met.
Finally, the ceremony was over and all graduates commenced with their
friends and families for further celebration. I was just glad for the
opportunity to get back to work. Through the booming atmosphere I was stopped
by a peculiar looking group that I had seen around before, but had not really
noticed. “Excuse my way through.” I said.
Their voices were thoroughly obnoxious; I eavesdropped a few curious
thoughts. “Essence is seeking passage back to this realm.” One said,
“Yes, I have felt such presence pull at my dreams, I reach out but, it is
all abstract… nothing connects us.” Another responded.
“A medium is needed, one between stars and dreams. Such that has never yet
occurred.”
“Perhaps a technological advance would be necessary?” One suggested, “but
then, would that defeat the purpose of being?”
“I do not think the essence cares for the meaning of lesser minds, or the how,
or their methods; only divine justice.”
Obnoxious and arrogant as they were, they would not hear me ask them for
pardon, forcing me to wait for them to clear the way. “Excuse me.” I repeated,
louder.
“How dare you interrupt our holy discussion.” One shot, sort of
spiteful, sort of ironic. I turned, preparing to lay into the fool. A hand
took my shoulder and spun me away. The scribbler.

134
 “Hello?” I had stuttered, and beheld the strange looking man with sharp
green eyes with small black pupils that did not dilate or contract. He seemed
jittery, but with a deep intent. His face had no emotion. He walked, and I
followed by his side, curious to hear what he had to say.
“Danforth was it?”
I nodded. “Who are you?”
“A customer.” He said. “Out of curiosity, I found your online profiles, found
your shop. I’m impressed.”
“You came to my graduation? Why?” Nervousness twisted within me.
“I am curious by nature and tend to research my business partners.” His eyes
a-flamed.
“What do you want, I’m confused.” I glanced around for anyone I
recognised. Not a soul. Damn, should have made more friends.
“Oh, let me tell you who I am; my name is Quodoch, you can call me Coco.
I am an atomist, doctor and surgeon from…well further North East. I’ve read
your publications on the practical use of artificial intelligence.”
I nodded once, “Exactly what were you after? I gotta go home.”
“Home?” Quodoch seemed curious. “Ought you go to some after party, get Rickly
Reckt or something?”
“Probably. But I have boring things to do, and really, they take priority; I’m
sure you understand?...
no?” As a scientist, surely Quodoch would understand.
Quodoch shrugged, “Certainly.” He leaned against a wall. “You see,
technological advance is fast. Before long we will have actual robots and
androids just like the science fiction stories. Already we have cyborgs,
robotic limbs and organs and all. I have come up with an idea to combine matter
with electronic function in the brain. To channel thoughts into computer code.
I have the knowledge and the power, but I do not have the computation. The
device will require very powerful and specific programming to generate its
higher function. Something no ordinary, or even advanced computer today is
capable of.” He said.
“Yep. Well lucky for you, I don’t play with advanced computers, I fuse
super engines. I can build you what you want easily, it sounds relatively
simple, but it will cost you a lot. Listen, come to the shop tomorrow at five.
I’ll have some free time then, can properly discuss the details then and there,
not here.”
He handed me a blue schematic print. I took it without glancing at it and
turned to search for parents. The stranger, Wodok? Ho’doq? nodded and
disappeared. Satisfied that this event delivered me a new customer I wandered
the throng and found my parents.
“Who was that?” Mum said.
“Some guy who found my work website and wanted to ask me to build a
computer system. Super powerful thing. Kind of weird but, it’s a rich man’s
world.” She frowned, but we hastily went to find dad and sister, there were
somewhere nearby.

135
 “Well,” Krystofer, my father, yawned, “Clarys seemed a little on edge.
Nervous about some operation she has coming up I suspect. Though I’m not sure
smashing shots of Vodka is the way to go about that... although, I’ve never
operated and I don’t drink Vodka… coincidence?” Probably not.
Mum glared, unamused before smiling brilliantly at me. “Everyone saw you
drop your card, but you did wonderful! A very smooth recovery!”
“Let’s just… go home, I have things to do.”

At home Clarys seemed very distant.

“Why did a customer look for you at Graduation? Did he
tell you his name?” “No, but he’ll come into the store on
Friday. Why?” Clarys shook her head in doubt and walked
away.
Tired from the night’s celebrations, I went to bed, intending on waking
up and getting to work early tomorrow to make up for lost time today.

Dark dreams glowed my sleep that night. Cold and emptiness filled the house, a
powerful sense of solidarity. Family warmth died away to no more, and I was
alone amongst my own thoughts with nobody there to save me. An eternity I
lingered in that vacant abode, the quiet seeping into my being. Alien was the
delicious smell, and the sizzling…
Waking was hard. I could not comprehend the thought that I was not alone
for a time. A delicious air of breakfast smoked through the house and arrested
my attention. The fragrance of browning onions wafted into the room. Coffee.
Herbs for scrambled eggs smoking up from the down-stairs kitchen. Finally, able
to think coherent and Earthly thoughts, I processed what I knew about my
present situation. I am home, my family is here and I am safe.
A crackling, and a sizzle had me feeling myself again, as my ego rushed
back from the labyrinthine depths of inner awareness. Mmm, mum must be frying
bacon and tomatoes for breakfast. That initial thought kick-started the
realisation of my current, overwhelming earthly hunger and desire to release.
I have work today, groaning internally, a rush of stirred energy boosted
my awareness and rationality and sat me up with a start and shot open my eyes.
The suddenness of my movement blinded me momentarily. When I could again see, I
hoped to detect clues about the exact time it was so I could know how fast I
had to rush to get to work. Outside my single, circular window with multiple
unnecessary panes, streets of Fraryport were pure white and glistening. Snow
entrenched the roads, infrastructure and trees, and up above, the clouds were
as pale and pure as could be possible. Although beautiful, it was unhelpful as
to determine the exact Gregorian time. Harnessing the human-power of logic I
calculated an estimation, based on what I knew.
Today is Saturday. I work at ten o’clock. Mum does not make breakfast on
Saturdays until at least mid-day. Therefore, I must be terribly, terribly late.
Springing out of my bed, I cannot say for certain if my feet ever actually
touched any solid ground, for I was dressed in my Tech Wizard service and

136
repair uniform and to the bathroom to unburden and freshen up. Not a moment
after, I was halfway out the door before even I knew it.
“Where are you going in such a rush?” Mum’s calmly soft voice called out to
me across the lounge, from the kitchen. A glance at her indicated that she
did not turn around or even raise her eyes from her frypan project.
“To work! Uhh..” My eyes darted all about the room trying to find the
always moving clock. 06:44, it read. “Oh.” I sighed with both frustration and a
relief noticing my extreme morning-groggery for the first time. Groaning
loudly, I let my weight fail beneath me as I sank into the nearest chair, which
happened to be our new red-leather lounge. Mmmm.
“So wait,” I muttered in reply still trying to make sense of the
scenario, “why are you up so early then?”
“Well,” Mum started, “I figure you should have at least breakfast off,
before you get back to work, to celebrate your accomplishment!”
“I’ve accomplished nothing yet, but I do appreciate the gesture.” I sat
down at the table. “Where’s dad?”
“He went for a run at the crack of dawn.”
“That’s unusual. Why’d he do that?”
“Who knows. Kyrstofer has his irrational tendencies and spontaneous
compulsions. I cannot even attempt to explain them. After twenty years that
weirdo still surprises me. It’s wonderful… truly.”
Acknowledging that remark with a grunt, possibly a groan, I returned to a
thankfully dreamless place of rest and silence as I waited for breakfast to
ready… until a mind-blasting high-pitched wail pierced my audio receptors and
ached my mind; when it fell quiet finally, a second later it sounded again. The
noise seared through my skull. It silenced and I heard footsteps approach me
and stop.
“So what’s the computer you’re making today?”
“Someone with very compressed power with massive potential. Super computer but
for home use.”
“And the guy came from where?”
“He didn’t say, said north east.”
“Why would some need fused computers for home use?”
“I wondered if I should ask that. I’ll discuss it with my team.” I said.
There was a fumbling at the door that stole my attention. I watched as
dad jacked the handle and shoved the door open with a heave and a huff.
“It’s bloody cold out there, guys.” He informed us as if we ourselves
could not sense temperature, or could not observe outside a window, “and it’s
raining. Bad combination if you ask me, especially after a snow-storm.
Wooohhhh!” he shivered flicking snow all over the recently the floors he had
mopped just two days before. With an absurd and likely impulsive audacity, he
stepped into the house dripping a grotesque smelling odorous liquid all over
the floor. “KRYSTOFER! What the bloody hell are you thinking!” Mum boomed,
“INTO THE LAUNDRY. DON’T STEP ON THE CARP- TAKE YOUR SHOES OFF, DON’T
YOU DARE DRIP ON THE MANTLEPIECE.” Aggressively forcing him out of sight, I was
left alone for a moment.
137
 “Right, Alys, I’m sorry. I am.” Dad was toying mum in the next instance as
they returned.
“You had better mop that up, or else I’ll-.” Mum demanded, but eager to
change topic, Dad turned to Clarys and said, “Well, my day is uneasy in the
easiest way. I’ll be at the middle-school. There is an ensemble keen to perform
at the Randolph Carter commemoration hall next week and I’ll have to organise
that. It’s annoying too, that there is a profession symphony that wants the
conservatorium as a venue next week. But, the guys haven’t called to let me
know if they’ll need me to set that up yet.”
No longer dripping, Dad was dressed in simple house-clothes and his big,
hooded yellow-velvet dressing gown. “What are your plans then?” he looked at
Mum, who was stepping aside the splashes, making sure he cleaned every one
himself.
“Well,” mum began, finally lifting her eyes but only to find a plate to
put the juicy bacon on, “last week, the sea ship Vigilant III docked at
Innsmouth, returning from an Antarctic expedition. The sailors have allegedly
brought with them a weird and old possibly antediluvian sculpture, sepulchral
in tone, with the weirdest imprintings on it. It is unknown who or what carved
the weird monument, as the designs are entirely foreign. A geological
professor, Angell, from Miskatonic University has deciphered a single word,
“xlxxlxl” though, nobody knows what it means. The icon came with book as well,
a strange book. But when the Vigilant II came to shore, the book disappeared.
People are not sure what has happened, I have been invited to investigate and
write about it.”
Clarys still seemed off, but she said thought of her work and joined
conversation, “Today, our team will be dissecting an octopus while it’s still
alive and replacing sensory organs. Kind of like an operation. My team of
bioengineers have invented a sort of carnal sucker which is identical in form
to the organic octopoid sucker, except our plastic one is far more sensitive
and advanced. We’ll be replacing the livespecimen’s feelers with our engineered
product and we hope that not only will the creature painlessly adapt to its
updated components. But it will learn to use them effectively immediately and
progress as a species faster and healthier.”
“Why do you want to make octopi immortal? What’s the gain there?” I curiously
queried, with an apparent off-handedness.
“We don’t. We only want the technology to enable us to change parts of
other anatomy, so we can apply the study to other aspects of natural life on
Earth. Save terminal species, intellectualise others, or even bring back the
dead. Creatures of the past I mean, such as those Indian elephants that went
extinct recently.” My sister boasted with a keenness usual for a woman like
herself.
“Huh. What is with human beings wanting so badly to play God? Should you
even be peddling in such research, that is utterly against Nature’s
intentions?” I rebutted, satirically.
As if she was hardly listening, my Clarys guffawed before explaining,
“I’m a scientist, not a philosopher. Besides, I’m pretty convinced that there
138
is no great outer-awareness that surrounds us and penetrates us and binds the
galaxy together. The only life is… well, life as we have seen it with evidence.
So, if the Earth does not think, then she does not intend, and therefore there
is no moral right or wrong in any developmental research. You think the Pompeii
volcano explosion was moral? You think the Tsunami that destroyed that one part
of India was moral? You think the natural fires that circled Wendish Town and
burned a lot of people and animals to death was a moral and good fire? No. As
long as the outcome is for good then the means are irrelevant; on this small
scale.” She sat quiet for a minute. Everyone sat down for a bacon, tomato, eggs
and Guatemalan black bean breakfast and continued small conversation. It was
dad who dispersed the family during the fruit-consumption phase with his
mindless banter about his little music organising schemes, which were just a
little too boring. I had made my way back to the red-leather sofa to enjoy some
Dvorak symphony, and file through my present thoughts. “Our most recent human
advance was to better brain function, repairing degradation.” Clarys was
explaining to mum as I slept, “She was at the last days of her life, but, she
did not want to die. It was impossible to save her as her memory was broken,
and her mind was senile. With the last of her might she ordered to be
experimented on so that she could maybe, maybe survive, somehow. Really, she
couldn’t remember much, and her general knowledge and basic comprehension was
quickly becoming lesser, so it seemed almost futile to save her even if we
could. Despite this, she was fit, she ran every day when her body allowed her
and swam every second evening and ate very well and was determined to continue
her physical practise, but her deteriorating mind hindered her. A ghastly
episode of mental breakdown ended her up at the hospital. We calmed her down,
and explained to her that we would try a new process as she was escorted to the
lab but I don’t think she quite understood. Regardless, we cut her head open
and rebalanced her neurotransmitters, and reconnected various neurotic systems.
Despite our efforts, a close inspection revealed that part of her limbic system
was quite damaged and decayed. So using a combination of prototype and finished
brain metallic and bionic, we engineered for her a new Hippocampus, Amygdala
and Thalamus; charged them with neuron/ synapses and installed them. When she
woke, not only could she remember major events in her past life vividly, and
bring them up at will; but she had access to each system and layer of thought
deep within her. She was more alive, aware and intelligent that she had ever
been. Our research is seriously changing this world, and will be the gate way
to the perfect, even immortal human.”
Immortal. I let the word sink in as I fully fathomed what she was saying.
“That is amazing,” I muttered, “so, what are the limits of your potential
technology?” “Well,” Claryt began, quickly taking a seat, “there are no
limits. Assuming that we have fully developed the correct basic equations, and
we wholly understand the properties that are involved with not only tissue and
muscle development, or how bodily systems work, but, what kind of electric
pulse is exerted into the body at the time of each thought, each movement, each
figment of imagination. Once we are sure we understand it all, tampering with
animal consciousness will be unlocked, enabling us to fully embrace the minds

139
of all the creatures on this world. And, reprogram them by changing the charges
of the pulses.”
“So,” Dad muttered quietly, “you’ll literally be engineers of life? You will
be God?”
“Don’t be silly.” Clarys scoffed, “Firsly, we are the engineers of life.
You and mum had sex to create us, you two; with the power of your love cared
for and raised me, without a big bearded figmentation helping you. Alas, we
have always been God. And yes. Planet Earth will be under our direct control.”
“That’s a scary concept.” I expressed, rethinking, once again, it all.
“Well, it pretty much is already. Just need to make sure the correct people
with correct desires have the correct reason.”
At nine-fifteen I requested a ride to work. Dad offered to take on this
role and together we stepped out the front door. Turning around, I glanced at
mum to say good-bye. An un-natural force swept into my mind freezing me in
place, and made me feel as though there was something incredibly significant
about that farewell, but I couldn’t place it. Disregarding that notion, which
was likely just a remnant feeling of that bad dream, I marched out into the
snow, towards the car where dad was now waiting.
The streets of Fraryport were eerily empty as we neared the tech-repair
shop where I worked. This was likely due to the constant light rains, and
whipping cold winds of the late-autumn morning.
“Alright, thanks and bye.” I bid my father, Krystofer fare-well as I exited
our car.
Stepping into work, I felt immediately tired of the mundane, repetitively
of my style of business: repairing the same types of processors and internal
drivers over and over, but occasionally having to rewire or cross circuit some
very damaged pieces. The day continued very usually. It was not until pack up
time that my anticipated customer arrived. With him were bundles of paper, blue
prints of his design. “Really?” I vented my frustration clearly. “Now is
when you come? We close in two minutes.” “This will not take long.” I
thought him a madman, but realised I would probably do the same. Grudgingly I
let him into the room. His mannerisms were very calculated, precise as if he
had played this scenario in his head multiple times already. Without delay he
explained the modes and mechanics of what he required. His ambitions were very
pronounced, so much that I became inspired. Four computer generators fused so
two programmes could run smoothly with utilising multiple systems.

I got to work fusing the hard-drives.

When I was complete; as per Eobard’s specifications, the system was too full
to power on.
“Well,” I sighed, “this is where our technology is limited.”

Eobard laughed. He took apart the power source and where the electricity
input, he smelted on the gem, smashing it between iron and sealed the glowing
gem into the device.

140
 I activated the computer again and beheld that it operated faster than
any system I had ever comprehended; handling many superior programmes at once.
Eobard’s eyes lit up with joy, but I was tired.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, yes.” He said. I compartmentalised the computer and stored it in
Eobard’s zoom.
It was eight o’clock by the time I completed the build. Eobard satisfied
he left. Something in his glare reminded me of that dream. He left, I packed up
and proceeded homeward. Since it was already so late, I forwent my pre-dinner
chores, instead of asking for a ride home I took to walking so I would arrive
just as dinner is served. The night cooled, Autumn set to winter.
The walk was pleasant and therapeutic, but as soon as I turned onto my
street and eyed my house from afar, I felt, truly as if something was not quite
right. Where a street lamp would be vibrant just out the front, a darkness
engulfed the drive way for the light bulb must be bust. Beside that though, I
could see that none of the upstairs lights were on, which was incredibly
unusual. Shrugging off all superstition and unfounded anxiety, I proceeded
towards home.
I learnt then and there to trust gut-feeling, especially when it is
irrational, for the front door was slightly ajar and the house was deathly
silent.
“Mum? MUM?” I called out as I pushed through the door and stepped into
the house. All the lights were off and everything was still. “MOTHER! ALYS! ARE
YOU HOME, WHERE ARE YOU?” Nothing. Unnerved, I whipped out my celluloid device
and connected to her number, but the call rang out after nine buzzes. As I sped
to the kitchen, I could see that nothing in the house had been altered or
touched besides the front door and two back windows which had been smashed in.
Frightened, my heart suddenly frozen at the pit of my stomach I dialled dad.
“DAD!” I boomed as soon as he picked up, which was thankfully quickly.
“Yes, sorry I’m not at home,” Krystofer began explaining coolly, his calmness
took me off guard, “Doyle didn’t show up, and when the symphony conductor
turned up to ask specific questions, only one of the new guys was there to
attend, so I had to be called in quickly. Alys is home-”
“NO.” I yelled again, panic resetting in. “She is not home. Nobody is
home, besides me. The front door was left open and two windows have been
smashed. I cannot contact mum and I think something awful has happened. You
have to come home now. I’ll call the police.”
Fraryport Police Officers arrived at the same time as Father did. They
powered on the lights and began investigating the scene of the disturbance.
Dad, and some officers tried reaching out to Mum, but to no avail; she was gone
without suggestion. At midnight, no clues or leads were found. Contacting
Clarys, I learnt that she was still at the lab, as the operation went awry and
decided to keep her ignorant of the events at home so she could concentrate;
we’d have to notify her later. Come morning, there was no evidence collected,
besides the broken window glass. No prints, no blood, no irregular foot-steps,
no items missing, no hair left, no traces of anything could be found to clue in
141
anything; even going through Mum’s phone and email records provided nothing. No
odd calls, no weird messages to suspicious contacts. We were forced to accept
that, for the time, she was just gone, quite literally without a hint. While
the Fraryport Police Department proceeded into further investigations at the
station, we were left in utter despair, clueless and deeply sad. Refusing to
leave the house, dad took to repairing the windows, and restoring the house to
its former magnificence, but to no avail; for the house was disjointed and
unfinished without mum’s presence.
The police said that they would return once a week to update us on their
search for six months. My sisters return the following morning was heart
aching, as instead of being thoughtful and melancholic, she became angry,
blaming me, blaming Dad, blaming the security company and blaming herself. It
was a terrible thing to witness. For days, we remained at home clinging to
hope, investigating her disappearance as we could with private detectives as
well as outside contacts or potential information holders. But at last, the
police advised that we leave the search for them and continue on with our own
lives. And with that, I began my descent to the future.

142
Zarque II Resistance
and attack, reveal.

Zarque could not accept what he had seen, when he realised the connections;
turmoil burned within. “The detail in these memories is more than I had
anticipated, they feel so life like.” Eobard was in awe.
“You killed her.”
Eobard scoffed, “Had to find some way to break his spirit.”
“Just because Clarys didn’t like you? You murdered her mother?”
“Sacrifice is always necessary for a remarkable new discovery. What we
learn is far more valuable than the life that is lost.” Eobard’s tone was
monotonous, inexpressive, emotionless. “And we are developing a better
existence for our future.”
“Better?” Zarque gazed at the machine. Why would technological immortality be
better?
“If we can perfect the technology and integrate it with ourselves
properly. We will all of us become immortal.
“But if only we care about technology and not each other, have we not
lost our humanity?” His teeth chattered. “um, and like what is the importance
of life? What about it matters? If we’re just an aspect of the universe, as
everything else, what makes us so necessarily special? Why is the future so
important? Why is that more important than now?”
“Time goes forward, Zarque. You should know that. This is the human way.
Are you not familiar with our history? In three hundred years we transformed
the world into this. We are to discover! That is the purpose of humanity.
Enough with the questions, we are losing time.”
“You are completely evil.”
“Careful now, your assistance is appreciated, but careful.”
“No I cannot continue like this, I need to get out of here.”
“You can’t leave, you know that. You know too much.”
In that moment, it all clicked. Zarque was never to leave the room. He
was likely to be next. Eobard saw that Zarque realised and tried to deflate the
situation.
“No, no it’s not like you think!” Eobard’s eyes widened in realisation.
He fumbled over himself as Zarque rushed forwards.
In a flurry, Zarque had retrieved a metal tool, raised it, and then
struck down. The sound was horrible, and the shock that went through his arm
truly grotesque. The ease of the crush was ugly. Blood sprayed.
Eobard fell down, stood, tried to swipe back but could not, he was out of
reach. He tried to get away, in a state somewhere between shock and pain.
“Stay down and I won’t hurt you again. IF this is all about the science,
you have finished the experiment and you are no longer needed. You can be done
with this now. Let it be over. I’m going to make sure that we are found, and
brought to Justice. I’m tired.”
Eobard kicked Zarque in the thigh, throwing him off balance temporarily before
drawing a pistol.
143
The tides had turned, Eobard shot, narrowly missing Zarque’s head.
“Damn it. Stop! Okay! I can’t see!” Eobard wiped blood from his eyes,
that spilled from the cut on his head. How is he still alive?
Zarque, mind made, put down the metal tool, it landed on Eobard’s neck,
and with both feet, he stood on the tool, watching Eobard’s face blue, his eyes
glaze white, and he died.
Mind clear, having accepted the doom that would come, he moved
pragmatically. He went outside, enjoyed the cool fresh air and sat in the snow.
He raised the gun and fired seven shots into the sky hoping that the sound
would arouse some suspicion. And it did. Zarque sobbed as he watched the
officers arrive. Outside, red and blue flashes indicated the police were
outside. Such intensity in the moment had deafened him to all outside sounds.
The sirens wailed, and there were thumps at the door. They broke through.
Zarque was quenched with anger, hoping he could explain everything and be
redeemed for it.
“GET DOWN!” The gun-wielding law enforcement officers screamed came upon him.
Zarque gave no resistance.
“What is going on in there? What is that smell?” Another officer gagged.
“What’s happening here? Who are you?” The first officer said. “Answer
me!”
“Go have a look for yourself.” Zarque said, “I’m too tired for this.”
The officers put on protective masks, put one on Zarque and led him
down into the room. As they entered, howling winds slammed the
door closed, putting them all in pitch dark for a moment. Then… the
second projection began, before anyone could turn on a light. The awe
of it froze everyone. They all watched the hologram.

Danforth II – Shop to see plans > uni lab to experiment kill sister > home to
finish experiment > kill dad.

The Cyborg

So sudden did she disappear forever, that nobody knew how to react. Too upset
with any reminders of tragedy, Clarys left Fraryport to New York to continue
her work at the Research Hospital there. Though she was only a few hours from
home, it was as if she had died with mum. Dad and I were left, with no dynamic
between us to carry a family.
“Well,” he laughed one morning, “now life is less busy I can indulge in my
addiction.”
Two strangers at the door entered at Dad’s welcome. He introduced them as
Doyle and Batson. They were part of a contemporary dad-rock band. They had a
gig, as they did most nights. Music was the only place dad felt at peace, the
only thing keeping his spirits.

144
 Numbness was the only way I could move forwards, all I felt was
loneliness, solitude. Most waking hours I spent at work, tirelessly designing
and updating models until I exhausted.
Time away from normality changed me in ways I did not understand.
I wondered about death, and life. I examined what it meant to be myself.
Since all my experiences had been perceived within my mind, I had concluded
that I was the most aware consciousness in all of the universe. How could I not
be? I am the only mind experiencing this; it’s only been my mind.
I returned from work one day at dusk, and lay in my cold upstairs
bedroom, watching the town sprawl before me. Even now, so late, the nightlife
was rampant. Hundreds of young’uns out on the prowl, underneath the infinite
expanse of stars above. The moon, orbiting Earth, orbits the solar system,
orbits the galaxy. On the surface, we are collections of matter and awareness,
I am that.
What is not? All in the universe was made by and exists within the
universe. All life is a form of the universe to experience itself.
If life is simply a product of material, then in a complete sense, all
forms of life on Earth are fully equal. Each individual from each species is
but a different aspect or points of view for existence to understand itself.
Trees, bees, birds, dogs, fish and Amoebas. All created in and part of the
universe. If everything is equal across all plains, then why is my life
special? Why is any single life special or different or significant?
Looking up at the stars I realised truly… nothing about any life is more
important or special than another. Existentially, this destroyed me. If my
purpose was family, and my family was no more, my reason is no more. Thinking
this, I became extremely afraid as I realised, I… no longer have a true reason
to live. Contemplation reminded me that…I have no reason to die. Stuck in the
mud! The only pleasure and motivation I felt was at work, developing technical
processors. I kept my focus strong so I could not feel. One day, mid
spring, Quodoch entered the shop. Seemed sheepish at first, but calmed.
He approached the counter, and stated,
“The build is finished; I can now begin my experiment.”
“What exactly are you working on?”
“Would you like to come see it? I’m finding a way to turn human thoughts
into raw data. I hope to eventually discover how our minds function. Can only
find out by observing directly.”
“But isn’t… organic data too alien from technological? They’re fundamentally
different.”
“My lad, that is exactly my plight. That is what I will discover. Truly
there is only a single way to find out. We must try it. Do it for ourselves.
Are you in? Your contribution would forever change how life is perceived,
success or failure. You will be a hero.”
I thought on this, not entirely sure what he meant. Introspectually
thinking, I thought that it was hard to do anything normally after such a
confronting and terrible happening. Home life felt meaningless. Work betook all
my time. Dad continued on his musical path. Clarys found she could not remain
145
in the same house any longer, so left to continue her practices at Cambridge.
Technology was my only companion, knowledge for a more advanced future was my
drive forwards; all else became seemingly irrelevant. This seemed to be my way
forwards, my contribution, my purpose.
“Show me your plan. I want to see what you are trying to accomplish.”
Quodoch nodded. “I will not return until I have it.” Then he left and did
not return for two months. In this period, life was a gloom. I worked,
ate, slept and thought. Each day growing more excited for my role in Quodoch’s
experiment.
Finally, eight weeks had passed and Quodoch entered the shop. Under his
arm were big sheets of design rolled into a scroll.

I led him into the back room. He unravelled the long parchment with blueprints
drawn all over it and sprawled it over a table and explained, “My ambition is
to break the veil of thoughts. Keep them alive, while being entirely
artificial. I have developed some forms of digital upgrade, and have much
practise. Now I know how to upload and use that information, I will be able to
begin my conduction. You see, if a person can stay alive with all parts of
their mind digitized, then I have beaten organic matter completely and humans
can be machines.
“If a person stays alive and conscious, when all parts of their brain are
electronic, they can exist without organic matter. Then… awareness is not a
biological process, there is something else to it.”

“Explain to me your method.” Danforth

said. “First stage is pure recording.

To scan each part of the brain simultaneously and continuously to

establish all patterns of behaviour, to map the all levels of consciousness,
subconsciousness, instinct and emotion and compile it into a single record to
be uploaded into an avatar. Constant information to keep feeding the avatar
until all lobes and connections are six months complete.

Second stage is the slow replacement of physical matter. Beginning with an

information chip integrated into the brainstem; almost as a primer, organic
material will be imbued with information from the avatar. Piece by piece, lobes
will be replaced with artificial material, whilst upkeeping all proper
function.

Third stage is the initial activation, and connection to the internet.

Once all major and minor components are replaced; the internet will
activate inside connecting all areas of the brain. With the extra power of the
avatar, the mental load might be manageable. Mental integration with the
internet will run for six months, until patient is familiar with the properties
and functions of the inbuilt access to infinite information. Data from stage
one must still be recording.
146
Final stage is once the avatar is adequately built and fully connected to the
physical body by internet and hardware the process of uploading may then take
place in which the human mind will exist, consciously within the internet,
immortally.”

“That sounds absolutely insane. How cold it possibly works? The energy
required for that would need to be… infinite.”
“Indeed.” Quodoch Eobardy smirked. “Come with me to my laboratory at the
Foundation University. We can begin soon.”
“You have a workshop there?”
With a sly smile and a slightly weird shrug, he said, “yes.”
After closing the shop, I followed Eobard to his car instead of going
home. We drove to the
University. Entering we made our way to the elevator and went down below the
basement on an unmarked floor.
“How conspicuous.”
The room was dim, spacious. There were things on many of the tables that
were covered by tarpaulin. We commenced the scan, prepared five data chips
(four lobes and brain stem) and styled them in the fashion of my brain.
When the parts were made, it was time for the first surgery. The parts
were ready to adapt to flesh. They were small. Fully committed to the cause, I
allowed him to strap me to a chair and put me to sleep. In a dark dream, I
heard a drill cracking against my skull, within my thoughts. Delirium and
feelings of connectedness to all things thwarted me into a trance-like
disassociated state. In some kind of tunnel, dark and slimy that seemed to be
built from a disgusting, slimy black stone. On the walls, symbolic runes were
carved. Images of daemonic things, malignant life forms, grotesque monsters,
and some kind of script that seemed Earthly but wholly unknown to me. Initially
it made sense that the experience was a dream, but definitely I was lucid; and
the walls seemed not be a conjure of my subconscious design, but a place
separate from time and space where scary things lurked. Stagnant freezing air
seemed to stretch on forever, but there was somehow a light and a stream of
direction glided me towards it; closer the light shone brighter and flared
bigger. Through the intangible light I entered an expanse of infinite
direction. Far above and far below, enormous polar opposite energy banks had
collected dust, heat and light and were forcing them through a single point,
from where I had tunnelled. There was all around me a kind of awareness that
manifested not in anything physical or real, an omnipresent almighty spirit. It
acknowledged my coming and seemed pleased.
“…Danforth, hey?” There was an Earthly voice. Suddenly I spasmed at the
unknown cosmic horror that disconnected my mind from me. “…are you still
alive?”
I woke with a shudder, everything seemed to hurt. All I saw had been
intensified a thousand times. It is not as though it hurt, but I felt the edge
of every small visual, audial, physical stimuli. My heart is human; but my mind
147
felt infinitely expanded. Colour sharp in the dark room. Silent and cold but I
heard an orchestra of noise. Something was holding my down.
“…stop screaming!” Something familiar that I recognised. My mind set, I
relaxed and let the buzz of my overwhelmingly fast brain go.
“What is happening?” I tried to gurgle but only splutter and seeming
incoherent non-sense came out. Each time I closed my eyes; flashes of that
damnation, that godly mass returned darkness was not two dimensional as regular
eyes but omni-directional as the Timeless Infinity.
“You’re adapting.” Eobard affirmed.
As I sat, everything was extremely strange. I saw chairs for trees and
cows; a painting as oils, and a metal lamp as ore mined from rock. Their
functions were quite clear but; I recognised all modifications.
Foods as their ingredients, and calculated the likely origins.
Personal thoughts and inner memory were intensified so each conjure of
thought was splashing into a dream vivid and surreal. Times from my past and
now all seemed mashed into one blur of experience that I could examine stage by
stage, feeling, sound and imagery. The amplification was unbearable at first
but as I beheld them I felt their power. I ate; and felt the energy be
extracted within me and the individual pulses of nourishment entered my system.
All nutrients I could mentally separate and track.
Not only could I control my memories, and relive them vividly and in
astounding detail, but, I found that I could access my emotions and manipulate
my mood by boosting and retracting my serotonin and dopamine levels by will.
With this installation, my life mood improved drastically. No longer was I
tethered to dark, depressing existential thoughts, and forced to attempt to
sleep with my active and depressed consciousness. I could relive glorious days
of my past; I could boost my mood and contemplate more productive thoughts and
I could learn massive amounts of information all at once and remember it
forever.
Machines to save our lives.
Duplications were fashioned of my parental, occipital and temporal lobes. One
of my brain stems.
Occipital lobe, changed the mechanics of vision. Colour and light, I saw
as information that I could interpret in a multitude of different ways. In
darkness, I could bring to mind images of all the things I wondered. My mind,
in this state was boundless.
Parential lobe, changed how I moved and the mechanics of my physical
body. Every pressure, every balance, every force was interpretable data rather
than instinctive feeling. My movements were calculated in rational, calculated
thought. Each factor that influenced was registered.
When my temporal lobe was fixed, I lost touch with time. The past and
present were one in the same. All memories that I had were organised into
compartments of why I remembered them: sentiment, fear, learning. It was all
information to be categorised and ordered, not a naturally occurring
experience. I spent this time alone, only moving between home and the
university. Dad had left to go play for a camp for a fortnight so I had not
148
been interrupted. Since mum’s death, we haven’t really spoken. Doubt he ever
noticed my quiet.
On my way to the workshop one day to prepare the final stages I overheard
strange enchantments.
Holy Followers had communed.
“Soon, the portal will split; the gateway will open.”
“The instrument is here.”
As I stepped into the hallway, they noticed me. They watched me curious eyes.
“Your sister has been looking for you.” One said. “She came down to
Fraryport to find you, and she has not.”
“I did not know that; I have been busy.”
“She said that… Eobard was here. That he was conducting experiments.
She’s going to stop him. IF you’re with him; she will save you.”
“I do not know anyone by that name. Experiments are happening all the
time; you people are vague. I do not have time for you.”
“You ought to go and find her.”
“Um…?” I was stumped, “who are you? What’s your problem?”
I saw Quodoch approach. The group noticed him and seemed to respite in
fear. They backed away slowly as they saw him before disappearing.
“What was that?” I wondered aloud.
“Some stupid prayer group, so convinced that God will return to the
skies. Literally speaking. They hate science, they will protest technology to
the death. They will try to disrupt our operations. Now, they are suspicious.
We’ll have to complete the stage elsewhere.”
We went down to the laboratory and went to pack up all apparatus. “Now,
once your frontal lobe is tweaked, you will forever be changed.” Quodoch
announced on the one hundred and eightieth day. “You will no longer be
Danforth, but, a disembodied stream of senses.”
“There is nothing in this world left for me.” I confirmed, “I am already so
far gone I am not myself, truly I am ready to go.”
“I will need two days to prepare.”
“That will give me time to get used to these new features I suppose…”
“If there is anything left for you to do in this world, now is your last
chance.”
“No!” Across the room, the elevator doors opened. Clarys stepped in to
the basement. Behind her the Holy Followers had followed.
“This has to stop! Eobard! What are you doing!”
Quodoch Eobard stared at her, his expression lax. Old emotion stirred
inside him, but never again would he allow such pain to float to the surface.
“Danforth here you are! Please come home! Dad has returned, we are going to
leave this place.
Move to Europe and start again.”
“Clarys!” He said, “you came early… I was so looking forward to showing
you what you inspired from me, but your coming now is problematic.
She largely ignored him. “Danforth! Come home!”

149
 There was silence. I computed my thoughts. “This life not for me Clarys.
Let me make my own choices.” Already, I was fading into calculation.
“Perhaps you should have expressed this earlier.” Eobard said, “he’s mine
now.”
“Why are you doing this?” Clarys sobbed, “Dan… please
come home.” Her determination to keep me alive cut
deep, but I was determined.
“No.”
Eobard was frantic, she could potentially ruin everything. His eyes
darting all across the room trying to assess the circumstances. Without
thinking he took an electro-zapper and tased her face, cutting a burn mark into
her skull. Her eyes flicked towards me, and she was confused and scared. Then
she flopped motionless to the floor. No emotion passed through me at all, only
a calculation that my path was now easier. In that moment, seeing her
dead, I acknowledged the severity of the circumstance, but felt nothing.
There was no return now, and logically I knew what had to come next. We
finished the pack up and drove to my home. Taking the equipment, Eobard dropped
me off. I arranged a set-up station in my bedroom back at home. Quodoch said he
would return on my call.
Dad was out, so I set up the station and waited. I went downstairs, to
prepare the kitchen. “Dan!” Dad said as he entered. “Surprised to see you
here in the kitchen. Are you alright, your eyes seem a little hollow.” His
voice had a bitter distance to it, which felt empty although that may have just
been my voice detection sensors overworking which were installed so I could
understand every person I met just by hearing the tone of their voice.
“Hey yeah; just tired. It’s been a long day at work How was your tour?”
“Excellent! We had some ifs and buts but, the enthusiasm was high and the
audience was dancing!” “Sounds quite the experience.”
“Yeah; though we’re finished for about two months. Back to rehearsals.”
“Do you have new material this time around?” Natural conversation seemed
to come so easily, memories of practice flooded into my delivery.
“Yeah; so we’re always doing something new. Would you like to have dinner
together tonight? I’ve made a minced beef casserole while you were out, and
left it in the fridge to let it set. You used to enjoy that, as recall… at
least when your mother cooked it. I hope it is to your liking.” He spoke to me
with a tone of nostalgia, of remembrance.
“Hey, thanks dad.” I returned, almost automatically before sitting down.
He disappeared into the kitchen before returning with two plates. The casserole
smelt good; but as I ate I knew that the texture was not quite right, and the
gravy off too, but despite its flaws, the meal was delicious and made with
love. My last meal. We ate in silence for a moment, before dad continued
talking.
“But next season, Lloyd has composed a new Bolero, which he hopes will
replace Ravels’ He’s arranging it with the orchestra now. I’ll be trying to get
a part it; but darn, those orchestra members are incredibly talented. They’re

150
performing. I organised for them to play a Stravinsky symphony next week at the
Opera House, on Saturday. If you’re interested I could get us tickets?”
I considered the thought for a minute. I used to love music, but ever
since…. mother, my passion for life had completely diminished.
“Sure,” I said enthusiastically, “But, why would you want to replace the
Bolero? Why do people hate it so much? I mean, yeah, it is over used and over
played… especially in the bloody ice skating. But, the music itself I think is
quite nice, light and dainty. If Lloyd wished to compose a new one, why would
not he wish it to excel uniquely as it’s own stand-alone piece.?”
Dad only laughed, “It’s more… he hopes that when people think of the Bolero
they think of his… and not Ravels.”
“When I think of a Bolero, I think of the teleport to the Fire Temple:
The Bolero of Fire. Da-da da- da dah- dum dah- dum.” I laughed at my retro
reference, truly I couldn’t believe I remembered that.
Suddenly two years of gaming flashed back into my memory, I had to consciously
fade them away.
Dad only had a blank look on his face.
“Is that… Dvorjak? With one of his queer operas?” Truly he had no idea,
and I admired that. It was a long time since I did not know almost everything.
“Pah!” I said, “as a performing musician you should know all sorts of
music, all kinds of things. It’s old video game music, from a game that was
turned into that successful musical.”
He laughed. We continued chatting about many things, but my mouth spoke
automatically while my mind was elsewhere. I knew that tomorrow I would be
administering the final stage of my transformation. Part of my human mind
flooded my feelings with sentimentality. If I’m gone, what will my dad do? How
can I leave him with nobody? I knew that he would be lonely and depressed, more
so than ever before. Since mum disappeared, he lives now only for me and his
band, but I don’t want to live a natural life any longer. If I left this world
leaving him with no family, he would have nothing and no legacy. I cannot do
that to him. For a moment, I was on the fence, on whether or not I should
remain in my natural body for some more years, or if I should continue with my
plans as soon as possible and transcend mortality.
We finished dinner and I offered to clear the table and clean the
kitchen. “Oh, while you’re up could you bring me the bottle of red wine that’s
on the counter top by the stove?” Dad pointed to where the bottle sat.
I cleaned the plates and set them to dry before picking up the bottle of
red wine and some cutlery and returned to the table. I stood behind my father,
and watched as he poured his glass. As he set the bottle down on the table, I
gripped the knife which I brought with me from the kitchen, pulled it from
behind me and pushed it into the back of my father’s head, hoping to sever his
brain stem so he would die instantly. And just like that, it was over.
His body went limp and a trickle of life blood dripped from the back of his
neck, his face was happy, as if he had died before he realised what was
happening. I’m glad he died happy.

151
 A horrible guilt flushed my body, as the reality of the moment sunk into
my mind. I just killed my dad. To remedy this, I thought of my plans the
following morning and sculled half the bottle of wine. I lay still and quiet;
time slipped away, but I did not sleep. My mind, on the edge continued
breaking into robot dreams, visual representations of happenings in my gears.
Light flooded into the room, sparking my senses on. Dawn lit the eastern sky a
fiery crimson. I perceived the heat, and under all layers of robotics, I felt.
My heart is still human my blood still boils. I am not a robot without
emotions.

Too far gone, I now realise; although machines save our lives, they
dehumanise. The door down stairs swung open. Footsteps up the stairs. Eobard
entered the room. “I see you have finalised the plan.” Without saying anything,
I nodded.

Zarque III – subdue, arrest

Two of the officers were physically sick at the abhorred knowledge that a
person existed who could scientifically manipulate a son to slay their father,
after witnessing their mother’s death. “How could a person be so deluded to
give their life for an unrealistic experiment?” One asked.
“Why would a person continue, after it is clear there is significant damage and
violence occurring as a result?” Another glared at Zarque who was on the floor,
defeated. Tired.
“I suppose there’s nothing you can say.” One of the police said, lifting Zarque
before cuffing him. “You were an accomplice to this morbid act.”
“In the cell, perhaps you can tell us about this science. Despite the grotesque
brutality, you have both achieved something unprecedented and will alter what
science is forever.”

Something was wedged between Danforth’s body and mind. Between physical reality
and cyber space, his concentration lingered as if a force was restricting his
death. Zarque felt it. The invisible weight. Then things started to slow… Time
stopped. Zarque glared around while everything froze still. From the projector,
a fog wisped into the room. Like a wave, seconds splashed back into motion. The
fog thickened before falling completely invisible.
Zarque beheld what no human was ever ought to see. In the cloud of spacetime, a
glow of light emanated. It was amorphous and iridescent. One thousand
consciousnesses, the wisp was partly sentient; its thoughts were radiant, they
existed externally. It pushed with a force of unknown dimensions; Zarque split
through space and across time in an instant. He was far away in the hills where
he and Eobard had camped after the horror at Miskatonic. Where they had found
the pale blue stones.
Instinctively he headed straight to Foundation University and gave the
recording to Armitage. Together they watched it in awe.

152
Danforth III
Operation > last vision > disconnect.

Death was here. My human heart pumped healthy blood, and panicked resisting the
pull of oblivion. All organic fibres raged against the dying light. If only I
had realised Eobard’s ploy before committing my life to it…life could be
wonderful again. That is now too late. Sentiment swelled but calculation
prevailed. There was no going back, human life is over for me now.
Pulled away from the window, and led to the workbench, Eobard commenced the
operation. I lay flat; a gasmask strapped to my face to ease the tension. I
woke; but felt nothing; but I was distant from even myself. Faded. Distracted.
but my body jerked and convulsed wildly, resisting physical death. Delerium set
in, and I returned to that dark space of intangible infinity, beyond the veil
of thought and to the tunnel through which the Essence lingered eagerly. My
eyes open, I still saw the world; but everything was tinged blue, and behind a
layer of distortion, the gears of my mind began to seep to the forefront. The
brain processes were amplified, but fading.

I should be feeling more alive, albeit artificially, than ever before but I
wasn’t. I was stunted, I felt ill.

I said nothing, assuming that the mental degradation was only part of the
adaption process.
Try as I might, after hours and hours I still could not move. Desperate and
afraid I sought any kind of movement that I could muster in my broken and
flustered state. My body was paralysed but my mind could move freely. I felt
the pull of an external force that seemed to linger about the room. The
internet. I realised. My mind; and all its computerised components were
connected to my computer and the internet, my personality, my every thought was
documented in a file. If… I could move my mind towards the cloud of internet…
it might be possible for me to almost telepathically cast my mind away from my
body and sync it into the avatar as intended. Transmitters continuously
uploaded information and so with faith I forced my consciousness away.
Something split. My visual field melted, expanding. There across the fog, the
Timeless Void opened infinitely. There I will flow.

Everything went black and grey. Feeling came back to my body and I knew that I
was moving but I was not controlling the movement. Everything was shaking; pain
overwhelmed me; my vision cracked into white; grey and an ambiguous fog; I saw
my room, and then I didn’t, and then I did and then I saw nothing. My body
shook violently and ferociously, but I no longer felt it. and as it did I felt
the power of my mind diminish, my thoughts were broken and disjoined; and
everything became hazy and I could no longer concentrate on even thinking. I
mustered my thoughts once again with much strain and projected them outwards,
to transmit out through a signal. I felt the destination, the cloud about the

153
room. And then… my mind broke and split away from me. I saw grey mists, and
could feel the violent shaking of my body. But I thought nothing, and there was
nothing. Below me, my body lay, unmoving and cold while strange foggy figures
went into and back out of the room. In that haze… I still am… forever
uploading.

154