by Rani Manicka
Suddenly she sat straighter. Someone, a young man, was holding the door open and she saw through it. The boy, the bed, the equipment. Then the man and the boy were lost. The door had been closed. She memorized the location. The door would open again to let the young man out, but she did not want to enter the room just yet. Instead she projected her mind around the room. Twelve by twelve by twelve. Of course, he was being held in a cube.
She took a deep breath. She needed Teddy.
They promise you heaven, so they can steal this world.
- Shahir Zag
Black found himself in a white landscape. Everything was white - the trees, the sky, the ground. A figure materialized against the white backdrop. It was Green, and yet he was no longer green! From head to toe he was varying hues of blue.
‘What happened to you?’ cried Black.
‘Next phase has started.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your season of learning and childlike innocence has passed. We have crossed over into dangerous times, of bows and arrows and hunting; and adulthood.’
‘Where are we?’
‘I brought you here because the room you are being held in contains rather advanced hardware not only able to detect the minute fluctuations in the air caused by any enemy remote viewers entering it, but also designed to disable and trap them with electromagnetic waves. By entering I will harm their machinery, which will constitute as meddling in the ways of men.’
Black nodded distractedly. ‘Have I done the right thing in agreeing to the game?’
‘You had only the illusion of choice. Under black magic rules, the subject of malicious intent must acquiesce first. The victim must seal his own fate or be in agreement on some level for the power to work. It is the same reason why the vampire has to be willingly invited into your home to drain off your blood. After being warned, the victim is deemed to be going on by their own free will, even if he has been thoroughly manipulated to do so, as you were.’
‘Is the real point of this game to get to you?’
Green shook his blue head.
‘Kite seemed very interested in you, though.’
‘Of course he is, but this is really a battle for your energy. Not just yours but all of humanity’s. Come, I want to show you something.’
Black reached out for the offered hand and they were immediately back to somewhere between Earth and the moon.
‘Look carefully at Earth and this time call on intent - it is a force that exists in the universe and is available to all - to see what you did not see before.’
Black concentrated on the blue marble floating in space, but what he saw altered not one iota. ‘What am I looking to see?’
‘It is easier not to see, and it is the unconscious choice the vast majority of humans make. Close your eyes and take the lid off the possibilities that you are open to, then will your perception to expand.’
Black closed his eyes and determined that this time he would see the truth, no matter what it was. When he opened his eyes it was like watching a series of CSI when a black light is shone into a spotless bathroom and suddenly it becomes a ghostly killing ground. Earth was suspended inside a glowing green net, like a fishnet, only the holes were perfectly hexagonal with not a single tear or imperfection anywhere. ‘What is that?’
‘That’s the counterfeit matrix. As with all high technology, it is built with mathematics and sound. It is the fence that regulates what frequencies enter Earth’s biosphere. It is also, as you rightly deduced, a net. For catching and holding humans.’
‘Until we die?’
‘Not even then is escape possible. You are recycled into the system. Endlessly. Drug addicts will speak degradingly of their chosen poison, but they will never give it up. Humans are a drug.’
Black couldn’t take his eyes off the glowing net that was suspended around Earth. ‘What does the net have to do with this sick game I am being forced to play?’
‘That is their signature - hide everything in plain sight. This is not a game. This is ritual sacrifice on a global scale that is calculated to alter the course of humanity. It is an attempt to use a twilight code to subliminally communicate with and imprint the subconscious of the millions, perhaps even billions, who will read about it, hear about it, or watch it on their television screens.’
‘If enough people are poor enough, greedy enough, desperate enough, or foolhardy enough to believe that their contribution is hardly significant, and decide that a hundred dollars is worth more to them than you, the corresponding lowering of their energy will mean they will be powering their own prison. The dark hierarchy must saturate the collective vibration with as much fear, chaos, war, austerity, suffering and moral degradation of the human spirit as possible during this time of awakening. The lower the frequency, the harder it will be for the mass awakening to occur.’
‘This is a battle to decide who transcends and leaves the net and who stays to face the coming degenerated world of the self-appointed overlords and the micro chipped, enslaved, more machine than human population. Naturally, it is their intention to drag as many souls as they are able into a future where everyone is jacked directly into the matrix.’
‘And me, what is my contribution?’
‘Their intention is to turn you from a warm-hearted, compassionate person to a loathsome, hateful, sexually perverted psychopath whom they can take over, mind and body. Your intention must be to remain innocent at all times. Remember, their job is to change the hologram to change you. Your job is to change you to change the hologram.’
‘Oh, one more thing. If you are still planning to see Dakota using the same method as before, I should warn you that they are monitoring your sleep. The moment the computer detects rapid eye movement it will jerk you awake with an electric shock.’
‘Am I not out of my body now?’
‘Yes, but shielded by me. You have another ten minutes to see Dakota. You might want to tell her the story of Milarepa.’
‘Why?’
‘It might help her.’
‘I don’t think I remember it anymore.’
‘Here, let me refresh the memory for you.’ Instantly Black remembered the story with the same clarity he had when his mother had first told it to him five years ago.
‘By the way, if you do see your mother say to her: conspiracy theorists.’
‘Conspiracy theorists?
‘Mmmm.’
Just that?’
‘Just that.’
‘She’ll never understand.’
‘Don’t worry, she will be guided.’
‘Will you come to see me again?’
‘Yes, tomorrow at this time.’
‘Thank you, Green, although you’re so blue now the name seems incongruous.’
Green laughed, the fractals on his face and hands shining bright. ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ he said, and disappeared.
And Black found himself whirling away to an unknown destination inside a long tunnel.
Oh, cross over shame like the wise Dove
Who cares not for fame, just for shy love.
- Ian Hunter/Mott the Hoople,
‘Hymn for the Dudes’ (1973)
Standing on the colorful tiles of Dakota’s inner world, Black stopped at a mirror to look at his reflection: white T-shirt that screamed BAD in bold, black lettering, slim-fitting, black leather pants, and black boots. Astonishing, how changed he was! His shoulders were straight and broad, his mouth was beautifully closed, his eyes bright and his body lean and strong. He was wearing a silver digital watch. He glanced at it, noted the time, and quickly made his way to the cube. She was standing at the doorway he had built for her, looking out anxiously. At the sight of him she started down the pathway, and stopped a foot away from him.
‘I was worried about you,’ she said.
‘Why?’
She shrugged and looked down at her red shoes. He recognized them as Dorothy’s from The Wizard of Oz, and felt a great rush of emotion for her.
How cunningly they had spun her into a world of fairy tales where she would be trapped forever. Never growing up, never living. Like him.
‘How are you?’ he enquired.
She looked up into his gentle eyes. She had missed him. But she never missed anybody. She smiled shyly. ‘I’m OK, I guess, but I’m really glad you’ve come. I wanted to thank you properly for the hourglass device. It works very well. And thank you for my crayons. I’ve used them so much they are all nearly stubs now. Do you want to see my drawings?’
‘OK.’
He followed her into the cube. It was very neat in there. All the drawings were in one corner. She brought them to him.
‘It seems impossible, even to me, but when I start drawing it is as if these things actually happened, but somehow I forgot them. And when they are there, on paper, I still can’t remember them, but it feels as if a little piece of me that was lost has been found.’
Black could hardly believe what he was seeing. Page after page, he was assaulted by unbearable images. Worse tortures than he had seen happen to Winter were depicted. Little girls crouched in fear, strapped spread-eagled on narrow cots; booted men with whips; what seemed to be some kind of abortion with blood squirting everywhere, and watched by a group of screaming, blood-splattered children; rapes; orgies; mutilations; killings; and, oddly, the ubiquitous snake in the background - perhaps they were phallic symbols. The only words he ever saw on the drawings were the words, ‘no’ and ‘help’, repeated over and over. Her art crushed and defeated him.
But when he looked at her, she seemed peculiarly calm and unaffected by the shocking brutality of her drawings. Yet, how could anyone survive such ordeals and not be totally damaged?
‘Do you know, they drowned one little girl who looked exactly like me in ice-water until she shot out of her body.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she was supposed to go into the next room and look at a certain page of a closed book.’
‘And did she?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t remember. Perhaps if I draw it.’ She touched his arm suddenly. ‘I’m worried, Black.’
‘About what?’
‘I don’t know, but I seem to have been here for a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever been sent down this long. Something must be wrong.’
‘I believe things might be changing. I’m playing a game, and if I win they will set you free.’ Black looked into her lovely eyes and felt an aching in his heart. He thought he would burst with the ache. He didn’t tell her that once the game was over she would never see him again, or he her.
‘Who told you that?’
‘A very powerful man.’
‘Then he was lying. Don’t play his game, Black. They will never set me free,’ she said sadly.
‘Why can’t you fight them? I was told that you have great powers, which they are afraid of.’
Dakota looked at Black curiously. ‘What kind of powers?’
Black looked at his watch. ‘Perhaps you will remember them later. I have very little time left, but I must tell you a story before I go. Have you ever heard of Milarepa?
‘I don’t think so.’
‘In that case, come with me.’ He took her by the hand and led her to the gazebo. They sat amongst the perfume of the roses and Black began.
‘There once lived a very famous saint called Milarepa. One day he returned from collecting firewood to find the cave he lived in had been invaded by ferocious demons. Anyone else would have run away, but not him. He believed that every obstacle in life was simply a challenge requiring an appropriate response. Very politely he asked them to leave, but the demons replied by growling and advancing menacingly upon him. Immediately, Milarepa began to utter the most powerful exorcism recitations he knew, but these attempts brought forth only jeers and laughter.
‘Next, he tried to pacify them with Buddhist teachings - the merits of compassion and mercy - but the lessons seem to send them into a great rage. At that point the saint decided to test the teaching that all phenomena are projections of one’s own mind. The demons were nothing more than the unwanted parts of himself. Instead of viewing them as external demons he would see them as they really were, radiant helpers in his spiritual path.
‘He began to sing to them. Charming, sweet melodies, resonant with caring for the ways these beasts had suffered, what they needed to heal their pain, and what he could do for them. With unshakeable fearlessness he welcomed them to stay the night with him. “Do not hasten to leave,” he said, “for it would be my greatest pleasure if you stayed. We will discourse and play together, pit black against white. See who wins.”
‘All but the most terrifying and largest of them began to tremble violently. Shrieking and swirling together they rushed out of the cave in an awful gust. The last remaining one rose onto his hind legs and opened his huge jaws. His fangs dripped with foul-smelling saliva. Milapera realized further surrender was necessary, so he stepped closer to the huge demon and with pure love and compassion put his head in the gaping black mouth of the beast. Instantly the demon melted into nothing and Milapera’s home was his again.’
Black looked at his watch. Just over a minute left. ‘I have to go, Dakota, but I will be back soon. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said, but he could see from her faraway expression that she was still in Milarepa’s cave, and that the story had meant more to her than it ever had to him.
He walked away, but he could not leave without looking back. She was standing amongst the roses, watching him leave, a sad, lonely figure.
‘The next time you come, will you bring me a small wolf?’ she shouted.
‘A what?’
‘A small, gray wolf with a silver and black face and yellow eyes.’
‘OK,’ he said, turning away, knowing the wolf of her desires was already bounding from the fields toward her. But it was such a strange request that he turned to watch. He was surprised to see a large, silver-gray wolf loping fast toward her. It stopped about five or six feet away from her, sat, and began to howl.
She raised her arms out to it and said, ‘I’m sorry, Shadow. I’m so sorry.’
The wolf leaped on her chest, almost knocking her over. Then it set about licking her face and showing such uncontrollable happiness that Black knew he was not witnessing a meeting, but a reunion. He looked at the silver clock face. He had spent longer than he had intended.
‘Mother,’ he said, and suddenly he was in a barren landscape with a stormy blue and black sky. He could hear the thud of feet behind him. He was being chased by an invisible enemy. He was in his mother’s nightmare. He saw her in the distance. She was running barefoot in the opposite direction and calling his name. He called to her and she stopped and turned around. When she saw him she did not run toward him but simply stared at him in an uncomprehending daze. He took one step and he was beside her.
‘I’m alive. Don’t worry about me. It’s hard to explain but I’m playing a game. And when the game is over I will be home. Remember this when you wake up, it’s very important - conspiracy theorists.’
And suddenly he was zapped awake. Searing pain in his brain. His first taste of pain.
Carter was standing over him with a sunny smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but REM sleep is not allowed. And in case you didn’t know, REM stands for rapid eye movement.’
And Black knew that Carter was not such a friendly guy, after all.
The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.
- Wayne Dyer
Bumi woke up with a start in the darkness of the boy’s bedroom. She had dreamed of him, but it had felt so incredibly real. Her heart was still thudding hard. She touched her hand - he had held it. It was four in the morning. The street outside was quiet. The loss of him engulfed her. She pushed her face into his pillow and breathed in the lingering smell of him. She had never stopped using baby shampoo on his hair. To her he was still her baby.
In the dark her head reared up
suddenly, her eyes staring. He had said, conspiracy theorists. Whatever could that mean? He had said it was important. She turned on her side to face the window and heard the letter flap of the downstairs door lift and fall. At four a.m.! She slipped out of bed and ran to the window. A man in a long, dark coat was walking away. She hurried downstairs in her bare feet. The wooden floor was so cold she was covered in goose bumps.
There was a white envelope on the mat. With shaking hands she opened it. An A4 paper held an indecipherable string of letters. However, she knew www meant it was something to do with computers. Something she knew nothing about. She sprinted up the stairs, changed; then did a strange thing, one that she had never done before. She plugged in the microwave, put her coat into it, closed the door, and turned it on at full blast. Puzzled by her own actions, but unable to stop herself, she watched her coat turning through the glass door. Then she unplugged the oven, took the coat out of it, and pulling it on, ran out through the front door. She took the night bus into Shepherds Bush where the son of a Pakistani woman she knew ran an all-night Internet café.
Ashan looked up from his computer screen when she opened the door. ‘Oh, hello, Aunty,’ he greeted, clearly surprised to see her in his shop.
She was too wound up to smile. ‘Can you help me, please?’
‘If I can, I will.’
‘Can you tell me what this is?’ she asked, coming forward and holding out the A4 paper.
Ashan glanced at it. ‘That’s just an address for a website.’
‘Can I see it, please?’
‘Of course.’
She watched carefully as he keyed in the letters and punctuation marks. The screen became black. PLAY GOD appeared in bold flashing letters. An invitation to access the language of your choice appeared next. Ashan clicked on the box that said English, and up popped a computerized image of a man with platinum blond hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a doctor’s overcoat. A folded stethoscope showed in his pocket. He was standing in a virtual doctor’s consulting room.
‘Wonderful. You found us.’ He smiled. “You better come with me, then,’ he said and walked into what looked like a hospital corridor. Blue doors led off from it. “Behind these doors are terminally ill people. All of them will die in the next few months. Today we are going to visit a youth paralyzed since birth. In the next few weeks he will be dead. By means of a computer he has communicated his desire to let you choose if he should live or die. You have exactly one minute to decide.’
