Page 73 of Things Get Dark

The jubilant crash of heaven crescendos to the edge of reality itself before falling until it hits the deepest bass. Profound vibrations bounce of the waterfall of colour, splattering the hues and making themselves palpable. The vibrations transcend themselves and become solid. They dance in delight upon my skin.

Those rich vibrations swerve and loop around, birthing new sensations as they stimulate my nose in every possible way. The smell of roses rises, followed by sweet almonds and berries, oranges and lemons. Oudh and cedar and fresh pine. The scent of the oceans, freshly cut grass, the deep smouldering of volcanoes. Gunpowder and sesame oil. Petrol, bleach, exhaust fumes. Synthetic linen air freshener. Stale piss in shitty club toilets. Bad milk.

The whole range of human experience continues to pour forth. Every colour, every smell, every sound, every taste. Emotions rupture, sending new rhythms of concentric circles of light and sound and taste and smell out from the centre. Pain and pleasure oscillate until they become one.

Out of this endless canvas shoots countless rays that pierce the colours, sending them flickering and melting into the sounds, the scents. The very fabric of reality begins to fold in upon itself in pattern upon pattern. These patterns begin to form, crystallising into trees, into birds soaring above and the great flowing rivers. Roaring oceans and scathing lightning. Patterns form towering mountains and treacherous valleys. The endless variety of miraculous creatures. Human beings emerge.

These patterns have wandered off in every dimension, and I suddenly find myself standing inside this miracle of life. I discover myself, another pattern looking at other patterns who,in turn, look at me. I see a pattern in the form of Gabriel. And the pattern of Gabriel’s lips smiling at me. And I feel my own lips curling up, too, happy. And the patterns flow on, forming and falling, forming and falling.

Chapter Six

The world feels solidfor the first time in a long time. My body feels more like my own than it has in a long time. Muscles in my back press against something firm, and shift on what feels like a mattress. The soft turning of the page of a book taps at my consciousness, and my eyes flicker open softly. The world is tilted at an angle until I sit and press my back against the headboard behind me.

“Hey,” Gabriel says, looking so much more ordinary than the being I’d come to know. “How are you feeling?”

My mouth doesn’t seem to know how to work yet, and so silence ripples out.

“You’re in one of the guest bedrooms,” he says, sullying the quietude. If this is a guest bedroom, I don’t want to see the master. This place is as big as my whole flat.

Gabriel puts down the book he’s reading and steps towards me. His face seems a tad gaunt, his eyes a little lacking in clarity. How long have I been out? How long has he sat there, watching over me?

My body shifts as he sits on the mattress. He leans over and grabs a glass of water from a bedside table. He offers it to me, but I just eye it warily.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he says, putting it back down. “I probably wouldn’t want to drink anything anyone offered me in this place either if I’d just been what you’ve been through.”

“What have I just been through?” My throat feels tight as I try to keep my cycling emotions buried.

“Mr Grant calls it a spirit-opening. Most would call it a trip.”

My words seem surprisingly hollow. “You drugged me?”

His cheeks flush, his head turning down, revealing the angular turn of his jaw. “I…” he begins, before falling away. “Most people don’t react like you. You must be extremely sensitive.”

“That’s what my dad told me,” I mutter, fidgeting with the duvet cover.

I’m surprised by how quickly my emotion falls away; how lacking in anger I suddenly am. Instead, I mostly feel…empty. But not in an unpleasant way. In fact, it feels quite nice to be free of any strong feelings. To simply sit in this comfortable bed, dry and warm. I feel so present. Everything seems to come to me free of my own judgement or assumptions or impositions. I notice the steady rhythm of my breath, the gentle batting of Gabriel’s eyelids as he continues to look down, the crick in my neck. I notice the dryness of my throat.

“I will take that water, actually,” I say.

“Of course.”

The water feels so refreshing, as though it’s cleansing something I hadn’t known lurked in my throat. As I lower the now-empty glass, Gabriel takes it out of my hand and puts it back on the table.

“Hey,” I say. “You know, you’d probably make a pretty good waiter.”

The fluttering of his eyelids as he smiles is like a painting in motion, like poetry for the body. I catch myself. Remind myself that he isn’t the person I’ve been talking to for the last who knows how long. He’s a guy I met. And a guy I crashed into. And he’s probably no different from anyone else, or to me.

But then I think back to what he told me, what I told myself. And then I know he is me. He has all the fears I do, that every human being does. The fear of being alone. The fear of unfulfilled potential. The fear of it all ending. The fear of being misunderstood. I see someone who might appreciate someone reaching out after a weird shift at whatever fucked up job this is.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m okay.” He’s softly spoken now. “I feel guilty.”

“What even happened?” I try to stay soft, too. “What kind of party was that?”

“Mr Grant has a firm belief in people and their potential. He throws this party every year to unlock more of that potential. Can you stand? He wants you to see something.”

I nod. My feet plant themselves firmly against the floorboards, and I take a moment to ensure I’m steady before I follow Gabriel out of the room and down a corridor. All the guests have gone. A few cleaners are dotted about, hoovering, polishing mirrors, collecting abandoned glassware. The fun is over, it would seem.

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