Modal Sojourn (4 ratings)
by William Alan Rieser
Page 1 of 4
I became conscious within a ricochet, startled into a surreal awakening as
two dissimilar thoughts competed for my attention. One manifested as a bell,
clanging metallic words in an unfamiliar language. The other was a brilliant,
white cord, strung to an invisible arc which twanged equally enigmatic earth
tones. The argument resolved around me, its proponents unaware that I strove to
understand, unconcerned that I was disturbed, yet they were determined to reach
a conclusion of vague proportions and importance. Clarity was brief and
strange, for my own thinking process was jump started by accident.
"Temporal disease requires a temporal cure," chimed the bell.
"Continuum surgery involves immense effort," answered the cord.
"We need only establish the necessary dates," responded the bell.
"Five hundred years, plus and minus," replied the cord.
"If our contacts respond, we will succeed," theorized the bell.
"Let us begin with cadence chemicals," said the cord.
Those were the last legible English words I perceived as green and golden
characters floating in the void of my thoughts, for they shriveled and
dissipated quickly. I resuscitated more fully in a padded enclosure. The walls
were elastic and the air breathed thickly and malleable in my lungs. Sight,
hearing and smell did not coalesce in my brain, but I could taste acerbity in
the small, round pellet and feel its smooth, pill shape through my fingertips
before swallowing it. It was medicinal, making me conjure a hospital
reminiscence, though I had no inkling of who I was, where or why. That I was
different was obvious, but memory was absent. I assumed amnesia, though proving
that was futile in the wake of my jumbled senses. Undoubtedly the roomís
monitors, whoever they were, sought to elicit a change in my condition by
administering the encapsulated drug. There was no accompaniment of liquid to
facilitate the pastille down my throat. If they sought an effect, they
succeeded, though it is unlikely they antic
ipated my reactions fully. Maybe it was experimental and revolutionary. I
recalled the golden words and thought of myself as a test subject.
If they wore a caduceus on their unseen sleeves or a swastika, my sense of
their icon was incoherent, especially after the lozenge disseminated and
commenced its work. An unknown assemblage filled the room, that much I could
feel. Their colors tended to blend in knots of singular, four dimensional
canvases rather than by intermingling with each other. It was their speech I
was seeing and by the shadings and tones I could distinguish their individual
selves, however cloud-like and amorphous they appeared. I feared the crowding
initially, but nothing came of it. No flesh tones were represented, nor were
recognizable images apparent, rather the emoting of conscious beings, phasing
in and out of each otherís unique spatial dimension. Their thoughts floated and
rambled in vibrant patterns, sometimes predictably and often surprisingly to my
aroused intellect. What were they? Their auras were universally beautiful, like
nimbuses of nacre flowing outside the shell. Was I like them? Should I be? Did
I want to be?<
As the drug delved deeper, my senses expanded to include audibles.
Intangible recollections flooded my convoluted thinking, forcing me to review
pictures and echoes from a distant, uncoordinated reality. I could hear
inflections and make out contrasts. My brain began to distinguish aural
sensations within spoken hues. A visage of light aqua, streaked delicately with
tendrils of bright greens and yellows, drew my attention. It was not music per
se, though it infused me with watery melody, played upon an icicle flute. If it
was a song, it was new to my experience and extremely pleasant.Next Page
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