Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy

by Indigo Bloome

  ‘Quickly, people are trapped, they need to get out of here.’ Martin’s usually controlled voice is laced with an undercurrent of fear, particularly as he notices smoke escaping from the depths of the tunnel behind the crowd. The police commander is urgently shouting instructions to his men. The crowd has reached the gate and is screaming for release, terror evident in their eyes as their screams grow louder. As one bar of the security gate is cut open, bare hands grab hold of it and loosen it further, bending it backwards and forwards.

  The police shout at people to stand back as they go to start on the next one when someone from the depths of the crowd pushes through yelling that he has the code. After much shuffling of bodies, he finally makes his way through and with trembling hands enters a code into the keypad on the side of the tunnel wall. The gate swings open and the crowd cheers before surging forward, stumbling over each other and almost crushing some people, everyone desperately seeking the freedom of fresh air and the sky above.

  Martin and Luke, stunned to see some children in the crush, help them and some women to their feet and set them on their way.

  ‘I’m going in,’ Martin yells. ‘I need to find Salina and Josef.’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ warns the commander. ‘You heard the explosions. It could have been anything in a lab like this.’

  ‘Do you have chemical masks?’

  He nods and gestures to one of his men to get them out.

  Martin turns to Luke. ‘You need to leave the tunnel, it’s unstable. Check the surrounds of the lake, they might be there.’

  Luke hesitates.

  ‘I want you out of here, now. Go.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you out there.’

  ‘Run, make sure the others are alright.’ Martin breathes a sigh of relief as he sees Luke turn around and run back out toward safety. He lost one of his men once and has never forgiven himself.

  The commander hands him a mask which he fits over his head and covers his hands in gloves, ensuring none of his skin is exposed to whatever may have exploded in there. Another smaller explosion rocks the ground and more people come trickling out as Martin, followed by the commander and a small group of his men, make their way inside Xsade.

  People within the facility scurry around like rats on a sinking ship, searching for any path to safety they can find as the evacuation signals deafen their ears. The scene is utter chaos, but thankfully there isn’t too much smoke just yet. The police assist as many people as possible, pointing in the direction of the storm water tunnel until they are the only ones left in the immediate area.

  Martin yanks a fire extinguisher from its bracket on the wall when a flicker of flame catches his eye from a doorway down the corridor. He bolts toward it, praying to god that Salina and Josef are not trapped inside, and enters. He closes the door to the lab to contain the fire, hoping like hell that the labs here have been made as fireproof as possible and breathes a sigh of relief as he notices the ceiling sprinklers are working.

  He sees a pair of legs in the adjacent room lying on a lounger, emerging from beneath a massive machine covering the top half of the body. He indicates this to the commander before using the weight of the extinguisher to bash through the glass of the locked door.

  He has no idea whether this person is dead, unconscious or sleeping, but they obviously haven’t heard any alarms or felt the explosions. Both men try lifting the equipment off, but it appears to be secured in place.

  They realise it is a woman trapped under the equipment, so the commander grabs hold of one of the legs and shakes it — both legs jerk in response. The next thing they hear is a bloodcurdling scream. The woman’s legs and arms are flailing on either side of the machine covering her upper body. They see the ultraviolet light inside the equipment as the woman’s screaming continues.

  ‘My face, my face! It’s burning! Help, get it off me.’

  Still unable to budge the weight of the equipment, Martin searches for the power source, eventually flicking the switch and yanking out the cord to cut off the supply. The woman sounds in unbearable pain with her limbs thrashing about in every direction.

  As Martin rushes back, he trips over a Louis Vuitton handbag and dislodges his mask. It is only then that the putrid smell of burning flesh penetrates his nostrils so intensely it causes him to dry retch on the floor beside her. The commander is still having no luck when they hear and feel yet another explosion further down the corridor of the facility.

  As Martin pulls himself together in one last attempt to free this trapped, burning woman, two people covered in blood and smoke appear at the door.

  ‘Salina, Josef. My god, are you alright?’ By the looks of them both they have been through a lot.

  ‘We are okay, Martin,’ Salina replies. ‘What are you doing here? What’s going on?’

  ‘She’s trapped, we can’t get the machine to release. It’s computer encoded or something and won’t budge.’

  Josef immediately drops beneath the machine. ‘The equipment locks down when the system has been corrupted in some way. There is a manual override located underneath that will release it.’ They hear a loud click as the machine finally comes away and reveals a ugly mess of mottled, bloody flesh beneath it.

  Salina immediately turns her head to vomit in the corner as Josef covers his nose the best he can with his shirt and assesses the damage.

  ‘Pass me that water,’ he yells to the commander who is standing next to a water jug and some glasses. Josef carefully rinses water over the raw, burning flesh, fearing for her life rather than her looks, which he knows will never be saved.

  Another explosion rocks each of them off balance.

  ‘We need to get out of here, now, this place is about to go,’ the commander yells.

  ‘You go, I need a couple more minutes or she’ll die,’ Josef answers as he remains focussed on the task at hand.

  ‘You two go. I’ll carry her when Josef’s finished. We’ll be right behind you.’ Martin isn’t budging without knowing both Salina and Josef are safe.

  They all exchange tentative and worried looks between them before the commander and Salina make their way toward the tunnel.

  Josef frantically prepares some cold, wet compresses and applies them to her face before carefully wrapping a bandage from the first aid kit around her entire head and neck. It is only at this point he recognises the ostentatious diamond ring on the hand of this victim as Jurilique’s. He immediately stills.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Martin asks, concerned that yet another explosion has rocked the floor and they are still here.

  ‘Nothing.’ Josef’s medical training and desire to save lives easily overrides any other thoughts he might have about his disturbed and corrupt ex-boss. He wouldn’t wish the pain of these burns upon anyone, even a woman like Madeleine. Josef registers the desperation in her terrified eyes before he covers her face completely in an attempt to save the burned flesh.

  ‘Okay, that’s the best I can do right now.’

  Martin goes to hoist her up over his shoulder but Josef grabs his arm to stop him.

  ‘No, we must try and keep her face as still as possible, otherwise blood will rush to her head.’

  The two men carry her out, face up, as fast as they can. Fire and explosions chase them out of the facility and into the storm water tunnel.

  Part Seven

  The earth does not belong to man: man belongs to the earth.

  All things are connected like the blood, which unites one family.

  Man does not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it.

  Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

  Chief Seattle, Letter to all, 1854

  Alexa

  I am slipping into varying states of consciousness with ease though it is increasingly beyond my control. Sometimes I am fully cognisant of what is happening around me, other times I merely slip into another world and time. I am vaguely aware that my body doesn’t want for much but my soul is vital and hungry
to show me more so eagerly takes me away. I can hear sounds around me but still no one speaks to me so I’m never distracted from my immersion in the spirit world.

  It is during one of these returns to consciousness that I become aware that I’m surrounded by the women of the tribe. There are no men in this hut, just women chanting around my resting body. I don’t have the energy to lift my head from my lying position so I merely turn it from side to side. My eyes widen as I focus on what is happening around me. The women are in simple traditional clothing, which barely covers their bodies, and one of them is wearing an elaborate decorated headdress made from feathers and beads.

  We are in a small, enclosed thatched hut and the air I breathe is thick and hazy. It stems from some smoking rocks and plants in the corner, presumably a form of incense.

  No words are spoken. I don’t feel the need and know they won’t be returned anyway. I’m comfortable with this and not speaking seems to preserve what little energy I have. I abstractly wonder about my children, knowing they haven’t been in my presence for however long this journey has taken in its timeless dimension. I perceive reassuringly they are safe and that, in their minds my absence has not been too great. This knowledge provides me with a sense of wellbeing for them.

  I make eye contact with the woman in the headdress as she comes toward me to lift my head in her arms. Still chanting, she brings some liquid to my lips and tips it carefully into my mouth, before lowering my head back onto the stretcher. My eyes close as their chanting increases in volume and I recede into the eye of the eagle flying high over the lush lands of the Amazon.

  I come to again with awareness of small, light strokes being painted on my body. I can’t move, my body is too weak. It is as though I only exist in this body through my eyes, though I can still feel every sensation. I’m disconnected but aware.

  My insights to date have been profound, though my inability to move my physical form means I haven’t been able to record anything in my journal. This world and the past world shift and blur with ease. I can’t remember when I last saw Jeremy or Leo, as time is no longer a measure that I comprehend. I’m assuming they are close but I understand that this preparation I am going through with the tribal women attending to me is somehow strictly women’s business.

  I notice I am naked. My body is being decorated with fine lines of dark paint, no doubt extracted from some plant or flower. I can only gather I am being prepared for some from of ritual or sacred event. I can’t imagine what but given everything I have seen and experienced — if that is the right word — on my soul flight so far, I know I needn’t prepare, just accept whatever happens. Perhaps my time has come to finally meet the shaman.

  I am perfectly still as the chanting woman continue their activities around me, my body content with being a canvas for the women’s artwork. Considering the minute detail with which they are applying their strokes, this is not a project that will be completed any time soon.

  Once again my head is lifted and I feel the warm, herbal liquid entering my mouth and moments later I am flying again.

  The battered ship lands on the shores of Ireland from the freezing waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. Some men are weary, some dead but most eager to ravage this newly-discovered land. Batons in hands and helmets on heads, the men scour the countryside in search of civilisation, food, shelter and wealth of any kind to extend their empire. These huge Nordic men, covered in animal skins, are silenced by their leader as they notice the shimmering flames of fire atop the hillside. Their robust bodies stride steadily closer to the scene and bear witness; unusually for them, they still as they watch, mesmerised by the vision before their eyes.

  Under the light of the moon, at a time when twilight never converges into full darkness, lie six women and six men. They are positioned on each of the twelve rocks in a circular formation, removing what simple garments they have from their bodies. As they become naked a woman covered only by her long black hair and a wreath of golden flowers around her head rises from the centre of the circle as though from flames and kisses their genitals as if igniting their passion. She moves clockwise around the twelve, as though she is giving them permission to feel, touch and explore each other in their most sensual parts. She returns to the centre of their circle and begins to chant and dance; different tempos and rhythms appear to signal a change in connection to each person. The men move in one direction, the women the other, back and forth as their frenetic exploring continues, the sexual moaning heightening within the entire group. The lady with the wreath, in their centre, continues writhing and dancing and moving, her chanting reaching ecstatic levels as she takes on an almost goddess-like form and the small crowd gathers in closely around her. As this occurs, I sense my spirit being drawn directly into her body and we become one. I am her.

  The pure sexuality of this ritual is pounding through my veins and I notice its energy has subdued the violent intentions of the Nordic men as they watch us. Their heightened arousal temporarily suspends their need to plunder and despoil. The twelve bodies surround me, worshipping me as their high priestess and I eagerly open myself up to them, granting them access as I spread my arms and legs wide and throw my head back. Each concentrates on a different part of my body: my neck and ears, each of my breasts, my thighs, my belly and my sex. I reach new heights for them, my people, toward the glory of our goddess. The only part of me left untouched is my mouth, which continues to release an almost unearthly yet soulful sound. I am secured by strong hands, my legs spread wide as my body is offered high to the stars above. Tongues and fingers fondle my sacred openings with reverence, as my body quivers in the pleasure they elicit, and a soulful song, going beyond ecstasy, pierces the night and reaches the heavens. The bodies wrap themselves around me until my heavenly sounds subside, gently lowering me back to earth glistening, quivering, idolising me. Only when I am completely still and close my eyes, do the others partake further in their sensual activities. Each man and woman partner off and complete the act that ensures the birth of the next generation.

  The chief of the Vikings notices most of his men are now pleasuring themselves around him given what they have just witnessed. He forms his lips to emit a low-sounding growl to attract only their attention. Some in the peak of the act attempt to swallow the sounds of their own release. They move toward the local people as a uniformed and disciplined group to do what they do best — conquer. As the leader nears the dark-haired goddess, she remains perfectly still on the ground as if in a trance, palms placed over her heart.

  The Viking chief sends his men back to the ship with their human bounty, others are sent to continue their hunt for food. The giant white warrior towers above the serene woman, taking her in, absorbing her beauty, recalling her sounds. He lowers his body over hers, kissing her hard, slamming his tongue into her mouth, as if trying to touch those soulful notes. He takes hold of her breasts, twisting them with his calloused hands. She lies still beneath him. He removes the cloth covering his throbbing phallus, which reveals the virility of his manhood. He positions himself over her body, but just as he moves to enter her, her large eyes flash open like a bolt of lightning, temporarily blinding him with their shimmering emerald gaze.

  Never one to be taken against my will, my body rises slowly and confidently from the earth and guides the Viking to his knees, so we are equal in height. My unblinking eyes meet his, overpowering his strength with my magic. I position my moist, naked form above him, my long hair barely covering my breasts and I lower my glistening thighs around his majestic girth, knowing I will be able to take him deep within my loins. I, the high priestess, throw my head back, baring my throat, releasing him from the captivating trance of my gaze, and take wild control of his pleasure until he is completely under my sexual spell. He holds me in a vice-like grip with his arms as if his soul depends on the essence of my beating heart. Our lust for one another grows until we are both consumed by mutual passion for one another, losing all sense of consciousness, until he explodes volca
nically into me, releasing his Viking seed into my belly as though we are creating the earth itself. His low guttural cries of ‘Freya’ merge with my heavenly voice as we two become one.

  Sated under the evening stars, this is the first act of kindness and warmth the Viking has ever experienced in his life. The first willing touch of a woman. As I see his tears, I see Jeremy’s smoky green eyes reflecting back and recognise the explosive beginning of our united souls, establishing a most sacred and blessed path for centuries to come. Anam Cara.

  As high priestess I kiss the tears as they begin to slide down his face replacing aggression with love. We remain connected in the lush green field, kissing and caressing, soothing and adoring until he finally becomes flaccid enough to withdraw from my body. In the light of the breaking dawn, he strokes a small heart-shaped birthmark positioned just above the nipple of my left breast and tenderly kisses it, gently this time, just as I did for him.

  The union of our two souls, Jeremy’s and mine, forever bound in the magic and power of these origins that sparked the essence of the healing blood.

  It is only at this realisation that I am released from the body of the high priestess and return to my ethereal state.

  I see that the Viking never returns to his ship and he never kills again. The priestess and the Viking travel the northern lands — she offering rituals to the gods and goddesses in return for health and fertility, he teaching men to embrace, not fear, the sexuality of women. Their union is one of love, lust, and desire, never tiring of each other sexually, only craving and exploring the carnal nature of their beings.

  Time travels into the future and they have twelve children, symbolically representing the conquest that brought them together. Three of their daughters have heart-shaped birthmarks somewhere on their bodies, on their left sides: one on her foot, one on her shoulder and another on the cheek of her bottom. They have their mother’s gift of soul singing and healing, displaying greater compassion and spiritual awareness than the other children. Their mother teaches them fully of her magic and their craft is passed down many generations. The heart-shaped birthmark fades over the generations, becoming instead a mark of legend and abstract magic as opposed to reality … But then again, all legends seem to be founded in some form of truth when you tap into their source.