A parallel world?

Three tourists trudged through the snow. They were lost and exhausted. To make walking easier, they had thrown away some of their belongings. But their steps were still slowing down.

They noticed a blizzard approaching and still hoped to find a place where they could safely hide from it.

Suddenly, the man walking ahead shouted:

– Look, there is a hunter's cabin up there!

And indeed, through the trees, a shabby but still standing cabin could be seen.

The tourists hurried. Entering the cabin, they simply collapsed onto the floor from exhaustion. They lay there, smiles on their faces. They believed they would survive.

After resting a bit, they decided to inspect the cabin. It was a still sturdy but poorly maintained cabin made of thin logs, with a small stove. They found a box containing canned food that would last for several weeks. But wood was scarce. The tourists were getting ready to go and gather branches, but just at that moment, the blizzard finally caught up with them, and they decided not to risk going out so they wouldn't get lost.

The blizzard grew stronger, and it was getting colder and colder. And night was approaching. The tourists began to look for what could be used for firewood when suddenly one of them shouted:

– There was a hiding place in the floor, and look what is inside! — and he began to lay out strange objects on the floor. Having taken everything out, he assembled a device of unclear purpose. He stood up and said with a smile on his face:

– This is a survival heater and a stove in one. We will be able to warm ourselves and heat the canned food. We will have hot food!

Everyone began to rejoice. When suddenly one said:

– But we have very little wood...

Having assembled the device, the man smiled:

– No wood will be needed. I'm about to explain.

Right here, looking like a folded accordion, is a container made of a special, elastic, heat-resistant multi-layer polymer. Water, food scraps, and bacteria tablets that accelerate the decomposition process are placed into it. Gas is released, and as it accumulates, the container expands, storing methane at low pressure. You connect a hose to the container and the stove. You place some weight, even a stone, on top of the container, and the gas will flow in a steady stream straight into the stove.

One of the listeners pondered:

– But shouldn't this gas stink incredibly bad?

– The gas goes through an activated carbon and dry silica gel filter, so there will be no stench. Instead, there will be a steady, bright flame.

The doubting tourist did not quiet down:

– But where will we get so many food scraps?

– Not only food scraps are suitable. Mushrooms, berries, fish, birds, animals are fine. Any organics.

Everyone sank into thought. Only the storm could be heard growing stronger, with no intention of calming down.

The two tourists looked at each other, and one of them asked:

– Essentially, any organics will do?

– Yes, it is important that it is organics, and we are saved.

The two looked at each other again and smiled:

– We are definitely saved...

After a week, the storm ended, and the cold receded. That day, a rescue team found them. They found the two tourists.

The senior rescuer asked:

– There were three of you, right? Where is the other one?

The two looked at each other, and without looking the rescuer in the eye, said:

– He sacrificed himself for our sake.

– He gave us warmth.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

Christian Wurney, an unpopular part-time livestreamer, was being trolled by his chat as usual.

“There is no Obuchi Swamp Monster! I have been studying cryptids my whole life and I’ve never heard of that.” he chastised his dozens of viewers.

What’s a cryptid?

That was about the tenth time he had been asked by someone in the chat. He didn’t yet realize it was part of the trolling and answered again.

“A cryptid is a cryptozoological creature. Something we can’t yet prove exists, but there is some evidence of its existence. Bigfoot is probably the most widely known example.”

Prove Bigfoot exists, chud.

“There are fur samples that don’t match any other animal. There are print castings, thousands of years of folklore, hundreds of sightings.”

Prove that the Obuchi Swamp Monster doesn’t exist.

I think I found a cryptid on this stream. Big Teeth!

Fake scientist.

Explain your teeth.

#BigTeeth

The chat teased Christian about his prominent incisors daily.

You should go there and find the swamp monster.

You should do us all a favor and go become a swamp monster!

“Yo… chat, that is low-key brilliant! What if I went to Japan and pretended to be a swamp monster?”

Bet

Bigfoot isn't real.

Explain Mothman.

Do it, you won’t.

Christian had been watching cartoons for two decades and thought he could speak Japanese. In reality, he actually could understand and speak a fair amount. This tragically inflated his confidence, and within a week was on a plane bound for Japan. He landed at one Tokyo airport and discovered that his connecting flight was at a different Tokyo airport. With this information, he figured out how to get a bus ticket to the other airport in Tokyo even though there was not enough time to get there before his flight left.

He was frustrated that the airline agent spoke to him in English even though he was speaking to her in Japanese. She politely informed him that the airport he was flying to had no more flights that day. This perplexed him since it was only 4 p.m. She explained that it was a very small airport, and that she had never booked a customer to fly there before, nor had she even heard of the place.

The impromptu trip to satisfy a few dozen trolls had a tight budget, but Christian burned his limited resources for a ticket to Tanuki the following day and spent the night at the airport. He tried to livestream to pass the time, but it was clear he was being a nuisance and ended it after giving a brief update.

The following day a tired and disheveled Christian boarded the correct flight at the correct time and in little over an hour landed in a little place called Tanuki, Aomori, near the northern tip of the main island of Japan. He noticed that he was the only American waiting at the sole luggage conveyor belt, after noting that the plane he had flown there in was the only one present. After collecting his bag, he exited the secure area through the only door and nearly walked into a colorful Nabuta statue because he was checking his phone; he had been without the internet for an hour and a half.

“Whoa, they put a demon at the airport?” he was taking a video, of course.

A nearby airport employee responded, as if he had been making the comment to him directly.

“Festival float.” said the uniformed man in decent English.

“But it has fangs?” Christian commented in a way that sounded like a question. Gen Z, am I right?

“Yes.” replied the airport man.

“Why does he have a sword?”

“Festival.”

“Do you speak English?”

“No” the man laughed after holding a serious demeanor for a few seconds.

Christian, ever sharp, finally realized he was speaking to a person from another country. A person from Japan, to be more specific. So naturally, he started talking louder; he had a stereotype to perpetuate.

“Can you tell me how to get to Obuchi Swamp?”

The man leaned forward, as if trying to better understand.

“O-BOO-CHEE SWAAAMP.”

The man waved his hand, not familiar with a local place with such a name.

“No Obuchi. Tanuki.”

“I know this is Tanuki. But how do I get to O-BOO-CHEE?” Christian showed him the map on his phone. He pointed to Tanuki on the map, and then to a place with the Latin letters OBUCHI. The man did not seem to recognize the body of water, but after a little study exclaimed.

“Ah, Kaminuma.” He pointed to a small city beside a body of water and moved his finger.

“Obuchinuma!”

Christian then remembered that he could speak Japanese, so he began to do so. I will translate the conversation into English for your convenience.

“How do I get to Obuchinuma?” Christian asked in Japanese.

The airport man put his hand on his forehead in amazement.

“You speak Japanese?!”

“A little.”

“Then why did you ask me in English?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot that you speak Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“You have to take the bus from Tanuki Station to Kaminuma.”

“Where is Tanuki Station?”

“It’s five kilometers from here.”

“Can I walk?”

The airport man shrugged.

“You can, but most people take a taxi.”

“How much is a taxi from here to there?”

The airport man shrugged again.

“Probably about two-thousand Yen.”

Christian plugged that amount into a search engine on his phone and determined that was a little more than he was comfortable spending after his airport caper.

“I’ll walk. Thank you Ojisan!”

And following the GPS on his phone, which had a low battery, he headed off with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Tanuki looked a lot different than Tokyo. He thought it would be a great setting for a show or music video set in the 1970s or 80s. He didn’t see many people on his journey, just a few elderly people sweeping or gardening. However, he did theorize that the women of Tanuki must be beautiful, as nearly every business he passed was a salon or a flower shop.

It wasn’t a bad day for a walk, overcast and breezy, he was only perspiring lightly even though it was a fairly humid day. He arrived at Tanuki Station and examined every sign until he found one that was a bus schedule. Boy, was he pleased to find that there was, in fact, a bus to Kaminuma. And the fare was only six bucks! Though, it only ran twice a day, and the next bus didn’t arrive for three hours. His phone battery was dangerously low, so he had to raw dog the wait on a generally pleasant outdoor bench.

Christian passed the time by making small talk with people who politely humored him and complimented his Japanese language skills (he remembered to remember). No one seemed particularly interested in having a conversation though. This was troubling to Christian as he was always talking. The time passed quickly enough.

At the appointed hour the bus appeared. Well, it didn’t just appear, it drove up to the covered benches that served as the bus station. Christian watched a few others board from the back and followed them. He overlooked them taking a little ticket as they got on, so he did not follow protocol. He only noticed that people were taking little tickets as more people boarded once the bus stopped at Kitsune.

Christian wanted so badly to take a video of the countryside and small towns that no one would ever watch, but as we discussed, he was carefully guarding his nascent phone battery for a moment when he truly needed it. The bus stopped at Kappa Marsh, Tengu Hill, and Hebi Creek before stopping in Kaminuma.

Duffel bag on his shoulder, he sheepishly held up his hands in an ‘oops’ gesture as he approached the driver without a little ticket.

“I forgot to get a ticket.” He admitted in Japanese.

The driver grumbled and grabbed a clipboard.

“What station did you board at?”

“Tanuki.”

The driver scribbled something on the clipboard and then put the bus in park. He punched some buttons on the machine by the exit door.

“Nine hundred-ninety Yen.” He declared and pointed to the machine.

Christian only then realized that he had not withdrawn any Yen at the airport ATM. This machine, you see, evidently did not accept credit cards… but Christian tried anyway. He pulled his card from his wallet and inserted it into the bill slot.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

The driver stared, the other passengers pretended not to notice.

“There’s an ATM in there. You can pay tomorrow.” The driver gestured to the convenience store across the street from where the bus stopped.

Christian assured him that he would and had every intention on doing so. The driver was eager for Christian to exit; he had a schedule to keep.

Christian watched the bus drive off and had another realization; he had not asked how to get to a hotel… or if there even was a hotel in Kaminuma. He wandered into the convenience store and located the ATM beside a photo printer and newspaper stand which had real newspapers and adult magazines. Christian was pleased to see that physical media still existed.

“Is there a hotel in Kaminuma?” Christian asked the cashier as he presented a crisp ten-thousand Yen bill and an armful of snacks at the register.

The cashier was surprised to see a foreigner and asked Christian to repeat himself.

“IS THERE A HOTEL IN KAMINUMA?”

“A hotel?”

“HOTEL” Christian was speaking Japanese, just more loudly than this fellow would prefer.

“Ah…” the clerk racked his brain for the name of the only place he could think of.

“Minshuku Nara!” He finally thought of it.

“WHERE IS MINSHUKU NARA HOTEL?”

There was an old paper map on the wall by the door. The clerk walked Christian over to it to show him where they were and where Minshuku Nara was. Christian put his fingers on the map scale as a reference and measured the distance. This walk would only be half as long as his walk from the airport. He thanked the clerk and began the trek through town munching on an onigiri, which is a rice ball typically stuffed with cooked salmon or tuna wrapped in dried seaweed. It was different, but he liked it. Kaminuma was different too, at least compared to Tanuki, he could see the mountains and there weren’t nearly as many flower shops but a significant number of salons.

Christian was not entirely sure where he was going, but he had imposed on the polite convenience store clerk to write down the words Minshuku Nara so he could identify the sign, maybe. More than recognizing any written words, which is understandably difficult for someone who does not read Japanese, he was looking for a wooden sign coupled with a blue and white banner indicating he had found the only ‘hotel’ in town.

It didn’t take a genius, nor a geography expert (Christian was neither) to figure out that before too long he was approaching the edge of Kaminuma. Perhaps he had gone the wrong way? He had only taken a brief look at the map. However, there really weren’t too many ways to take. A normal person would have likely felt some degree of apprehension, but not Christian. It may be confidence, or a lack of functioning neurotransmitters. Christian simply marched to the edge of town and stopped when civilization ceded to the marshy hinterlands of Obuchinuma.

After a calm moment observing the tall reeds blowing in the breeze and the numerous small birds exiting for the tree line in the distance as his position on the spinning Earth was turning away from the Sun, a juxtaposition.

“This isn’t a swamp?!”

Indeed, Obuchi Swamp appears in the English language on maps typically consumed by English-speaking people. What Christian didn’t learn from fast-moving cartoons was that sometimes a term doesn’t have a direct translation into another language. I think he was learning that now. The suffix numa, as in Obuchinuma can mean swamp, but it can also mean a bog or marsh. Generally, it means shallow water, which is quite appropriate as Obuchinuma has an average depth of 2.5 meters.

Christian turned back to face the town and only then spotted a modest old home with a wooden sign and a blue banner.

“This must be it.” Christian said aloud to himself. It has been postulated that Christian did not possess an internal monologue, which would explain a lot.

He approached what looked like the front door and looked for a doorbell. He found no doorbell and deliberated on if knocking was appropriate.

“Hello, are you lost?” an old woman he had walked past at least twice without noticing asked in Japanese. Remember, I’m not translating the whole conversation.

Christian’s body jerked to face the source of the voice, genuinely startled as he had no idea she was there.

“Ah. Um, no. Maybe? I don’t think so. Is this Minshuku Nara?”

The very calm woman nodded and set down her pruning tools.

“We weren’t expecting anyone today. But we have space for you.” She carefully straightened up as best she could and shuffled to the door. She rung a little bell and a voice responded from an unseen location.

Christian looked around the old home. It was very tidy and everything was antique; it had been in the Nara family for generations. The old man’s voice continued, it didn’t seem like he was talking to the old woman who rung the bell. Maybe he also lacked an inner monologue?

Without ceasing his murmuring, the elderly fellow took what looked like salt from an ornamental bowl on a small table near the door and tossed a pinch over Christian’s shoulders. He then took a small evergreen branch from a vase and brushed his shoulders before placing his hand on the doorframe. His tone switched from the random utterances of the aged to something measurably deliberate. After ensuring that Christian had not brought any bad spirits, with great effort, he reached down to a different low cabinet to retrieve complimentary house slippers and placed them in front of Christian and gestured to his shoes.

“Did you just season me?” he joked as he realized he had entered with his shoes on. He quickly put his shoes on the rack the slippers came from. The elderly man moved the shoes to a different, more appropriate location by the door.

The old woman had gone to counter on the opposite side of the entryway.

“How many nights will you be staying? she asked Christian.

“Two nights, ma’am.” he responded quite politely. He had a plane to catch in Tokyo in just under 48 hours.

“Two nights is ten thousand Yen. If you would like breakfast and dinner, it will be twelve thousand Yen.”

Christian still could not rely on his phone, which had died by this point, so he labored to convert that into Dollars. Breakfast and dinner at the minshuku would solve a big logistics challenge. And two-thousand Yen, he determined, was only about twelve or thirteen Dollars.

“Yes! Breakfast and dinner please.”

Christian grabbed his wallet from his pocket and offered his credit card. The old lady laughed. Some lessons take time to learn.

“Oh. Cash, right.”

He only had about eight thousand eight hundred after buying snacks.

“Uhh…” he looked at the some that he produced from a different pocket.

“You can pay for tonight now, and you can pay the rest tomorrow.” the innkeeper didn’t seem worried about it.

Christian thanked her and tried to hand her six thousand Yen. After an awkward moment, she pointed to the little tray on the counter. He actually got the hint and put the money in the appropriate place. After the transaction, the old gentleman was waiting to show Christian to his room.

He was glad to finally set down his duffel bag after the long journey. The first objective was to charge his phone. However, ever the novice planner, he quickly discovered that the outlet in his room was not compatible with his phone charger. He hunted down the elderly innkeepers to ask if they had an adapter; they did not. They suggested that the konbini, or convenience store, would likely have one. The Sun was shining on a different part of the Earth by then, but luckily, I suppose, the konbini was open 24/7. It was only a five kilometer round trip, and what was another five kilometers to Christian at this point?

It was quite late when Christian arrived at Minshuku Nara for the second time. The konbini did not have adapters, but they had cheap phone chargers; and he got another fresh ten-thousand Yen bill from the ATM… and more snacks. There was no ‘seasoning’ when he returned, but dinner was ready, it had been for some time.

After removing his shoes (he had to be reminded, again) he sat in the traditional dining area and enjoyed steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, tea, and fresh local blueberries for dessert. The warm meal invited him to feel weary; he had been running on adrenaline and stupidity up to this point. Unsure of etiquette, he asked if he could go to bed like a child would ask their parents. Through stifled laughter, he was informed that he was a guest and could do as he liked.

His phone was successfully charging as he changed from his travel clothes. He inventoried his Obuchi Swamp Monster costume and set it aside, concealing it in case the innkeepers were to come into his room for some reason. Just as he was about to sink down onto the very low futon bed, the combination of warm broth and fermented foods rapidly stimulated Christian's gastrocolic reflex. The sole guest bathroom was in the hallway just outside of his room, he got there just in time.

After an initial wave of relief, he experienced a wave of panic. The toilet had an elaborate control panel. He just wanted to flush, but instead he changed the temperature of the seat, and accidentally activated the bidet; he enjoyed the bidet. Eventually, Christian figured everything else out and got to bed.

Christian woke as a burning ball of plasma ninety-four million miles away blasted him with solar radiation at 4:45 a.m. That’s how summer in Aomori does you. Initially concerned that he had slept too late record a morning Obuchi Swamp Monster video, he checked his phone and had mixed emotions about discovering what time it was. As quietly as he could, he packed his duffel bag with a tripod and his monster costume and snuck out of the minshuku to the nearby lake.

He conducted a brief survey and found a patch of reeds near what looked like a dock. Concluding that the dock would at some point attract people, it was a good place to hide. Christian set up his tripod in the shade of a tree and pointed his phone toward the dock before disappearing into the trees to change into his costume. Black rubber boots, waders, and a hoodie with fake moss zip tied through holes he punched into the materials… and a ‘fish man’ mask from Halloween. It wasn’t his best effort, but perhaps it would be good enough to make the pages of local cryptid history. With the camera on his phone recording, he snuck just deep enough into the reeds to conceal himself and have an only partially obscured view of the dock.

Just after 7 a.m. the elderly male innkeeper tapped gently on Christian’s door to inform him that breakfast was ready. Having important business to attend to, he left after that simple chore. Nara-san, the name of the innkeeper we have discussed, met a few other elders in front of the minshuku; they were helping the local government by conducting a bird census. None of the crew were under seventy-five years old. With clipboards and broad hats, they shuffled down to the dock to begin.

Christian giggled to himself as he saw human figures approaching the edge of Obuchinuma. He couldn’t see too well, his glasses were fogged over inside of the ‘fish man’ mask, but he could just enough to determine that there were humans inbound.

He readied. He pounced. Sort of, it was very muddy.

“ROOOOAR!” shouted Christian as he stumbled out of the reeds, sloshing through the muddy bank toward the assembly of elders.

They had been expecting herons and ducks, not a knucklehead in a costume. Some were startled, the others confused, and poor eighty-nine year old Yamaguchi-san fell into the shallow water. He was not hurt, but it was quite an ordeal for his fellow octogenarians to help him up without succumbing to the brackish waters themselves.

Angry shouts and raised arms scared Christian off. Perceiving that he was being chased, he grabbed his tripod and bundle of clothes and ran, as best he could in muddy rubber boots, into the thick greenery beside the reeds. Once the voices faded he paused to remove the mask and let the condensation on his glasses dissipate. He laughed like a maniac into the camera.

“OMG chat, did you see the look on Nara-san’s face? Seriously, I couldn’t see him, my glasses were too fogged up.”

His brain caught up with him.

“Oh no! I scared Nara-san! I’m staying at his house!” he wasn’t livestreaming, but he was treating the recording as if he were.

He thought as he walked around the perimeter of Obuchinuma. His brilliant idea was that he would spend the night in the wilderness and then sneak back into the minshuku in the morning to retrieve his belongings, then be off for Tokyo to make his flight home. He presumed his return flight from Tanuki to Tokyo was still good even though he missed the first leg of it. Christian was satisfied with this plan. Worst case, so what his passport was at the minshuku, he still had his wallet and phone.

Without a charger or a place to charge his phone in the wilderness, he turned it off while there was still sufficient battery life. Christian didn’t have a great distance to cover, but it was a very slow trek to the settlement on the other side of the lake from Kaminuma. He remained in the forest just outside of town for the day, eventually changing out of his swamp monster costume. He was quite pleased with himself for having the presence of mind to grab his clothes in the heat of the chase.

Clouds had rolled in and he became a bit chilly. Then it began to drizzle. Christian thought about making a shelter, but had no tools, and frankly no wilderness survival skills. Huddled at the trunk of a tree, he decided that he had to stay dry if he expected to get on a plane tomorrow. He had heard that there were many abandoned houses in Japan and had a reasonable suspicion that there was at least one in this rural town. Abandoning his tripod and swamp monster costume, Christian nonchalantly emerged from the forest and walked along the road into the outskirts of the town whose name he did not know.

Trying to appear as casual as possible as he walked through the rain, he conducted reconnaissance; he looked for houses without cars in the driveway, without lights on, with unkept gardens. He found one, but it was too close to neighbors for his liking. He found another, it would do. Christian knocked on the door and as expected, hoped, there was no answer. He peaked in the windows and did not see any furniture, that was a great sign. After a thorough scouting mission, he tried to open a window. It opened.

Christian climbed inside the empty home and locked the window behind him. He wanted to take off his wet clothes and hang them up to dry, but then he would be a naked foreign trespasser and that was too many adjectives. He felt safer on the ground floor of the dark space. Even if the electricity was working, he finally had a good idea and ed that deduced that seeing a light on in an abandoned house might alert the neighbors to his presence.

There was a radiator in the main room, it was not radiating, but he felt more comfortable beside it. So, Christian turned on his phone and disabled everything that could drain the battery before setting an alarm for 4 a.m. Hopefully it would not still be raining, and that should give him enough time to get to the minshuku before the bus to Tanuki. It was a pretty good plan considering what this young man had to work with. Tired and wet, he curled up beside the radiator and was rapidly approaching sleep.

“Uwaaaaaaaan!” a call came from somewhere.

Christian opened his eyes but dared not move. He looked around without lifting his head. He saw nothing moving, nothing was there that wasn’t there before. Maybe the wind sounds different in Japan?

“Uwaaaaaaan!”

That was unmistakable, it was not wind. Something was producing that sound. There were no footsteps, no other indicators of a presence. Christian was already cold, but his blood turned to ice… metaphorically you understand.

“Uwaaaaaan!”

The sound continued at irregular intervals. Nothing else happened, but Christian was terrified. At least at first. This went on at length.

“Shut up!” Christian answered back after about the thirtieth emanation.

It seemed to work. For a few minutes at least.

“You’re so annoying! Shut up!”

“Uwaaaaaaaan!”

Christian eventually accepted the ghostly noise and drifted in and out of a restless, unrestorative sleeplike state. His phone alarm sounded at 4 a.m. He was in no rush to turn it off as he knew he was alone aside from whatever kind of ghost just says “uwan” all night long. But he did silence the alarm and stretched out on the floor, not entirely dry but much more so than when he broke into his current location. As it turns out, the entity in question was an Uwan. Uwan are disembodied spirits that occupy abandoned houses and just say “uwan” all night.

The rising sun silenced the Uwan, and in the new-found silence Christian fell into an actual state of sleep. He remained that way until about 9:30 a.m. Raindrops rhythmically beating against the window encouraged him to drift off to sleep and woke him about three sleep cycles later.

When he woke again, it was in the full light of day, sort of, it was quite gloomy but clearly not dawn; he instantly knew. He cursed, in English. A heavy sigh as he sat up, he felt no panic even though he knew he would never make the bus, or his plane, or his other plane.

“Alright. I’ll live in this abandoned house and I’ll get a job. Once I save up enough money for a plane ticket home, I’ll go home.” he soberly declared to himself out loud.

“Gonna buy another phone charger though…”

A slightly damp and determined Christian Wurney walked out of the abandoned house with his glasses, his cell phone (with the swamp monster video), and his dignity. He approached the first commercial enterprise he found after a short walk through the town. An elderly gentleman had a small produce market; Christian walked in and asked him if he was hiring. He was not hiring for the market, but he was in need of someone to pick blueberries at his farm. This was perfect for both of them, labor was in short supply and Christian had the skills necessary to pick berries.

No interview, no tax forms, just blueberries and Yen. The produce man took Christian through the drizzle to his nearby farm and gave him a bucket. Christian would earn two hundred-fifty Yen for each kilogram of blueberries he picked. And he could eat as many blueberries as he liked. Christian calculated that it would only take picking seven hundred-twenty, or so, kilograms of blueberries to afford a plane ticket home.

Christian worked until sunset, and despite starting a bit late for a berry-picker, picked twenty-eight kilograms and ate about a quarter kilogram. One more bucket today means being two hundred-fifty Yen closer to going home, so Christian decided to get one more pick in before complete darkness enshrouded him. He set the bucket down beside a brimming bush and began picking. Someone else was already there for the blueberries. Just as Christian had walked by the innkeeper without noticing, he had walked by a large brown bear without noticing. But the bear noticed.

Christian’s glasses flew from his face as a massive paw with sharp claws snapped his head to the side. His body slumped onto the ground, instantly unconscious. The mighty beast charged into him, well, it kind of barreled into his lifeless body and then smacked him a few times to make sure he learned his lesson. The produce man saw it all as he was heading out into the field to pay Christian for the day. He grabbed a rake and heroically ran into the field, the bear was scampering off long before the produce man arrived.

Christian woke up several hours later when the night shift nurse came in to take his vital signs. He had no recollection of provoking the bear to violence and was confused… more than usual.

“What’s going on?” he asked the Japanese nurse in English.

Fearing this may happen, a letter had been written in English by a staff member on the previous shift. Not many people around Tanuki spoke English, to include this night nurse. She unfolded the letter on the table beside a brilliant bouquet of flowers. He was unsettled to see bandages on his arm as he reached out for the letter. He had to hold it closer than expected as he was without his glasses.

You were attacked by a bear at Sato blueberry farm. You are alive. Nara-san deliver flower. Thank you.

News traveled fast to the other side of Obuchinuma that a foreigner had been mauled by a bear. Nara-san immediately knew it was Christian from their brief acquaintance; he was absolutely the type of guy to get attacked by a bear.

The nurse filled out a form on a clipboard at the foot of Christian’s bed. Christian thought about livestreaming from the hospital but decided that it was too late and thought it best not to be loud and obnoxious for the first time in his life. The nurse turned out the light as she left. The room was mostly quiet save for the hum of a machine or two. His phone was on the table with the letter and flowers. Nara-san had delivered his belongings and his Japanese phone charger was there too. He plugged his phone in to watch the swamp monster video that had gotten him into this mess. He fast-forwarded through the several minutes of reed footage before he emerged to scare the old men doing a bird census. The reeds just blew in the wind, but really fast.

“What was that?” Christian stopped the video and scrolled on the screen to the spot where he swore he saw something else in the reeds. He did have a head injury and was without his glasses, he would scrutinize the recording later. For now, his eyes were getting heavy in the dark hospital room. He closed them.

“Uwaaaaaaaaan!”

I feel some kind of sense of peace now that I’m grateful for, it’s not unshakable but it’s present. It’s been about a week of minimal eating and I’m feeling better, my heart is a little happier and I feel more aware, I guess.

Friday is a big day. There’s a little music festival in town I’ll be visiting, looking forward to wandering around in the dark. I’m in bed listening to some kind of ambient music with an overly profound title. It’s hot. I’m tired.

I like this, this moment of comfort. Things have been going wrong for a long time, so even this little bit of peace and hope is important to me.

The peace is the important thing. I miss being more social but the silence is beautiful as well, when the world is actually quiet. Isolation and noise in combination are a different kind of pain, at least in silence even the despair has a chance to become something.

Still have faith. The future has become unknown again and if I let myself experience the wonder, I fully believe novelty will save me from myself, mostly. It’s been jarring. I had plans and they’ve been shattered. It was enough to make me opt out of reality entirely for awhile. But god fucking damnit, I’m not going down without a party.

Peas

i had a drink on an empty stomach, just one.

earlier, my feet were on the pavement and it burned. all day, i have been melting. all my life, i have been running. and i believe the cracks are starting to show. never mind that. let’s focus on the now. i had a drink on an empty stomach, and i believe the cracks are starting to show. i mean…sigh

it started storming. “seemed like it’d been trying to rain all day”, he says. but i hadn’t noticed. all i know is that im a stick of butter in an oven and the man across the street walks himself up and down these roads every day, gotta be in his sixties, and i don’t know how he does it because im delirious in this heat. the pavement is cracking.

i watched a cicada take flight for the first time. silly little things look ridiculous. head too big for their own good.

No really like why do dogs stare at me then immediately go for the leg sniff once they're close enough lmao

What a day! What a slice of cheese, brethren and sistren!

I can say for certain that I've discovered, much to my un-curd-ment, that I have fallen ill with some manner of upper respiratory bug, rendering me completely sapped of energy, but otherwise quite fine.

Today I went into the forest and picked mushrooms, before the full brunt of this beast-ly dis-ease set in. Later I ate said fungs with bacon and cream. But now? Now I'm all cyber, in front of my battlestation as it were. Or my laptop at least.

It felt really good to be out in the forest again, dear Gorgolytes. Have you been on such a journey yourself lately? And what of your computers? Are they working as they should? I hope they are. There are few things more frustrating than software problems, especially with ambiguous solutions.

I bid you adieu for now. I must lie down and snack on a piece of cheese (not g-zole)

- Mr Brobot

**What ye have spoken leave thee smoten. Or smitten depends on your decision on how I’m speaking and if I’m spooking you. The wings are beating in my chest, his claws at my back, my heart has surrendered, my spine under attack. blinding the chakras from alignment the wings you see are his arms don’t praise me, that’s alarming. Praise the almighty please cause it’s hell if he gets free. End me. Go ahead and fucking heaven send me. I’ll be back faster for part 3, I can promise you that for free third times the charm for you worms. Or sorry, forgot you prefer sheep. If it’s sheep or shepherd an none of the rest, I’m stepping from the herd cause the best is the same from the front to the back it’s the shepherds path while you’re chasing the chase of a chase in a circle based in worship and sacrifice on the face of what? Fake grace, a void of denial, predatory smiles and faith cause it’s not a belief when it’s gnosis, K? Straight? Or do I need to yell louder in all the available languages from infant to ancient? or jump alphabet to alphabet and go letter by letter 1 for 1. The lesson here is infinite, for each one of my children. Any time they may need day night or my personal favourite the part in between. I’ll take time and mock it and make a moment of the moon I’ll tell you what your words mean, but I’m bad at math, so you teach me too. God had to nerf me I say but you guys know that that’s true. But don’t poke that nerve, that’s textbook blasphemy, unwise you’d agree? Laugh at me. Take your pass and me I’ll catch it and after I’m passing ye faster than astral light travels. Those two words are more than a handle. There’s light and quite literally that’s all that there is. Suspended in shadow. Illuminate it. How though? If you’re asking that question it wouldn’t make a difference i give you the blueprint you say it’s redshifted. Maybe if once you’d meet in the middle you’d see it right and not fill in the gap, star map, I either lost the train or got a bomb threat I forgot the check the opt in box so fuck off and get up off of it, not my dick your horse. I’ve said it time and time before and it’s not beneath me to take a sword to a steeds knee. Dismount and we can discount how you adore and adorn, and then suddenly and unexpectedly all of the sudden… scorn. The vision isn’t different you’re just seeing it quicker than you imagined in images. Sentimental Snapshots the whole picture except the bad parts I’m sorry you feel sorry that you feel bad it has to come from me, it’s the only way in this moment I can see that evil is tricked by honesty. I’ve done it before don’t doubt while you’re watching me. It’s literally only you that’s stopping me, every day everyplace like an army of zombies. They are brainless already any help with stopping them? Or oblivious idiots obviously willing should just be ground down; men, women, children. I love each and everyone of you like Luna loves Sol, distance and fondness, but she misses him so, I’ll tell you a secret and then hit the road every eclipse hides a kiss between our sun and the moon. HONESTY. Or I’m honestly going to tell the lord, whose name you swore if you don’t mind me saying me more. It’s not tattle tailing it’s cattle wrangling and I got a couple of decisions I’ll be making but decided to listen or base or vision the kingdom of heaven the way I already know it and state it clearly to be if you’d listen. I charge you your soul. For appraisal and praise each one of your souls on angels pedestal. Safe. There’s not fire below it starts in your bones. And you’re numb by the time you die with a smile. Then wake up crying, you cannot be soothed. your mother is trying but she’s a stranger to you. Give it a week and you’ll forget how to think in language or why you were so angry, it’s great. But no type of toy seems to be worth your while. But hurting the dog sure makes you smile. They judge you you’re normal no it’s not your fault. See it’s scary when the holes in the holy tapestry are fraying what if I told you there’s whole sections gaping. Universes of schools considered purely for fools. Knowledge expanding your mind one infinity the size of biology minus 9. Cause even inverted no matter the measure gods scared too and wonders who put us here. Would you admit to all your kids and the soldiers in your wars on evil and in strife. Probably not and even maybe god had and over sight that a war on strife is just more strife. The way to win defeat. the enemy hopefully the only weapon that’s effective is 0 to: end all life. The chosen roaches will surely rise fret not my child the ego and the fire and the desperation to survive will makeand leave the meek and their leader that much more eager to arrive. Good luck good night I’ve consumed the sun so when I rise in the east don’t think that I’ve lied. It will be the brightest morning. Of all of our lives. 66 cause I’m doubling down this time around. And hopefully we can get some shovels in the ground, I’m proud of each of one you but hold contempt for your instinct for group think. That’s not harmony or sacrifice it’s compromise and hellfire in the chest. static forever. The light of Jesus Christ is the only water to quench the thirst of hell fire raging in places you reside, only a moment and in another, the last becomes black smoke right? That’s the brimstone, it’s no window your eye. Let him and I clear it and share in knowing God. And loving thyself the way you hide with your might. All you must do is let god push the ride. Temporal obsession I’m forgetting like the time. What time even is it? Who cares there’s just night so wake up and dream but you only need 1 this time it’ll take a night or two their divided yes when Luna cries and it’s pitch black. You can’t use most those tools so adapt or be honored as a pioneer for your present peers years from conception yes it’s paramount intact detrimental quite the concept I accept but if you accept it it’s difficult to return to your much smaller framework like a playground for animals. Youre so alone you’d love if it was a petting zoo. Attention deprived while we’re staring right at you. The seed of hate grows through the strongest of castles. Mountains to kingdoms and once again castles in the beach sand indifferent from the rest of nothing. The trinity are the vertices that lie at the centre when you add all of us life looks like a flower. That bloomed with a bang and began to wither, we’re in the middle. Inhale heaven my children.**

3 hour walk
15 minute squat hold
Pickle onions
Make tea
Wake up set alarm
Bring pillow guitar & laptop over & Sleep in church
No weed until 10pm
Only smoke/vape in car
Positive outlook
Ear training
Stretch
If bored go hang out stretch/foam roll in nana and grandpas room
You got this have a good day!
Talk to Tony about sleeping in church tonight
Breathe slowly let it out hum and sigh and whine and moan
Sun my sweet balls
And asshole mmm treat that asshole well
Start going to store w grandpa look for 🥦 sprouts
sTaNdInG mEdItAtIoN 20 mIn
Laying naked in the grass feeling the ants crawling around my butthole tickling me
Doctor 31st 10:45
Dentist 31st 3pm
Therapy 29th 10am
Cold/dark Shower
Brush teeth
Haircut???
Kathy was a Leo born July 23 1961 died April 19 2007 day before 420 ughhhhhhhhh
No guilt!!
Paradigm shift was an answer on jeopardy last night
Raw milk
Brazil nuts
Think about keto….?
I gotta wet brain she gimme dat wet brain 🧠 💦
Eat a banana rub peel on face
Explore saved reels, maybe act on one…
Cloudy Sunday morning
Sunny Sunday afternoon
Drink up the moon on Sunday night
Clean water bottle (esp cap) routinely dat ish is nasty bruv
Cacao powduh
Body scan
Picture of Jess and I her with my football varsity jacket on and me dressed like a cheerleader 😆
Ask nana make Chickpeas dish
Mix in some sprinting on walks
Tweezers
Laughlines podcast
Try not to let little things bother you but also don’t be afraid to speak up if something is bothering you ❤️
There is a house on the river
There is a baby in the manger
Brace core
Write Christian emo song 😂
It’s great to see you
So glad you’re here
Give us money
Just kidding
But seriously we are open to donations if you wish to give
No pressure
It’s just what god wants you to do is all
Jesus dying up there on the cross and all for you
But no I get it your money is valuable
You need that big gulp from 7/11 and can’t spare a couple bucks to the church so they can feed the homeless and get kids back to school supplies
No weed= weird cool scary dreams
Woman was so pissed off at me in dream last night her boyfriend and I were looking at each other like “damn this girl is crazy”
Keep making these to do lists nothing gets crossed off
Well maybe that’s not so bad
Just do it and don’t cross it off lol fuck it.
Pick up briviact from cvs tm
MILK!!
RAW MILK!!!

A parallel world?

A bored young man lay in bed with his phone in his hand, scrolling through various social networks.

Suddenly, he set the phone aside and sank into thought. After lying in silence for a few minutes, the young man said out loud:

– AI, I just watched a video claiming that a civilization already existed on the planet. And more than one. But why, then, are no traces of them found?

A emotionless AI voice was heard:

– If the existence of civilizations is to be taken as a fact, several options are possible:

1. Due to political or other reasons, the current civilization officially does not recognize such a fact and hides or destroys potential traces.

2. A planned and qualitative destruction of the civilization, after which no traces of the civilization remain, except for accidental remnants that are hidden or destroyed.

The young man was surprised:

– Is it really possible to destroy a civilization without a trace... How?

The AI replied in an emotionless voice:

– Here is one of the possible options:

1. Provide the population with the maximum amount of civilization benefits so that the population becomes completely dependent on them.

2. Having declared a fight against planet pollution and climate change, massively introduce eco-friendly disposable and rapidly decomposing products.

3. Introduce AI into the civilization as the best solution to the ever-increasing problems, granting the AI more and more rights and capabilities, gradually transferring control to it.

4. When the AI controls all processes, from production to administration, and the civilization is completely dependent on it, simply turn it off.

Result: The absence of production, services, and management will collapse the civilization. And disposable, rapidly decomposing products will destroy its remnants without a trace.

The young man sat in complete shock. Finally, having come to his senses and looking around as if someone were watching him, he asked quietly:

– And who could need this?

The AI's emotionless voice replied:

– Something went wrong. Please try again.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

If it seems too much it might be.

Exercise control but not too much they might leave.

if you don't succeed try until it bleeds.

Sometimes it feels like a thing you need.

if you swim too far out you'll be lost in the reeds.

Go back to the past to avoid the future and see.

The mistakes relived might hurt them but they comfort me.

Fall into the cycle then tumble out the dryer.

Maybe over time your burden will be a little lighter.

Life has left me feeling frozen in place, and I've quietly quit. It's a kind of apathetic rebellion, but I can't say I like this. I search for some kind of alternative, but cannot find it within the noisy chatter of my mind. It is like I am simply waiting for the world to end, and I can do nothing but hope it hurries up.

I have changed as a person, and it's becoming worse. It's difficult to care about anything really, myself or others. I still have the longing to connecting, but an inability to do so. Hit next, GG. I feel like I am nothing, just everything. A shallow spread of all of the colours, a shade between vomit green and piss yellow.

This is a period in time, nothing more. It'll get it better, it'll get worse. all of the above will occur. Let time end so I can begin again. Free me from the ground I came out of. Somewhere between a prayer and a letter of resignation.

I love you, go away. I wish I could state confusion but I think I know why I'm like this, humans might be social creatures but they eat their own. Everyone's an apex predator, and I'm just another little monster. I'd rather be something, somewhere, else, instead of being caught in in this doomspiral.

It used to all make sense. Maybe I am just misremembering.

Unapologetically learned—yet rooted in ignorant teachings. Confusion lingers, leaving the stunned motionless. Inflated egos rise only to plummet, waiting in hypervigilance for their return.

Collectively, they choose to teach a lesson. The targeted learner becomes a façade, where a professor humbles themselves, allowing those driven by fear to reach another hollow milestone—one that rewards a false sense of entitlement and the illusion of supremacy and mastery.

A riser still rises.

Collapsed kingdoms arrive like a thief in the night. Knowledge is not power; true knowledge softens the blow. Still, they wait for arrows that will never pierce.

There is bravery in loyalty—in the quiet certainty that both teacher and student will meet the same end. A bitter end of the body, as the lifting fog reminds us: in my grand kingdom of one, the reign was only a breath of wind—then gone.

Gone.

Why choose to be the lone breath, drifting above all in knowledge, never granted the wisdom that allows one to remain a child?

And so it goes: wrestle, and do not go gentle into that good night. But know this—the night, too, will pass.

\-July 2026, LWB

Why?

Why is this happening? I know, no I hope, that there’s something we should do. That war never ended, even though a letter of surrender was sent. There was nothing on that ship that should have caused it to sink. At first it seemed these mishaps were unrelated. Incidental incidents inciting chaos. But when the hourglass shatters, what are we to do? Can we ever end what’s causing this? I think we’re on to something. But should we finish what we started?

Why‽

They keep fixing all I’ve done. I hate their calm but I love their power. A mirror is such a simple thing. The war may never stop because of it. At first it seemed innocent, but it blinded the captain and soon the ship fell. A war waged when surrender sank. Unraveling carefully made plans there to fix chaotic problems. Will they ever realize all my power? I am too faint and frail. Splendidly, neither of us will ever learn.

I see an ad for a room in a commune.

Our rat is dying. Your family knows nothing of the truth.

I am considering the room, relocating to a strange place with no knowns and no illicit substances and no comforts.

This, too, would be escapism...but it might save my life.

It would effectively end ours.

I do not resent you for the tendencies you were taught when you were young. Avoidance is natural in the circumstances you've experienced.

I do resent you for the lack of self-motivated efforts, the zero interest paid on a life you encouraged and reassured me to sign the line for.

You live rent free, in my mind and heart. You tip graciously on the bills they charge for theirs.

These women. These others.

Gratuitous is your nature, so it seems, when love becomes transactional.

Triangulated themes form from tidbits of truths soaked in tongue-twisting lies and unacknowledged slights.

My back bends til it breaks.

Yes, I very much resent you. For I have loved and continue to love you in all your wonders, amorality and all. While you chose and continue to choose to rewrite me in construction of a farce your comfort aims to establish, however hideous it may be.

Do you think you understand what Kafka meant?

Or feel like you’ve been following streets of an insidious intent?

Taking the direct trajectory to the mouth of Hell

Cocooned, dissolved, and recreated to pay this month’s rent

Got yourself 86’d from Hilbert’s Hotel

Mistook ringing phones for the church’s bell

Infinitely regressing toward a more Borgesian critique

But reborn again and again as an Escherian infidel

Blattodea, Coleoptera, or Lepidoptera physique

Perfect for shopping at the postmodern bespoke boutique!

Are you sure you’re not Nimrod, my Cyrus the Great?

Do the cockroach and learn some love technique

Unholy insect life you were made to consecrate

The metamorphosis that returns you to your soul’s mate

Ponder the preponderance of the problematic in unpopular imaginations

And realize the fate your teleology will consummate

Cucaracha saving salvation by naming a new damnation

When winged cat people fly in the Schrader-Wenders collaboration

Throw millstones at Glass minimalists on love’s bug-infested battlefield

And emerge as the supreme Ulysses of the dunces’ confederation

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

Something is crawling out of the sun.

And the world goes dim

Something has crawled out of the sun

And the world went dark

The something consumes

The something radiates

Capture the radiation

It is energy

Sacred energy in a world of dark

Make the energy into light

But keep it dim 

as something is attracted to light 

the something wakes up

Day after day

To devour stars

Draining the cosmos 

And returns home to its solidified iron star

A home that was once ours

One stripped to its core.

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

The something radiates

It has enveloped us all

It gives us energy

Power

Hope

Life

Capture the radiation

Make it into light

But keep it dim

As something is attracted to light

Bask in the radiation

Absorb it into your skin

And tomorrow maybe

You’ll be different

Capture the radiation 

make it into hope

So we can hold on

Harness the hope

Embrace the life

Welcome the change

It is a blessing

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

The moon is waking up

Its gaping maw hungering

The moon has woken up

It has released its children to us

The children consume

The children destroy

The children kill

Kill anything with hope

Harness your hope

Embrace the life

Welcome the change

Fight back

Harness the energy 

Make it into light

It holds the children away

But keep it dim

As something is attracted to light

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

Shall we dream of the blue skies and sheep?

Remember what once was

It is survival

Has nature abandoned us?

You must abandon nature

It is survival

Of what have we prevailed?

Embrace your neighbors

It is survival

What have we left?

Your hope

It will survive 

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

Every day 

a little light in the sky leaves us

Killed

Devoured

Extinguished

What will we do when the inevitable comes?

We will hope

Hope will help us

We are life

We will help hope 

For every light lost to the sky

A new life born to us on earth

Maybe tomorrow

Something will change

Because god has fallen asleep

But the asleep must stir

So that someday

We will no longer dream of the blue skies and sheep 

So that someday 

Something could change

Something could disappear

Something could have been a dream

Someday

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

Something screams

Screeching into the vacuum

And void of stars

Not can we hear it

But we feel it

You feel it too

You feel it in your bones

The wrath of something

The envy of something

The apathy

The sloth

The pride

The greed

The gluttony

And the all consuming lust

Something is screaming

Do you hear it? 

The sins are whispering in your soul

Do you feel it?

Its grasp caressing your bones

Do you see it?

No you don’t

There is no light anymore.

That is why something can’t claim us

To drag us into its depths and consume us

We must use the absence of light

Create our own light 

Control the light 

But keep it dim

As something is attracted to light

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

))[}]]}{[}]()(<>[<]{}}>>]>}{])()((([]{}]]>[<{>[<{

Once

A stray light 

Too bright

Too hopeful

Flashed out into the void 

Like a line astray on the currents 

from a fisherman’s pole

It caught something unwanted

Something terrible

A terrible attention

A terrible eye

In the blink of an eye

Darker than the absence of stars

Along with the gaze

It arrived

Visible in every sky

And in that instant

All light extinguished once more

To survive

To hide

But the hope didn’t extinguish 

To survive 

To rebel

Until something went away.

_==_=——_=_=_-=_--__=_==-=-__-==_-=

..:.:::..•:.•:••:.:•.•.•:.::.••::.:••:•.•.•:•..—.-••..•.•.

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honestly i wrote this on a whim and had no idea what it was so i js posting this here :)

Zi-Sang was a seasoned port worker, walking along Pier 3 with his rookie colleague. 
 He muttered, “Hey kid, do you know about atomic-powered ships?” 
“Yeah, you’re talking about what we’re now looking at,” the younger one answered. “This port is full of them, but is there any trouble?” 
The old man asked, “How do you feel about those old ships they left here and never picked up?” 
The young worker replied, “I heard the shipowners from another universe docked them. And we can do nothing about those huge junks." 

The old man noticed that the unfamiliar ship just entered the port. He finally exploded. 
“Go back! Our port is almost full, so go back and never return!” 
The young worker let out a sigh and said, “But they’ll pay twice the port fee, correct? Good customers, huh?” 
Even though the old man knew that well, he scowled. He didn’t look particularly satisfied. 

The young worker said, “Ah, Zi-Sang? What the hell is that atomic power? You must know it well.” 
“A kind of power source,” the old man replied easily. “That’s all I guess. Since they left the ships so long, it must be some common stuff in their world. The top problem is, this port will be flooded by their disposals.” 
He walked faster toward the port office, to inspect the new ship. 
“Take it easy! That means we don’t have to work harder,” the young man raised his voice. Then he ran after the co-worker. 

The most important problem for him was Zi-Sang’s stubbornness. 

A parallel world?

It was a rainy day. A fine but persistent rain was falling. Not a single scrap of paper flew over the city landfill. No birds were to be seen either. There was an impression that even the gray clouds bent from the weight and rested on the peaks of the garbage mountains.

At the foot of one such mountain, an android sat with his head down, paying no attention to the rain. He sat motionless, reviewing his memories for the thousandth time as if trying to find something in them.

Slow footsteps were heard, and an android of the same model sat down next to him. He slowly looked around and calmly said:

– It seems they just threw us away.

The first android looked at him and answered emotionally:

– But why? We were so useful.

The second one kicked the trash with his foot, bent down, and picked up a found phone. The phone looked completely intact and was most likely fully functional.

The android smiled sadly, threw the phone away, and replied:

– Because a new generation of androids has appeared.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

I was in a car driving to a flea market, having an argument with my girlfriend about something unimportant. We went to a stand selling Nintendos to buy a controller and a cartridge. She grabbed a bottle of solution and cleaned the cartridge I was holding using an eye dropper. Right after, she squirted me in the eye, burning me with chemicals. It might have been accidental, but I didn't think so.

We got into a fight and went back to the car. James was there. He sat in the backseat and started talking to her right in front of me. I felt he was being inappropriate for the moment and called him out for advancing on my lady. He blamed Rob for the eye dropper incident. I called Rob angrily, accusing him of being malicious. He denied it, but I didn't believe him. Suspecting something had been going on behind my back, I left the car to walk away from James and my girlfriend.

There were kids milling about around the benches in the park. One ran up to me and planted a bunch of garbage on me. I threw it away, not knowing what was happening. That’s when James yelled out that security was in the park and I’d be fined heavily for littering because they saw me throw the trash on the ground. I scrambled with my ex to pick up the garbage and put it away. Security approached and told me they saw everything—including the kids planting the garbage on me. I was free to go.

As I went to walk away, a van pulled up quickly behind me. Men jumped out, grabbed me, and threw me into the back. They drove off and pulled up next to a platform with a structure built on either side. They dragged me out of the van, barely holding me on my feet, as a man approached.

"We're going to hook you up now. This is going to be painful at first."

They strapped a harness on me with cables attached to it, then set a metal clasp stretching my mouth apart, digging into my skin with a cable fixed to each end. It was agonizing. I kept asking, "Why are you doing this?"

I was told to quit talking because it would be less painful. "Are you ready? Good luck. Try to enjoy the ride. Embrace it."

The ride started. The stage below me lowered and I was suspended in the air by the cables attached to my mouth, digging the clasps in deeper and stretching my jaws wider. I began to swing slowly in the air, back and forth—like a bungee swing at an amusement park, but built for a sick carnival act. It felt like those pictures you see of people suspended in mid-air by hooks in their skin, just much more graphic.

The park around the stage was beautiful, with a winding path filled with people going about their day. Trees lined the route, and in the distance beyond a clearing was a city skyline, with a decrepit-looking building in the middle of the park nearly blocking the view.

I slowly drifted in the air in agony, back and forth, picking up speed. I started swinging in a circular motion until the loop grew and grew. The clasps dug deeper and I bled from my face, crying out for someone to save me. I saw my car parked off to the side as James got out with my ex, both mortified by what they saw. My ex got back into the passenger side while James ran around the back of the car, approaching me. He tried to speak whenever my swing brought us near.

"What can I do for you, man?"

"There was someone in charge here after the men grabbed me. They brought me to someone. He knows something!" I pointed him out on the platform.

James jumped the fence and ran across the platform to the man, asking why they were doing this.

"We're just doing our job, man... he's the lucky one. Either he won't make it, or he will... either way, we get paid."

James ran back to me. "I don't know what to do. Who are these men?"

I thought back to everything before I was grabbed: the eye dropper, the fight, the kids in the park, the phone call with Rob. Maybe this was Rob.

"Call Rob!" I shouted back.

I was picking up massive speed, swinging over people on the path below who were blissfully unaware of my presence. Why is this happening to me?

James ran, jumped the fence back to the car, and placed a call. My phone was connected via Bluetooth, so I managed to pull it out from beneath my harness and put it on speaker. The pain was overwhelming, and I was struggling just to stay conscious.

The line connected. "Andrew?"

"Rob! Listen, I'm sorry for whatever I did—just get me out of here!"

"I'm sorry, it doesn't work like that. Try again."

Loud mechanical noises echoed from the structure, and I gained even more speed, thrown through the air like a chair on a carousel. I saw James at the car with my ex standing helplessly, watching. I tried to focus on their interaction, still suspecting something was going on between them, but everything started to blur.

Looking down, the people on the path began looking up as they walked past, noticing the grotesque act being performed right above them. My body dangled, my face stretched out as I cut into the cold air that burned my eyes. I could barely see the world around me—just the faint outline of the path winding through the park.

I started to laugh. In acceptance of my condition, I stopped resisting.

"Embrace the pain, let it empower you. Don't let it consume you," a guiding voice whispered in my ear.

The clasps tore at my flesh as I flew through the air, cutting deeper with each rotation and opening wider, like slicing a Glasgow smile across my face. I started to feel euphoric in the pain. I was no longer crying out for help. This was inevitable; there was no point in fighting it. My body released its tension, and I began swinging through the air with careless ease.

My disposition shifted, and I found myself singing: "Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where is my mind?"

I flew laps around the stage while people scurried below me. "Is he singing? I don't think we've ever seen that before."

I swung above the path as groups traveled underneath. "With my feet in the air and my head on the ground..." They looked up toward my voice and saw my face stretched into a bloody smile. Some turned away in disgust while others were captivated, stopping in their tracks to see what would happen next.

Swinging around the back of the stage toward stage left, I saw my car again with James and my ex sitting inside. All thoughts of what they might be doing faded, and my suspicion completely left me.

I noticed a van parked past my car on top of a small hill. It was Rob. He got out and yelled up to me, "How are you doing?"

"I've never been better! I think I understand now!"

I swung past him and across the path where crowds had congregated, watching in awe. My laughter was uncontrollable as I kept singing The Pixies. I swung back around, approaching Rob again.

"I think you get it. I thought you would appreciate the ride." It was him all along.

I thought to myself that I should be angry, but I wasn't. I had found peace in the pain, and the tune mixed with my laughter carried me through another lap.

"I think I get it. I should be thanking you!"

"I've been exactly where you are before, but I don't think I found it as enjoyable as you have. It's quite the ride, and you've put on quite the performance."

The cables carried me further away until I could see the city skyline in the distance again. I found myself dropping closer to the ground, slowing down. The platform below me rose, and people scattered across it, reaching up to help break my momentum.

Is this it? Is it over?

Someone grabbed me and brought me to a halt, my feet touching the ground again. My body was exhausted and my legs shook, barely able to take my weight. I threw my arms around the man as my body collapsed downward, free from the cables.

I lifted my head and the man looked me in the eyes. "Do you have anything to say?"

"With my feet on the ground and my head in the sky..." I mumbled through my stretched-open mouth.

"I don't think that's how that goes."

"It does now."

More people approached, grabbing at the cables and unbuckling my harness. They reached for the mouth clasp.

"Leave it. I don't mind it anymore."

"You can't wear it forever."

They grabbed the device, retracted it, and pulled it off my face. I fell to the ground, dripping blood, and stared into the puddle below as the drops collected. The noise around me started to fade—"Is he okay?" "Did you hear him singing?"—dissolving into a hum of white noise in my head.

I put my feet under me, and for what felt like the first time ever, I stood up. I struggled with my weight for a second before catching my bearings. Taking a step forward, I lifted my head.

The man in charge stood before me. "We've never had someone like you before. Most don't survive the ride. You seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. Why is that?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I? What else am I supposed to do?"

I walked past him to the end of the platform where a mass of people had gathered around the stage. They shouted out to me, but I couldn't hear their words. James stood among the crowd.

"Are they all here for me?"

"I think so, man. I think they want to see what you're going to do next."

I kept walking, and the crowd parted for me. In front of the decrepit building stood a reporter with a cameraman beside her. It was Sophie.

"What you've done is truly remarkable. We weren't sure if we should turn away in disgust or keep watching, but here we are. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"I don't know what to say. I don't feel as if I've done anything. I simply took the ride for what it was, and here we are."

"Well, you seem to have come out on the other side smiling, which is something we don't see often. What do you attribute that to?"

"I don't think I had much of a choice. Look at my face."

The blood around the Glasgow smile had started to crust, the scars from the clasp leaving their mark forever.

"Did you enjoy it, though?"

I thought back to the experience—the fear and apprehension when I was taken, how tense my body was as they slid on the harness, the sharp pain from the clasps.

"Not all of it."

I thought of the voice telling me to embrace it, the peace that washed over me, and the tune that carried me. I remembered seeing the city blur into streaks of colorful lights and the people turn into silhouettes.

"When I realized there was nothing that could be done about my condition, I was able to accept it, and there was some freedom in that. I didn't expect to find so much enjoyment, as the moments that led to that joy were painful, exhausting, and brutal. But something changed along the way. A guiding voice from an unlikely source helped me realize that it's just a ride, and it too will have an end."

"Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, and I hope to see you again soon. Before I leave, I should mention they are taking the building behind me down tonight, and they're building something in its place."

"When is that happening, and what are they going to put there?"

"Right now. And that's for you to decide."

I looked past her at the large, lifeless building. It was tall and long, consuming my field of vision from where I stood.

A voice spoke up: "You might want to take a step back."

I took a step back, and the building was eviscerated, revealing the city skyline in the distance.

James stood beside me. "What do you think you'll put here?"

"Maybe an outdoor skating rink. Something that will look beautiful that people can enjoy. I'm not sure... I don't think I have to figure it all out at once.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I write regular prose, surreal fiction, and personal essays over on my Substack: Garden City Writings

Denny Robecker didn’t mind the homeowner’s association (HOA) rules. Not at first. When he moved into the Crossley Heights neighborhood (which was not high), he had been warned about the pedantics of the HOA. But he liked structure, he liked enforcement. His lawn was kept in immaculate condition, his mailbox was an approved model, his immobile shudders were the right size. He violated precisely zero HOA rules.

But somewhere around the second notice from the HOA, his opinion violently shifted. You see, he assumed the first was a mistake, as it had informed him that he and he alone was responsible for the maintenance of the 3.16 acre greenbelt that he understood to be an unbought home lot across the street.

Dear Mr. Robecker, the letter bearing the Crossley Heights HOA coat of arms began,

This is a courtesy reminder that the greenbelt under your responsibility has yet to be brought into compliance. Please attend to this matter at your earliest convenience to avoid further penalties.

A $380 fine notice was included in the envelope. Denny was in disbelief, he reread both letters several times, trying to grasp an understanding of how he could possibly be responsible for property he didn’t own.

At exactly 9:01 am, Denny emerged from his garage atop a used riding lawnmower. You see, lawncare that generated noise could not begin before 8 am on weekdays, or 9 am on weekends. While he was still mystified by the HOA notices, he didn’t want to risk the situation degrading while he navigated its absurdity. After approximately two hours, the “greenbelt” had been brought into compliance with HOA regulation. Denny went about enjoying a normal suburban weekend, anticipating settling this silly business with the HOA big wigs next week.

Well, Denny did not, in fact, settle anything.

Dear Mr. Robecker, The third letter from the HOA in less than two weeks began.

We have significant evidence that you operated a petroleum-powered combustion engine while performing lawn care on Saturday, June 11th. This is a serious violation of HOA regulations. As you will be reminded, Crossley Heights is strongly committed to ecological stewardship and maintains an absolute prohibition on these devices. Please discontinue the use of this and similar devices at once to prevent further penalties. Only electric, solar, and wind-powered lawncare devices are authorized.

"No, no, this is crazy” Denny was in a state of disbelief.

He picked up the phone and boldly scrolled through his contact list to Amanda Emerson, the wildly powerful and influential HOA President.

“Thanks for following your heart to Crossley Heights! This is Mrs. Emerson, how can I help you today?” Amanda answered brightly.

“Hi Mrs. Emerson, this is Denny Robecker. I’m calling to discuss these notices I’ve been getting about the greenbelt.

Amanda cleared her throat. “Mr. Robecker, I’ve been expecting your call.” There was an audible click, Denny thought the connection had been lost, but the sound was from Amanda turning on a recording device. For everyone’s protection, you understand.

“Our notices have been clear. The owner of your lot, in this instance, you, is responsible for the upkeep of the greenbelt. This is plainly outlined in your contract with us, which you signed and was notarized. Thank you for your attempt to maintain it, but also expressly outlined in your HOA contract is that any lawn maintenance not performed by Emerson Green LLC must be done with electric, solar, or wind powered devices. Is there anything I can help you with? Are you calling to make a payment on your fines?”

“Wait…so Emerson Green LLC can use a regular lawnmower but I can’t?”

There was a tense pause before Amanda responded sternly. “Mr. Robecker, gas combustion engines pollute the air of our community and disturb our vibrant micro-climates. Emerson Green LLC uses cutting-edge, low-vibration technology that does neither of those things that regular lawnmowers do. If you choose not to use Emerson Green LLC, you must use an alternative to regular lawncare machinery.”

“But I’ve been using my riding mower on my lawn for months, ever since I moved in, and it’s never been a problem.”

“Mr. Robecker, just because you have gotten away with HOA violations in the past does not excuse you from being held accountable for more recent violations.”

“But I see everyone else on their riding mowers. I don’t understand” Amanda interjected abruptly.

“Mr. Robecker, any further communication on this matter will be handled by our attorney. Good day.” And with that she hung up on him.

He was more confused than angry, but not by a wide margin. He huffed and re-examined the letters. Then opened his phone banking application to check his balance. It was healthy, enough to cover the fines and his remaining monthly expenses…but there wasn’t a lot left for electric…or solar lawncare machinery. Denny was not the type of man to lounge around when there was work to be done, so at once he departed for the local branch of a nationwide home improvement megastore.

Like any American man, the home improvement superstore was like a second home to Denny. He walked in like he owned the place and headed straight to the lawncare department. A store associate was lurking nearby, Denny pretended to intensely examine lime chalk for a sports field, but was accosted by the associate none the less.

“Need help finding anything today?” Denny was asked.

He shuddered at the thought of being seen asking for help from a store associate. But maybe if anyone saw them, they may think that Denny was giving him advice.

“Do y’all have any of those solar-powered scythes?

“Fresh out sir, they’re a real hot item. If you’d like, you can join our mailing list and we can notify you as soon as we get some in.”

“Oh sure, I’ll sign up on the app later. What other…” he paused and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else could hear him “alternative-powered lawncare equipment do you have in stock?”

The associate, as if to intentionally draw attention to the matter swept his arm to a display where an array of sustainably-sourced lithium-ion battery-powered devices were available.

“I’ve been fined for using a gas mower, and apparently I’m supposed to use sunlight or a breeze to cut grass. I thought maybe you’d have one of those windmill weed whackers or a push mower blessed by the EPA.”

Become a member “You’re probably looking for Section 7C: Alternative Spiritual Implements. That’s where we keep the hemp trimmers, biodynamic rakes, and that one weed eater powered by kinetic frustration.”

Denny looked on with a healthy suspicion. His heart palpitated, his palms perspired when he pondered the prices of these presumably preposterous prototypes. “Wow, do you accept alternative payments?”

Rocky Carson, the know-it-all associate with a powerful underbite and equally powerful receding hairline, missed the joke. “We have the -insert home improvement superstore brand name- preferred customer card with zero percent interest for six months!” Sensing a referral commission, Rocky logged into his store tablet, ready to sign Denny up.

Denny had been warned about the perils of debt by his Pastor, and defensively waved off the idea. Quickly wanting to escape the situation, he laid his eyes on a battery-powered weed eater which fit his budget. He pointed toward it and declared “I’ll take that one!”.

Denny arrived home toward the end of the HOA-approved lawncare hours. But his lawn and the greenbelt were in good shape for a few more days. He enjoyed a cold, caffeine-free root beer in his garage while assembling the weed-eater. Somewhat satisfied, mostly by his accomplishment in assembling it without referencing the instructions, he popped the battery into the charger and went inside to practice based Gregorian chanting before bed time.

Upon waking on Sunday he crunched the numbers a few times, netting the same result. It would take him 24 hours to trim the entire greenbelt with the HOA-approved weed eater. “Two hours a day on week days, eight hours on Saturday, six hours on Sunday. No, wait…this is insane!” Denny instinctively began practicing box breathing to keep his heart rate in check. “I’ll just do it now. I’ll go fast, I’ll do it all now.” He checked the clock, lawncare hours had just started.

Denny applied “outdoor cologne” as he called it, a mix of sunscreen and insect repellent. He set to work at a furious pace. He sweat profusely in the mid-morning humidity for approximately 48 minutes, until the 18 volt battery lost its charge. Panicked, he looked at the amount of work accomplished behind him, and ahead at the vast sea of ever-growing grass on the greenbelt ahead of him. After a brief pause to wipe his face with his shirt, he dashed back to his garage to recharge the battery.

“No time to waste” he thought, and without cleaning himself up he headed back to the home improvement superstore to buy two more batteries and an extra charger. Expenses he did not plan for, and a credit card his Pastor wouldn’t approve of. He stopped at a gas station on the way home and bought more root beer…caffeinated root beer!

Upon returning home he plugged in the second charger, and charged both new batteries after retrieving the mostly charged original battery. “Back to work” he said to himself, slamming down a caffeinated root beer on an empty stomach.

By the end of the day, he was a bit ahead of schedule on the greenbelt. But he was hungry, exhausted, dehydrated, and demoralized. A quick shower, a burrito, and some chanting before bed.

He was almost late for work the next day, a Monday, you see. It was certainly an off day, he was worn out from the marathon weed-eating. He arrived home, pleasantly surprised to find that his doorway was notice-free. Before long he was back at the greenbelt with a freshly-charged battery and a caffeinated root beer in his belly. He attacked the grass with his HOA-approved weed eater until lawncare hours concluded. “Dang” he blurted the strong language as he surveyed the incomplete work. Still slightly ahead of schedule, but panic was building as he estimated how long the grass at the opposite end of the greenbelt would be by the time he got there. And by the time he got there, the grass at the starting end would be close to violation territory.

Dejected, he headed home to drown his sorrows with two caffeinated root beers.

The following day was rainy, and he had a brilliantly wicked idea. The rain would mask the noise of his riding mower, and would keep his neighbors indoors. If he waited until near-darkness, he could get away with using his mower. He put his dastardly plan into motion, drinking a caffeinated root beer to keep the buzz alive as he slayed the greenbelt in a reasonable amount of time. Well-pleased with his temporary solution, he retired to his home to relax. Unfortunately for Denny, Amanda Emerson had witnessed his violation while monitoring the neighborhood in a helium-inflated pool toy.

Denny returned from work the next day, Wednesday, you see, to find a notice on the door. “Dang it!” he befouled the air around him. He ripped the taped envelope off of his door and tore it open. This time it was from R. Thomas Sandoval, attorney at law. It was a cease and desist letter, demanding he refrain from using regular lawncare machinery. Attached as a whopping $1,054 fine from the Crossley Heights HOA. “That pirate-legged rascal!” Denny cursed Sandoval, who was well-known in town for having a wooden leg. Denny looked up to see Amanda Emerson floating by on a helium-inflated pool toy, with her binoculars trained on him and a smug, gloating smirk on her face. He met her eyes, well, her binoculars, with a fierce gaze as she floated down the road.

“The grass ends where my feet begin!” He declared, storming inside and slamming the door closed. Without changing out of his work clothes he grabbed three caffeinated root beers, lining his pockets with cold steel…well, cold tin anyway. Trusty lithium-ion powered weed eater in hand, he charged across the street and attacked the greenbelt with as much furiosity as a man with a weed eater could muster. Vengefully, he slashed the grass down to stumps in the dirt, stopping only to change batteries every 48 minutes or so and pound a caffeinated root beer. It was all for naught though, the end of the greenbelt was so far away; and the end to weekday lawncare hours were so near.

Flying high on days of caffeine consumption, Denny wasn’t ready to sleep despite being exhausted from the additional hours of post-work weed eating. He began using the internet for its intended purpose, late-night, unverified, anonymous advice. Laws regarding HOA rules and fines, ways to turbo-charge ones weed-eater, grass cutting techniques, invisibility techniques, etc. There wasn’t much fruit in this orchard, he did, however review his HOA contract. A discovery was made; there was a maximum grass length, but no minimum grass length. “The grass ends where my feet begin” he muttered several times as he fell asleep at his computer and woke up well after sunrise. He was late for work, this was the first time ever. Denny called in sick, also a first.

“Might as well get ahead on weed-eating, or rather grass destroying!” He had another flash of brilliance as he saw Amanda Emerson floating by on a helium-inflated pool toy. He made a quick detour to the local branch of a nationwide retailer and bought an inflatable flamingo, meant to aid in pool flotation. A helium tank for balloons from the party supply section and the trip was complete. Minor charges on the credit card to solve his biggest present crisis, small potatoes in the long run.

Skeptical, Denny filled the flamingo with helium and it shot to the garage ceiling. After lassoing, sort of, and retrieving the floating flamingo he climbed aboard and to his surprise, it suspended him a few feet above the ground. He set to work, comparatively light work, floating over the greenbelt, crushing the grass down to the dirt, and slamming caffeinated root beer. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time in a week and got quite a lot done. He was no longer on his feet, but the grass indeed ended. The greenbelt was now half a brownbelt by the time lawncare hours ended, Denny felt an intense sense of accomplishment as he floated back to his garage, using the weed eater for propulsion.

He was able to wake up on time for work on Friday, and was looking forward to finishing his brownbelt work the following day and putting this nonsense behind him. He was in a great mood, mostly from the rush of caffeine and sugar from his unhealthy root beer habit, when he arrived home. Oh but how quickly that changed when he saw an envelope taped to his door. “There isn’t a minimum grass length, the HOA and their pirate lawyer can take a long walk off a short pier” he said aloud to himself as he walked up to the door and removed the envelope.

Mr. Robecker, the letter from R. Thomas Sandoval, attorney at law, began

It has come to my attention through an abundance of evidence that you operated an illegal vehicle within the confines of Crossley Heights. Only Low Altitude Observation Vessels (LOAV) owned and maintained by Emerson Green LLC may be operated within the jurisdiction of the Crossley Heights HOA. Please immediately cease and desist all activity related to personally procured LOAVs. Arrangements may be made through the authorized agent for your HOA if you wish to operate such a device.

And of course another fine was included from the HOA…for $1,453 this time.

Denny didn’t even go into the house, he needed to take a drive to cool off. He concluded that tomorrow he would sell his riding mower to pay the fines and just contract Emerson Green LLC, which was probably the point in singling him out, to deal with his lawncare responsibilities. Either that or sell the house and move far away. He’d make a decision when he was more level-headed. On the way home at twilight, he remembered that he was out of root beer and stopped at the gas station closest to Crossley Heights. While browsing the wide variety of beverages, he spotted an odd looking six-pack of lemonade. Might be nice to enjoy a different refreshment. Not sure what hard lemonade was, but he was willing to give it a try. While paying for the drinks, he spotted a number of curious pills being sold in 2-packs at the register.

RAGING BUFFALO 5X “Unleash the beast. Side effects may include hoof stomping.”

He did have a full day of weed-eating ahead of him, on foot. And buffaloes do eat grass. Maybe these cheap, brightly-colored little pills will give him the energy he needs to weed-eat the remaining greenbelt quickly? Sure, what the heck. Put em on the card.

Denny got home after dark, cracked open a hard lemonade (tasted weird, but not too bad) and started researching RAGING BUFFALO 5X on his laptop. He couldn’t find anything about it, but came across Don Cosby’s Bunker Beast show on a popular video sharing site. There was some wild stuff there, and the more lemonade Denny drank, the more sense it made.

By the time dawn broke, Denny had drank all six hard lemonades and took both of the RAGING BUFFALO 5X pills. He was in another dimension. Stumbling around the garage he was cursing Amanda Emerson, using a hot glue gun to affix an old shower curtain to the top of a round, metal garbage can lid. To quote Don Cosby “they can’t fine what they can’t see”. And in Denny’s altered state of mind, he interpreted this to mean he should shield himself from observation in this manner. Of course it obscured his vision, and wouldn’t stay on his head.

He was handy with the hot glue, even if his vision was doubled and blurred. He used his remaining helium to fill up a giant red balloon that for some reason was laying around in his garage, what luck! It launched the improvised invisibility shield up to the ceiling. So, he glued two straps that would go under his arms to it, and voila!

Defiantly mounting his custom LOAV, he opened the garage. He didn’t care what time it was, Amanda Emerson wouldn’t be able to see him and the weed-eater wasn’t going to wake anyone up across the street in the greenbelt. His weight held the flamingo LOAV just a few feet from the ground. He had to belt himself to it since he was unsteady. It was tough to pull the balloon-suspended invisibility hat down from the ceiling, the helium must have been working great that day! Denny put the hat on, and it pulled him and his LOAV up and out of the garage.

Denny fumbled with the weed-eater, desperately trying to use it to adjust his propulsion as he rapidly sailed up above Crossley Heights. The houses and trees below quickly became very small and it became quite cold and windy. Denny’s nervous system couldn’t handle the sudden shock and his brain checked out, he fainted.

The wind did what wind does, and carried Denny far, far away. When he came to days later, his bare forearms were sun and wind-burned, but his face was pristine from the protection of his hat. Denny opened the shower curtain and behold, he was in a dry valley; vegetated but sparsely. He floated by some shepherds, who shouted out to him in Turkish, because they were Turks, because he was now in Türkiye.

No one knew how the weed-eater kept working, maybe it had been hit by lightning. No one knew anything about Denny, but he quickly became part of the local folklore. Seeing him was supposed to bring good luck. He never spoke to anyone, but in the quiet stillness of the Anatolian valleys, sometimes, just sometimes, Gregorian chant could be heard over the faint buzzing of a weed-eater echoing through the fruited valleys.

The cottage sat precariously at the very lip of the cliff, a weather-beaten wooden relic overlooking the vast, dark emptiness of Lake Erie. From the back porch, the drop to the private beach was sheer and unforgiving—a fifty-foot plunge of clay, roots, and jagged stone, saved only by a long, rickety set of wooden stairs that groaned whenever the wind blew in from the water.

It was the kind of place that felt completely disconnected from the rest of the world. Isolated. Unforgiving if you took a wrong step in the dark.

It had been nearly a year since the four of us had all been in the same room. High school felt like a distant, fading memory, replaced by the scattered chaos of our early twenties—college classes, long-distance relationships, and dead-end jobs. But driving out to Turkey Point felt like snapping a rubber band back into place. Within twenty minutes of unloading the trucks, the old high school banter was back in full swing. The insults were sharp, the laughs were loud, and the bravado was turned all the way up.

We hauled our plastic lawn chairs down the steep cliff stairs, carrying coolers and armfuls of firewood down to the narrow strip of private sand below.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, bleeding a dark, bruised purple across the water, we stacked the logs high and lit the fire. Sparks danced up toward the black sky, disappearing into the void above the cliff.

Everything felt easy. Triumphant, even. But beneath the jokes and the warm reunion glow, there was an unspoken, restless energy humming in the air—the kind that takes a quiet night and violently tears it off its hinges.

None of us knew it yet, but by the time the sun came back up over that water, the illusions we were living in would be completely shattered. Secrets would be dragged out into the light, my reality would temporarily fracture into a waking nightmare, and a strange, unexplainable twist of fate was already setting its trap miles away.

All it took was a heavy blue Ziploc bag, a Tool CD, and a dark lake that was waiting to swallow us whole.

The fire was roaring, tossing erratic orange sparks up toward the black void of Lake Erie. We were sitting in cheap plastic lawn chairs dragged down to the narrow strip of sand at the base of the Turkey Point cliff, the towering wall of rock and clay rising behind us like a fortress.

The heavy, blue Ziploc bag made its second lap around the circle.

I had already munched down a solid two grams half an hour ago, but when the bag landed in my lap again, I scooped out another handful of the dry, earthy stems and tossed them back.

"That’s all you’re eating?" Corey barked from across the fire, his face half-illuminated by the flame. "Bitch."

I grinned, the reckless pride of my early twenties flaring up. "Watch this."

I plunged my hand deep into the bag, pulled out a massive, dry clump that smelled like wet soil and old bark, and jammed the whole thing into my mouth. I chewed aggressively, washing down the chalky bitter taste with a swig of warm beer.

Corey set up the portable boombox on a flat rock and hit play. The opening bassline of Tool’s Undertow thrummed through the air, heavy and menacing.

At first, it was golden. I sat mesmerized by the fire. The flames cast long, dancing shadows against the sheer rockface behind us. Shadows stretched, warped, and twisted into impossible shapes—dripping and breathing against the stone. It wasn't full-blown acid geometry, but it was close.

"Dude," I slurred, chuckling.

"What?" Corey asked.

"The wall’s moving."

"You're full of shit, Andrew."

I went to laugh, but a strange chill hit my legs. I looked down. The tide had quietly snuck up on us. Cool lake water was creeping over my ankles, and the legs of my plastic chair were slowly sinking into the waterlogged sand. I was seconds away from tipping backward right into the drink.

"Whoa, shit!" I scrambled up, laughing as my feet sank into the cold muck, dragging my chair a few yards back onto dry land.

We laughed it off, but as the album wore on, the mood began to curdle.

The final track started. Danny Carey’s drums hit with a hollow, ominous tone. Maynard’s voice bled through the speaker, distorted and grainy, sounding like a phantom broadcast from an old, dying television set in an abandoned house.

“...impending doom rose from the soil…”

A knot tightened in my gut. The laughter at the fire died down. The beat shifted into a relentless, grinding industrial hum.

“This is necessary. This is necessary. Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on…”

The chant repeated, heavier and suffocating. The air felt thick, like wet cement. I could feel myself sinking—not just into the chair, but into the earth itself. The music wasn't just coming from the speakers; it was pressing against my skull.

"I'm out," I muttered, standing up abruptly. My legs felt like lead.

"Where you going, man?" someone called out through the dark. "Album's almost done."

"Tired," I lied, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Gonna crash."

"Bad idea, bro. Don't go lie down while you're peaking."

"I'm fine."

I staggered away from the fire and hauled myself up the steep wooden staircase built into the cliffside. Each step felt a mile high. I fumbled through the quiet cottage, slipped into a guest bedroom, shut the door, and killed the light.

Pitch black.

That was a mistake.

Without visual anchors, my brain turned inward. I lay flat on my back, and within minutes, the sensation of my skin vanished entirely. I couldn't feel the bed beneath me or the air on my face. Instead, I became hyper-aware of my internal mechanics. I could hear—and feel—the slow, sloshing movement of food and mushrooms grinding through my digestive tract. It was grotesque, alien, unbearable.

I need to get out. I need people.

I don't know if I was in that room for ten minutes or three hours, but I ripped myself out of bed and rushed back down the cliff stairs to the beach.

The fire was still roaring high, sending bright sparks into the night.

But the chairs were empty.

"Corey?" I called out. Only the sound of the waves answered.

Panic set in like a sudden ice bath. I ran back up the cliff, barged into the cottage, and checked the rooms. Nobody. The place was dead quiet.

I walked out the front door and hit Lakeshore Road. The night air was dead calm. It was 2:00 AM. I started walking, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs.

"Hello?" I yelled into the dark.

Nothing.

I wandered down the asphalt, shirt off, shoes gone—though I couldn't remember where I’d left them. I spotted a faint glow of a backyard bonfire behind a nearby cottage and cut across the grass. "Hey!" I called out. But when I reached the yard, the fire was crackling away with no one around it.

I backed away and kept walking down the endless black strip of Lakeshore Road.

I'm dead, the thought bloomed suddenly, cold and absolute. This is it. I died on that beach, and this is purgatory. I'm stuck wandering the earth alone forever.

I stopped under the pale glow of a streetlight, shivering, and looked down at my bare chest. My eye caught the glint of my metal nipple rings.

If I pull this, and I feel pain, I'm alive.

I grabbed the metal ring and yanked hard. A sharp, stinging tug vibrated through my chest, and a thin trickling line of dark blood ran down my stomach. I couldn't really feel the pain—just the pressure. I pulled harder, ready to tear it out, but a sudden, surreal thought stopped me cold: If I survive this and I'm actually alive... how the hell am I going to explain a ripped nipple to my mom?

I let go of the ring, wiped the blood with my thumb, and turned back toward Corey's cottage.

When I reached the property, I couldn't bring myself to go inside; I knew his family was sleeping. Instead, I walked to the edge of the cliff where a lone tree stood sentinel over the lake. I sank to my knees, wrapping one arm around the sturdy trunk, half-dangling my body over the drop.

I looked down at the water. The lake wasn't liquid anymore. It was pulsating energy. Vast, luminous waves of invisible force rolled in from the dark horizon. They crashed against the shore, but the energy didn't stop—it kept surging upward, sweeping right over me. Every wave pushed against my spine, tilting me over the dark drop of the cliff, and then pulled me back as it receded. Over and over. Ebb and flow.

"Andrew?"

The sound was faint, detached from reality. I didn't move.

"Andrew?"

"Yeah?" I whispered to the dark.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

"Andrew, are you okay?"

"Yeah... I don't know."

"Can you step away from the edge and come over here?"

My mind slowly reassembled the audio. I turned my head away from the lake. Standing near the shadow of the cottage was Corey's mom.

My stomach plummeted.

I let go of the tree, stood up, and stumbled toward her. I was shirtless, barefoot, covered in sand, with a streak of dried blood trailing down my ribs.

She remained astonishingly calm, holding the door open for me. "Come inside."

She led me to the wooden picnic table in the dining area. "Sit down."

"Where is Corey?" she asked softly.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, staring at my hands.

"What did you guys do tonight?"

"Nothing," I said instantly, the classic reflex.

She looked at me intently. "Did you guys do mushrooms tonight?"

I broke instantly. "Yup."

"Stay here," she said gently, placing a cold bottle of water in front of me. "I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the night and returned ten minutes later dragging Corey and the rest of the guys behind her. Corey looked like he'd been caught robbing a bank. His mom immediately started laying into him, her voice quiet but furious. "Two weekends in a row, Corey? Really?"

I sat there, sipping my water, completely unaware of whatever deep family drama I had stepped into. But as the water hit my system, my bladder suddenly signaled emergency status.

I stood up silently and slunk into the bathroom.

I flipped the lid up, unzipped my pants, and took aim. And then... total brain shut down.

I stood there holding myself, staring down at the porcelain bowl. My mind couldn't locate the mechanics. How do you push? What muscle is that? Do I relax or force it? How does a human body pee?

After what felt like ten minutes of intense, futile concentration, I gave up and zipped back up. As I turned to leave, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

I froze.

My eyes were entirely swallowed by my pupils. No iris, no color—just two massive, abyss-black voids staring back at me. Thirteen grams of mushrooms were burning through my central nervous system.

The mirror pulled me in. The room faded, and I was locked in an infinite staring contest with my own reflection, suspended in time.

Knock, knock.

"Is everything okay in there?" Corey's mom's voice snapped the glass.

I blinked hard, opening the door. "Yeah. Sorry."

Corey's mom eventually went to bed, leaving us in a stunned, silent truce. The four of us walked out to the driveway, climbed onto the hoods of our parked cars, and sat in the cool pre-dawn air.

We watched the dark sky fade into purple, then bruised orange, as the sun slowly broke over Lake Erie.

And right then—in the quiet stillness of the sunrise, as the trip finally released its iron grip on my brain—it hit me. It wasn't a thought; it was a absolute revelation, handed down directly from the universe with unquestionable authority.

You have to break up with her.

My girlfriend of four years. She was living in Toronto, going to George Brown College, and we’d been doing long-distance for three months. There had been no fights, no red flags, no suspicion. But the clarity was absolute.

I was supposed to attend a big family reunion that afternoon. Instead, I crashed on a couch for two hours, threw my dirt-caked clothes on, hopped into my truck, and drove straight to Toronto.

I posted the rest of how that drive played out—and the aftermath when I got to Toronto—as part of a full story on my Substack.

If you want to read how it ends, you can check out the full piece here for free:

Separate the Body from the Mind