Testies - 1,2,3...

Hang on, I'll be right back.

What's up?

I guess I owe a big explanation why I left the world on the edge of their seats... I mean, how do you start an epic story like the one below and then not reveal the answer? Worse yet, not even an update for months? If I was a faithful reader, I'd be kinda pissed. So if you're one of those - I'm genuinely sorry. There is a grand ending to the story below, and I plan to reveal it one of these days. But for now - it's on hold. Always leave 'em wanting more - thanks, PT.

So, what have I been doing? you might ask. Well, I've been wallowing in financial crisis, for one. Tough times got REAL tough. But throughout all the stress, pain and tears, Missus Mungus and I have come through strong. All is on the mend there. The ole job has been eating up all my time as well, so not a ton of hours available to work on epic saga. So, I've been focusing on the instant gratification - one liner - business. Twitter: www.twitter.com/fungusmungus

I've also revived my first love: comics. I've started a daily webcomic illustrating the bizzarre behavior demonstrated by the inhabitants of an alternate universe of bi-pedal piggies: http://tlpig.wordpress.com/ . This has been a true labor of love. Comics were my passion all through my school years including an attempt at an illustration major in college. The realities of life did not allow this to come to fruition (needed aday job to like eat and stuff. That forced me to quit school and work). But now I have an outlet. And I'm totally digging it. If you'd like to check it out, I've added an update box over there on the top left of this page.

Fear not, fellow XE-ers, FM vs. Reality readers and friends - this site is not dead. A place to write some long-form discertations on the WTF moments in life is always needed. But in the meantime, check out the comic - and say 'hi' on twitter sometime. There's friends there.

A Fiction: Part XXI

II

“I must say it’s really quite remarkable. We never thought you’d make it this far. But clearly we made the right choice with you.” A small square panel embedded in the chamber wall throbs as the words are spoken. The walls are an unfinished metal, the joints of the panels plainly visible. It is clearly a strong, sturdy structure, yet built by someone with little regard for cosmetics. “I apologize for leaving you literally hanging for so long. The environment here takes some getting used to. It requires a process of adjustment.”

At first the tingling in my toes is a small irritation, but it is slowly climbing my leg – growing in intensity as it goes. Then I feel it in my fingertips. Soon it has spread up all of my limbs and begins to work at my chest and groin. I begin to panic a bit, instinctively shaking my arms to get the blood flowing again. Soon I am thrashing to work the crawling itch from below my flesh – its insidious etching like microscopic knives cutting me from the bone to the surface. My eyes are darting from side to side and the once irritant is now agony. I tuck my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them and squeeze. Behind my now closed eyes, I am a ball floating in a pool of electric fluid, the less I move the easier it washes over me.

Either the sensation is lessening or my senses have dulled as I open my eyes and spread my limbs like newly formed wings. I am slowly spinning in all directions – end-over-end, around and twisting – but it is not disorientating. I see every scratch and imperfection in the surface of the chamber in perfect clarity. My mind builds a map of the welds and scuffs and I could recite the uneven corners like rote. I raise my open hands before my eyes and feel power surge through them. I make fists and can imagine driving them through the walls with little effort. My body feels of perfection – any cuts or bruises are gone, my worn muscles now taut and strong, my mind clear and full of peace.

“What has happened to me?” I cry out – elated.

“Adjustment, as I told you to expect, Mr. Cole.” The voice is from within the room. I spin my head to see the speaker, but am still rotating in the air, and cannot find the man. “We have such hopes for you. We could not wait for you to reach your potential naturally, as that could take years without this type of intervention. Most never achieve it, though you are clearly not like most.” I still have yet to spot my host and am sure I have rotated past every inch of the chamber more than once.

“Why can I not see you?”

“You will learn to see me, Mr. Cole. But you must be patient. You have come a long way towards your goal very quickly, but you still have a few connections to make on your own. And when you do, many things not visible will be seen and many secrets will be revealed.” The voice is stifling a laugh with much effort, and coughs. “But of course even I am not complete yet. We will complete our transitions together you and I. We will do great things, Mr. Cole.”

My imagination reels with the wonders I am hearing for the first time – disembodied voices, physical (?) transformations… and the word appears in my mind as though it were placed there, which I presume it may have been. “Evolution?” I speak to the air.

“Nature evolves over millennia, Mr. Cole. And the individual knows no benefit. Nature is bound by time. You and I, though – we do not have this limitation. We are our own generations and re-generations. We are on an expedition, Mr. Cole, to discover our potential and the ultimate potential of our kind. We will see the infinite.”

As the cloud of thought clears before my eyes, I realize I have stopped rotating and am moving feet first towards the floor. Before me, a doorway slides up and away and I see a dimly lit passage beyond. Testing my legs, I walk through – my first steps towards the unfathomable.

A Fiction: Part XX

Chapter 3

Abyss

I

I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death.

The scrabbling on the harsh ragged ice has torn my fingertips apart. At first, I am cold – cold like I have never felt before. But gradually, the cold becomes a simmering warmth that grows first in my chest and extends out to my fingers and toes. I cannot close my eyes, the blinding light above my only link to the world above ice and above water. I can see a hint of blue through the pane as day lazes above. One final push on the ice and I drift down into the abyss. The light fades as I fall away into the pitch below. Hope fades and I open my mouth to breathe in and end it. I exhale all the air in my lungs, the bubbles rushing past my eyes and coming to rest on the ice ceiling above. Then I inhale. I expect spasms of pain as my lungs fight to reject the liquid being pulled into them, but there are no spasms. There is no liquid. I am breathing air.

I open my eyes to find myself suspended in space in a nicely lit metal-walled chamber. I close my eyes again, and reopen them expecting to find the chamber gone – a figment of my last moments imagining. But the chamber remains. I breathe deep, luxuriating in the act, as my head clears and my heart slows. As I relax, I begin to ponder my surroundings at length. I stretch my one functioning arm out but I am too far to reach the wall. I attempt to shift my weight to see if there is gravity here or if I am held in the center of a weightless room. Suddenly my head begins to spin and my stomach turns. As I throw up the contents of my belly, I note that it does indeed fall past my feet and onto the floor below, splashing up onto my water logged shoes. Gravity indeed.

The force holding me in place seems equally placed throughout my body – not focused on my torso for example – my head feels as weightless as my feet. I can move my limbs, but cannot generate enough force to move myself about. I am fixed in place. It is quite comfortable and after a few minutes I begin to get drowsy, and slip into sleep.

In my dream I float through the pane of ice into the open air. As I float up beyond the ice cliff wall, I see Angel’s Head. There are men climbing off the deck onto the ice with rope and teams lowering supplies. The rear of the ship is lower than the front, and on second look is actually below water at the furthest point. Angel’s Head is sinking and the crew is abandoning her. There is black smoke billowing from the stairwell on deck – a fire below I assume. Suddenly the scene seems to speed up and the sun moves across the sky until it grows darker. I watch as Angel’s Head sinks lower and lower until finally she breaks away from the ice and slips into the depths. The men on shore all turn to look into the sky. They are waving at something… then I realize –they are waving at me! Wait, they’re not waving, but shaking their fists. I am not to blame! It was Hawthorne and the captain, not me! Slowly, the ice they stand upon begins to fail beneath their feet and to my horror, I watch as 30 men are lost to the sea, cursing me with their final breaths…

“Welcome home, Mr. Cole” the voice says as I open my eyes.

A Fiction: Part XIX

VII

The deck of Angel’s Head lurches to my left, and I slide face-first toward the thin wood edge wall. I tuck just in time to avoid my head taking the full blow, but I hit the wall hard, and am winded. At first it’s just hand tools and debris that follow my slide, but the slope of the deck steepens, and the larger equipment starts to slide in my direction.

Despite the danger, I am transfixed by the scene before me: The men that had been trying to get into the control room have now broken the glass and are piling into the room. As the ship tilts, men fall from the high deck to the icy water below. There is another group that has descended upon the snowmobiles and arctic supplies. The clear favored prizes are the vehicles of course, but there is heavy fighting for the boots, jackets, ropes and tools. One man is able to start the one closest to me, but he is pulled from the machine, dragged to deck and beaten as another takes his chance upon the beast. This cycle continues with men fighting to get position in the seat, but being torn down before the throttle can be engaged. Now the men have lost all hope as the snowmobile edges down the sloping deck towards me. They jump aside and begin their own slide toward the icy doom below. I wake from my observational haze and throw myself to the side as the speeding behemoth barrels past me. With a deafening crash, the wall and railing I have been lying on break away, and I fall into the stark white silence of ice and snow.

For a moment, as I fall, there is no sound. My mind races with thoughts of my life and impending death. My expectation of icy water is proven false when my descent is broken by piled snow. My left shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, and I am sure it is broken. In the moment I take to recover, I look up to see the snowmobile, which has landed on its back end, towering above and teetering to fall upon me. I roll to my side, and fall into a large crack in the ice and find myself sliding feet first into darkness. My back and legs are torn as they rip across the jagged ice. But as soon as it started, the slide ends and I am again falling through bright white space and land hard on solid ground. I look up at the sheer ice cliff above, and for a moment take in its pure beauty. The sun glistens off its uneven walls and I am reminded of the cathedral where my grandfather’s funeral service was held - stoic and elegant, with an air of unearthly peace.

Looking up, I notice a puff of ice and snow blown out from the top of the cliff. Then I see jagged shards of ice separating from the wall followed by a large, dark mass. Unable to support its weight, the glacier is passing off the snowmobile once more in my direction and I watch as it falls in a shower of shimmering ice. Again, I get my wits and scramble to my knees. I throw myself across the ice and claw my way as far from the cliff base as I can before the impact.

The snowmobile crashes into the ice floor with an explosive reverb, shattering the ice in all directions, and throwing a spire of water 50 feet into the air above me. A crack appears all around me and I find myself alone on a wobbling plate of ice as it breaks free from the larger floor. I grab the plate’s edge in a desperate attempt to float through the maelstrom, but it tilts up into the air and over, and I find myself below the ice, in freezing water – blackness below and clawing at the light above. My fingers search for an opening, but to no avail. I slam my fist against the ice but only push myself further down into the icy depths. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, …

A Fiction: Part XVIII

VI

In my dream, I am standing at the top of a large ice hill overlooking a field of snow. The snow is falling heavily, and I cannot make out the horizon. Above is cold steel grey cloud – no hint of sun, just even, grey light. I hear a small buzzing sound and search the sky. There’s nothing there, but I am sure I hear a small plane. I raise my arms to signal it – They are going to see me. I’m saved!! I squint my eyes and see a small black spot in the clouds. Yes!! It’s headed this way!! The spot grows larger and blacker but I still cannot make the shape of the craft. It nearly fills my vision now and I feel I am floating, my body sliding up towards my head. The buzz is getting louder and louder until it is a mind-shattering roar…

I wake to the roar of the ships engines in full throttle. My head presses uncomfortably into the headboard of my bed as I slide up with the acceleration. I roll towards the small port hole and wince as my sheet tears from a patch of hardened blood on my chest. I run my hand down, incredulous – have I been in a fight? Why am I bleeding? I look out at the water racing past my small, round window. Wherever we’re going, we’re sure in a hurry to get there. I hear heavy footfalls as someone runs past my door. Listening closely, I hear muffled shouting on deck. I roll out of bed and quickly dress, carrying my shirt with me to pull on as I make my way outside.

The cold air stabs my lungs and steals my breath as I step out onto deck and survey the chaos all around. Men are running and shouting in all directions. Some have made a line up the staircase to the control room. Above, a small group is pounding and banging on the outside of the control room presumably to gain access. To my right across the deck, Hendricks is up on a small platform, handing out orange life vests to all who will take one. He spots me and frantically waves me over. I push my way through the crew surrounding him, temporarily warmed by the close contact, and climb up to stand beside him.

“What’s going on? Are we sinking?” I ask. Hendricks is sweating with the work and takes a moment to catch his breath. I look over the rail behind him as something catches my eye. What is that? Are those whales? No, they’re oddly shaped, irregular. I am thrown back from the rail as ice showers over. The towering wall of the iceberg slides past having brushed the side of the ship. Hendricks kneels down and offers me a hand.

“The ship is out of control. Someone has locked himself in the control room and pushed us full out. This area is full of icebergs! Surely we’ll crash!!” Hendricks falls to the floor, his cool demeanor suddenly broken. His breathing is harsh and erratic. He is slipping into shock. I put my arm around him and help him to a seat on the edge of the deck. Overhead, a life boat swings across the deck and out over the open sea. It lowers quickly and crashes dangerously into the side of the boat, breaking away a section of the rail and side wall. Three crew men reach over to hold the boat in place, while two others climb in. I stand and rush over towards them, but too late – all five are inside and the boat is being lowered towards the racing sea below. I look behind to the lift controls and wave my arms to get the attention of the man running the panel - make him stop – but too late. I hear screaming as the hoist jerks wildly and the cables holding the boat snap up into the air. I fall flat on the deck as one flicks down across an unsuspecting crewman racing across. It hits directly between his shoulder and neck, embedding itself 6 inches down through his chest. He is knocked to his knees and falls forward, dead before his face touches wood.

I pull myself carefully to my knees and am about to stand when, with a scream of splintering wood and twisting metal the ship comes to a lurching stop. I am thrown forward – sliding across the wet, ice covered deck – with the rest of the debris strewn about. There is yelling from above as the crew’s fears are realized: we have crashed.

A Fiction: Part XVII

V

“Captain?!” I shout through the locked door. “Captain, open up. It’s me, Cole.” Silence… “Are you sure he’s in there?” I say to Nelson who is standing nervously behind me. I try the handle again, this time with a bit more force. Placing my hand on the door, I estimate its strength. I can surely get through it. Nelson, sensing my intention, grips my shoulder and pulls me back.

“You can’t just break down his door, Mr. Cole. C’mon, let’s go see Mr. Roderick. He’ll tell you what you need to know…” I hesitate but ultimately back away from the door when I sense Nelsons fear. I need answers, I think to myself as I follow Nelson into the sun.

The wind whirls past me wetly as we step out on deck and move towards the ladder to the control room. There’s a flurry of activity around the research teams equipment. Four large crates have been place semi symmetrically down the center of the platform. Men armed with pry bars and hammers work feverishly to pull them open to some success. The second crate from me has a gap slowly opening on one side. I pause in anticipation as the crate is opened. Two men climb inside and start knocking at the walls from the inside. The top is lowered to the deck and the sides are pulled away to reveal a shining blue snowmobile strapped to a sturdy looking wooden pallet.

“What the fuck?” I turn to Nelson who is himself looking up the ladder towards the control room. Roderick and Hendricks are climbing down, apparently to inspect the cargo. Roderick looks to me, then to Nelson and they exchange a concerned look as Roderick reaches the deck and turns to me.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Cole. A bit soon to be up and about I should think.”

“I have a questions I need answered. Where is the captain?” Roderick waves Hendricks away and puts his arm on my shoulder to direct me towards the rail. Nelson follows close so as not to miss a word.

“The captain is under the care of Dr. Sawyer. He has become ill and is in need of extended rest. He must not be disturbed. Surely you understand.” He smiles and pats my back. “Quite an adventure you had down there, eh? Shame about Stuart of course, but the balls you had to swim out… I envy your courage. Not sure I could have done the same.” I am not about to be swayed by flattery.

“You left me. The ship fucking disappeared. I had no choice.”

“Please, Mr. Cole. You must understand – Hawthorne believed we were in immediate danger.” Roderick grips my arm. “We had the entire crew’s safety in mind. You are but one man. One man’s sacrifice could have saved twenty lives. As it turns out, after some extensive tests, the danger proved to be overstated and we returned. To find you floating up to the surface above the Ether… remarkable, really. Well, all’s well that ends well, and all that.” Again, Roderick smiles.

“A man died! Don’t you care?”

“Men die all the time. At sea and everywhere else. Stuart understood the danger when he signed up for this voyage. As did you I believe. Now if there’s nothing else, Mr. Cole, I’m tiring of this conversation. If you are able to work, please be on deck in the morning looking sharp. Otherwise, stay out of the way until you have recovered fully. The rest of the crew is at your service. And I’ll ask you not to make such a clatter around the captain’s door again. Dr. Sawyer rang me to complain. He suggested I restrain you. I will do no such thing, but be clear, Mr. Cole, I will if this behavior continues.”

My face is hot with rage as Roderick turns and walks towards the men on deck. All four crates are open now. Three snowmobiles and a crate of assorted arctic gear. I am too pissed to give it much thought as Nelson walks me back to my room. He says nothing as I step in and close the door behind me. I open a small box near my bed and pull out a fresh single edge razor blade. I slice four clean lines into my chest, the pain releasing my rage. My head goes light as my blood streams down to my belly and I breathe, slowly.