I stood on wobbly legs, and looked around trying to make sense of my surroundings. They were unfamiliar, alien even as the air which was heavy to breathe.

Just as the air was different but breathable, so were the sights. Behind a hazy curtain that seemed to hang in the air all around. Somewhere in the distance fireworks danced in the air in ways I'd never seen fireworks dance, and was left wondering if they could do it. Though it looked faint and distant, it still thundered loudly over the murmurs of those also watching.

Closer I could see the outlines of people, the sources of the murmuring. Dotted throughout the uneven landscape were trees and little round bushes to help coat the grassy hillside, their many tiny leaves seeming to wave back and forth in almost synchronized fashion. They seemed so real, yet in a strange way, almost painted.

In the illuminated moonlight, my hands felt numb. I could see my fingers move and sense the pressure of them against my palms. That feeling though, dead but functioning.

Not everything was numb though. I was certain my legs beneath my shorts felt normal when they clicked together.

There was a fair amount of weight down there, hidden in the many pockets of those shorts. It had caught me by surprise when I first tried to move and got me again after a few steps.

My hand fished through a pocket with little thought. All manner of things were in my pockets, things I had not been carrying on me.

I could feel a few things in there. Most notably was a Keychain and the lanyard that seemed to seek out and cling to my fingers.

It was a strange sight when I pulled it out. There were many things attached to it I couldn't make out with half a dozen keys and a tiny flashlight among other things that weren't mine.

The biggest of the keys which looked like something for a car had something black and heart shaped attached. It looked like one of those radio remotes but tiny.

I put it back and pulled out other things. A wallet with a couple cards made of stiff plastics poked out. One of them, halfway out, had a few odd sets of numbers grouped apart beneath a golden symbol on the left side, which itself was under the name and logo of a bank I'd never heard of.

It was at that time I felt something explode inside. Hot bile rose up my throat and to my month, as I collapsed onto my knees…

And I let out a stream of vomit which cascaded a long way down.

Down below I could hear a stream of angry words.

"Jesus man"

I recognized Chuck's voice.

My eyes were wide open and adjusting to the night. The air was normal and I was on a rooftop facing down. In particular, my head was over the edge of the roof viewing the devastation. Within was a pain dull and throbbing, with a separate, sharp pain on the side of my head.

Some of that devastation below was on an unlucky man. I couldn't make out much about him in the dim light below, but he was probably Italian by the obscene flow of his hands.

Did I just…

Three weeks later…

"I'm telling you man, I certainly did."

We were watching a baseball game on TV, Red Sox vs Orioles. Will and Chuck were more into it than me, but they had snacks and a case of Gwinnett Pilsner.

For my part, I put on some burgers, a nice little reminder that I was starting to bring in money even if some of it came home unwashed as Ron might call it. Not that it really mattered. Most of that went towards food and paying Will for that room I was now renting.

So here we were sitting around the TV watching the game eating home-cooked burgers and drinking beer. They were intently focused on the game, but conversations during commercial breaks were pretty animated. More so as the beer flowed, as the Orioles progressively started kicking the Red Sox to the curb. Naturally at one point, it went to drugs.

"You know that's pretty great," Chuck said to me with a twinkle in his eyes, that almost made me believe that freckled, stringy haired ginger was looking to get my soul.

"I mean every high I ever got that took me somewhere was depressing as hell, and only taught me to stop hitting it. Now you're telling me you saw some awesome shit. Did I pick the wrong year or something to quit hallucinogens?

"I mean if you fed everyone the same drug cocktail, they'd all probably react to it differently. Then again," I tapped my head for dramatic effect. "Some head trauma can be enlightening."

There had been a bit more to it than that. Though I didn't remember everything I had happened or even all the stuff I had taken the night of July 4th, I swear it flipped a switch somewhere. The use of mentats with other shit did in fact strengthen the link I had with that other place.

Over there, I had seen certain clothes, and had heard names associated with them before. I saw strange tools whose purpose I could identify. I heard words not heard elsewhere. I felt the textures of mysterious fabrics. Some of these things were felt before. Never though, had the senses been so thoroughly on board and all at once.

Mentats have often been treated as Buffout for the mind. Sure, they could roid a man up with less effort or better yet, a supplement to things like a protein rich diet, but healthy men don't have heart attacks before the age of 30.

Mentats were less extreme. Worst case was maybe a brain aneurysm in 20 years or some mad schizophrenia. Things that made me less terrified of being the addict I was when compared to other things you could get over the counter.

Use could alter the mind, particularly at my age. For me though it didn't just rewire or strengthen neural pathways in the mind. There was something else, something that sometimes made me wonder if I was a guest in someone else's consciousness, and now the mystery had become more interesting. Now, those little pinpricks in the fabric of reality or whatever it was called seemed to widen a little bit.

Chuck looked thoughtful for a moment or so before he gestured at my feet then replied.

"So if you do to me what your blood daddy, may he rot in hell, did to you ten years back, I get brain damage but, I also get wicked highs from mentats?"

"I dunno Chuck," came Will's two bits. "If it does work, promise me man, you'll get a doctorate in brain surgery so you can explain that shit to me."

"Fuck you Will, I'm gonna do me some rocket surgery. Brains freak me the hell out. I'd rather go to space and get away from all this shit for a while. Hell I'd settle to make big dick rockets that kill millions per load before I agree to operate on one brain."

I mean, I couldn't completely disagree with Chuck. The thought of being any kind of surgeon, cutting open bodies for operations scared the piss out of me. I'd rather be filthy with the grease of machinery than filthy with the blood of other people. Besides, I was in need of being fixed myself were it possible, and I had no business trying to fix any other heads.

Will smirked at Chuck.

"I'm trying to imagine you getting a rocket up. I mean, it's judgment day and the rockets need to rise out of their silos, but we can't get ours up. Imagine the shame?"

"Oh we'll be fine Will, even without me nobody is gonna make fun of our tiny, tiny rockets. We'll have it rough if it happens, but at least I'll get to use a chainsaw on my asshole neighbors when I'm scavenging to buy cancer meds."

"I get the feeling you're going to be very comfortable with the apocalypse Chuck," I told him.

He laughed, but shelved the matter when the line of commercials ended and gave back the game. 15 minutes, one more point for the Orioles followed by Chuck cursing the "roided up monkey" who made a home run (One roided athlete beat other roided athletes so how did one judge), and one beer later, commercials resumed and so did conversation.

"Ya know Joe," Will asked me at one point trying not to trip over his words "If I just have to pop a pill, to get to your happy place, I might not mind a visit later. "

"No, no, no" Chuck wagged a finger at Will. "there's like the whole head thing and you probably need some weird psychoactive shit too. Like those weight loss pills you see the broads getting prescriptions for."

I shuddered and made no effort to hide it. Helen Newton was one of those broads who had one of those prescriptions and it came with side effects that I did not want to remember seeing.

"Oh Fuck no Chuck, my teeth are ugly enough."

That elicited a round of laughter from the boys.

"Why were you hoping to be an engineer again? If you got a ride to CIT, you could have been a chemist. You could learn how to make drugs the right way, and I'm sure lots of people would love to buy your shit."

I couldn't quite distill my case into a few sentences so I just mentioned that I was good in shop classes and knew my way around a drafting table, but not in chemistry. It might not do to get too far into the whole part about having a mind that knew of other worlds, or realities or whatever they were. They had developed differently. Though there were references to a shared history, there was a point where things diverged though I couldn't quite say where.

No longer obligated to follow us, they took a different path. From culture and the arts, to applied science, they were removed from the likes of us. Light years ahead in some aspects and seemingly ass backwards in others, yet unable to really compare in any sense I had.

If only I could better understand that place. It spoke to me in many strange ways taking many strange approaches, particularly when I was certain it wanted to tell me something.

There were so many ideas out there that a CIT student could turn into a career or even a business like other alumni who had come before.

"Oh Joe, that feels like such a waste," Chuck shook his head.

"Maybe I want to do rocket surgery," I said.

The game came back, and the Orioles pulled it off again, pretty much fucking the Red Sox beyond recognition. Chuck left the place, a little sour at the outcome but otherwise cheerful and with a belly full of good food and beer.

Will took a half a mentat tab and went to bed, and after cleaning the sink, I took a full.

But I didn't get a glance of the other side when I stumbled into bed and closed my eyes. Maybe that was a good thing. Besides the feeling that I was a frequent guest to someone else's consciousness or vice versa, my dreams were strange and incomprehensible tonight.

AN: Happy October 23rd