The Voice of the Other
Solomon—the peculiar man with dreadlocked hair—led Justin, Pete, Bill, Ken and Chris further into his home, which was somehow an oasis in the cold, never-ending, barren plane of Traxus IX. Different. Altogether strange.
Chris was the last in and shut the door. Solomon called out from over his shoulder, "Please lock d'door if yull be so kyind."
Chris studied the locks, trying to not focus so much on Solomon's peculiar method of speech. It was a simple lever that actuated two deadbolts—one on top and one on bottom. He gave it a firm shove and the two pistons lodged themselves two whole inches into the framework of the steel container, ceiling and floor. Not a bad setup. Quick, robust, and idiot-proof. He caught up to the group and momentarily lost his bearings as he panned his gaze around Solomon's igloo—which was a stark departure from what he remembered Justin's igloo to be. A stark departure from Traxus IX in its entirety.
The interior was packed with plant life. Flora covered walls, floor and hanging from ceiling. There was natural light by way of sconces anchored eye level at steady intervals. A few purple hazes also held partial reign over the lush, jade-tinged ambience —UV light sources. Probably to keep the plant life alive seeing as how they were indoors; and Traxus IX offered very little radiance as well. The smell of the place was dank and rich, moisture and minerals heavy in the air. It was rather invigorating to the senses as Chris drew in a deep breath of it. Everyone else did too.
It was as if they transitioned into a new world, a new level of consciousness.
And it was a very welcomed change.
A few more steps inside and everyone was right at ease. "Got a remedy for a case of the broken hearts?" Justin asked aloud.
"For who?" Solomon asked, not looking back.
"For the young one here."
Solomon now turned to face Chris. "New arrival. It happens to us all. But on'lee once, mon. Here, tehk dis." Solomon offered a cup from an outstretched palm.
Chris accepted and peered over the rim. Inside was a clear liquid, tinged jade. He sniffed inside and was rewarded with a heart-warming scent much like sweetened tea. He brought the cup to bear and took a sip. It was exactly as it smelled-sweet and earthy. "It's good."
"All natural, mon. No syn'tetic shit. Yull feel bettah soon."
"Funny that we're coming here for advice on drugs." Bill quipped.
"Any'ting in moder'ehshyun is good." Solomon replied.
Solomon turned and once more led the way.
Most of the inside was a natural green, save for a few colorful variations here and there where unique plant species laid. Contrasting nicely against the emerald overtones were yellows and pinks and deep, velvety purple. Some grew in translucent enclosures while others blossomed freely in baskets. Solomon led them further into a new container. Humidifiers made a gentle hum with their low-speed fans dispersing water vapor all around. A few pieces of vegetation were sprouting fruits at the ends. Some were ripe, ready to be picked and enjoyed. Other plants had humungous barbs all along their stems, some with giant jaw-like appendages at their ends. At any turn, there could be a different species of plant, one never knowing if it was carnivorous or not. None of them had ever seen a nursery so fertile, so alive.
"Just how in the hell you found the soil to nourish all this, Solomon," Justin began, looking around, "is still a mystery to me."
"I hev mey sources, jest like you." Solomon retorted merrily. "Deh gret ting about d'greenhouse is dat evreh'ting can be renewed."
"Sounds like I need to be taking after you."
"Absolute'lee, mon. You simp'lee must. All'ya need is a little knowledge and a little atten'chyun. Fallow me down."
In the middle of a twenty by twenty steel container, a path was dug into the clay. A set of hand-made stairs—cut clean—descended an unfathomable distance with what little light there was. Solomon proceeded down, followed by Justin, Bill, Ken, Pete, and then Chris. The steps were solid yet narrow. Everyone stepped cautiously, for the steps were close together as if a child constructed them. But any larger the steps, the more impossible it would be to descend them for the ceiling was obtusely low. A steel-armored cable anchored to it and led the way further down. Solomon held an electric lantern, a ghostly-white glow all around them like a stalking spirit.
"I remember when I helped you build these steps." Justin said, a smile on his face.
"And I do-wun't forget it, mon. Wit'out you, mey life meyt be in shambles."
From the rear of the group, Chris could see an end in sight to these steep steps. The dark landing at the base of the stairs gradually took on brightness as Solomon approached—holding the lantern high out of his eyesight. The cavernous basement was wide, which was the only dimension to counteract the uncomfortably low ceiling. No one had to hunch over, but the feeling of confinement was most certainly here. Sconces just like above barely lit the room. At the far wall was a wide bench with various electronic devices, glass beakers and refrigeration units flanking it all.
"How's your generator running, Solomon?" Justin asked.
"Jest fine, tanks to you."
"How are you on fuel?"
"Meyt need some more in a mont."
"I'll be sure to run some by you beforehand."
"Many tanks."
Chris looked around: there was no way out except for the way they came in. The walls were solid clay. But then he looked harder in the dim cave: one wall was darker than the others. He walked over to it. He was startled at what he saw: the wall wasn't black at all, because there was no wall. It was just a pure, pitch-black void, recessing into God only knew what. He extended a hand outward to the darkness and all he felt was air.
"Be careful, mon." Solomon said. "Ver'ee far t'fall." He stepped over to Chris with his lantern, filling the hungry darkness with brave light. For as far as Chris could see downwards, there was nothing. He took a harder look, leaning over the edge oh so carefully: far down below was a silver glimmer winking back at the light in Solomon's hand.
"Water?"
"Yeah." Justin said. "This was the 'oasis' I was telling you about—the only place in the world with water. Solomon sits on top of the only aquifer on Traxus Nine."
"You have unlimited water." Chris guessed.
"Ya, mon." Solomon answered.
Chris walked over to a standing trough of water near the middle of the cave, a mesh like grating hovering above it. He ran his fingers over the porous partition and looked to Solomon. "What's this?"
"Dat is d'hydroponics. I grow d'plants here first." Solomon briefly switched on an overhead network of intense ultraviolet light sources. Everyone covered their eyes.
"It burns like a sun." Chris said.
"D'plants require it, mon. I do-won't be down here when d'ere on."
"I see you still got the setup." Justin said. "Are you gonna test the stuff I got?"
"Ya, mon. Over here." Solomon led the group to the far wall where the various test tools lay. On the bench was the typical inventory of an industrial chemist. Bunsen burners, microscopes, spectrometers, hot plates, cryogenics, everything. Even a small distillery. It was all here. He looked to Chris, standing idly by. "Dis is where d'magic happens, mon. Watch." Solomon reached into a canvass pouch, withdrew a pinch of a strange, powdery substance and threw a clump into a nearby vat of liquid. An immense flame sprouted to the ceiling along with a brief flash of heat. Everyone minus Solomon reared back.
"That was cool!" Chris shouted.
"Ya, mon. And I can already see y'feel bettah." Solomon smiled and patted Chris on the back. He glanced to Justin. "So, now, what is dis you have for me?"
Justin reached into his pocket, withdrew the golden flower and handed it to Solomon by the thick, rubbery stem. "This is it."
"Hmm." Solomon said, peering closely at the strange plant. "Dis is…interesting."
"What is it?" Justin asked.
"Not sure, mon." Solomon sparked to life with wide-eyed glee. He moved to the far side of the bench. "Research." He opened an old, weathered book with care and flipped through the pages. "Dis meyt be what I tink it is, or it meyt not be."
Justin and the others patiently waited.
"Ah!" Solomon shouted. Instantly, everyone gathered around him, hovering over and jockeying for position around the text and illustrations. Solomon showed them the page to what he discovered. "Dis is d'plant you took. See?"
They all looked into the page as Solomon shown his lantern directly upon it.
The picture was of a tangle of vines, lustrous and dark green. There were clusters of flowers stemming off from them, about three centimeters long and broad, bright yellow and trumpet-shaped.
"Dis is supposed to be Trumpet Flower." Solomon declared.
"Supposed to be?" Justin asked, his brow raised.
"I…I do-wun't know, mon. It is d'best match I have."
"Is Trumpet Flower safe to smoke?"
"Yes, ver'ee small doses. But dis meyt be some'ting entire'lee diff'rent, mon."
"Only one way to find out."
"No. I have a diff'rent way." Solomon reached into a drawer under the desk and pulled out a flask of unknown liquid. It glowed a radioactive solid purple even in the dim light of the cavern. "Give me d'flower again." Solomon said. Justin handed it over. Solomon placed it flat on a ceramic plate in the middle of the bench. "Back away." he said. "Do-won't breath in d'smoke just yet."
He opened up the flask and poured the strange contents downward onto the flower. Within in a heartbeat, the chemical reaction took place, a fragrant smoke billowing upwards from the bench. It began to rise higher, shrouding the immediate area, the whole group backpedaling in cautious accordance. When the smoke was gone, so was the flower.
"Ah," Solomon declared, "Ver'ee good! D'smoke was grey and the flower is gone. It is safe."
"You're sure?" Justin asked.
"Absolute'lee, mon. Enjoy." Solomon smiled, turned and stowed away his items.
"Thanks, Solomon." Justin said. "So it should work then? How potent will it be? I've been on the hunt for a new kick lately."
"'Twill be plen'tee potent, mon, plen'tee. On'lee ting is here, you do-wun't have enough. Go back to wherever you got dis and get some more. And wey do-won't you tehk some for me too?" he finished with a sly grin.
Chris chimed in from the back of the group, "So what's going to happen when I smoke?"
"Hard to say, mon." Solomon answered. "Evreh mon's exper'yense is diff'rent. Evreh mon for dem'self."
"You're saying that we'll have different trips?" Chris asked. "Like, we'll each have our own perceptions."
"Yessss." Solomon hissed with wide-eyed excitement. "Yull have your own real'ty." He pointed randomly to each member of the group: "You meyt loff, while he meyt cry. Meybe Justeen get ang'ree. You can neveh know. Dat is wey only afta yee'ahs of navi'geh'teeng d'spirit world, can you staht to learn from dis here magic."
"Basically," Justin said to Chris, "you won't be smoking it with us. You're too young—for one—and, you haven't tripped before. This is some strong shit, so maybe another time. No hard feelings, little guy."
Chris shrugged. "That's okay. It sounds a little too much on the wild side for me."
"Now," Solomon said, "you have some tings for me?"
"Yeah…" Justin double timed it back up the stairs and into Solomon's atrium, back downstairs in a flash with a large box in his bear hug grasp . "…Two transistor radios, one box of assorted antibiotics, plant feed, ten industrial-grade UV tube lamps, high-voltage ballasts, and several aluminum mounting fixtures. Does that sound about right?"
"Correction, mon."
"Yeah?"
"Make dat one radio."
"I thought you said two."
"Yah, mon. One for me and one for you."
Justin grabbed the other from the box. "Cool, I guess. Why?"
Solomon spoke with a chill in his voice, taking everyone aback. "Ders some'ting happ'ning to dis world. I do-wun't know what it meyt be. But if any'ting should happen…"
"We'll be in touch." Justin finished.
Solomon nodded, his dreadlocked hair bouncing in accordance. He smiled. "Stay d'night, mon. Yull leave come mor'ning."
"Appreacite it, Solomon."
They all hiked it back up the confining set of stairs and wound up back in the nursery. The vapor fans had settled down. The UV lights were less intense than when they first arrived. Everything was on timers. It was the late evening by the group's guess.
"I have man'ee places to sleep." Solomon said. "Pick yours as y'will."
Everyone scrambled around the vast network of steel containers. Soon, everyone was situated. Chris ran to one room—Pete had already snagged a couch there. Chris ran to another room—too late—Ken was already laid out on a cot. Another room and Chris found Justin winding down on a comfortable and spacious bed. Perhaps too spacious the way Chris saw it. "Don't even think about it." Justin said. Chris moved on. Bill occupied the last bed in another room. Chris was out of options.
Then, a voice called out, "You can come dis way."
It was Solomon. Chris reluctantly followed the voice. He found himself in another container, much larger than the others. Solomon was in his own bed, reading old magazines—the stuff dreams here were made of. "Tehk d'sleeping bag, mon. It's quite nice. Nicer than Just'een's, I bet."
Chris knelt down and settled into the cocoon-like resting place. It took him about a whole standard minutes to do so. It was noticeably better than Justin's sleeping bags, but was still not that great. He'd had plenty better before Traxus IX. But he actually felt relaxed. He let his bones mold to the contours of the wooly comfort above him and the padded clay beneath him. As the dim light faded, and his eyes began to grow heavy, he thought about the next night. Chris really didn't see the big deal in getting wasted all the time, but the thought of it was starting to grow on him simply because that's what the others were into. And he dare not befriend anymore.
Soon, he'd get bored. He'd need something to take away the monotony that was inherent in Traxus IX existence.
"Where are you originally from, Solomon?"
"I'm from a world ver'ee far from dis one. A little island called Jamaica."
"You're from Earth! So am I! But…how did you wind up here?"
"How I wound up on dis world is still a myst'ry to me, mon. I do-wun't recall."
"That doesn't worry you?"
"Worry?" Solomon said with a laugh, "Why worry, mon? Life—it takes you where you go. You're free in dis light. No?"
Chris shrugged.
"Get some sleep." Solomon said.
Chris rolled over on his stomach and grabbed the sides of his pillow. A few soothing breaths and he soon faded into a dream.
The ride back was as uneventful as usually was. Smooth for the most part. They attained a late start on the day, but assumingly Justin wasn't concerned. No one was clocking in today. No work for the worked-to-death. Just fun and play, so Chris hoped. The others needed release more than ever, he felt. Chris actually thought it quite strange; they were on the go for about three hours—almost home—and he didn't feel tired at all. Speaking of which, they made the home stretch; Chris could make out Justin's igloo gaining size in the distance as they approached. Even in the muted luminance of the dead plains, the igloo shone like a beacon of light. They were nearly home, but the Mongoose did not slow.
Now, the ATV and all attached to it flew by the establishment. "What are you doing?" Chris asked over Justin's shoulder.
"Shut up."
Chris clenched his jaw and remained silent.
After a few moments, Chris could make out City 17. He surmised they were going there, but rather than ask a question to be sure, he wisely thought against it. Justin wouldn't be bothered by his queries.
Finally, the Mongoose slowed at the fork in the road. Chris and the others waited with watchful eyes.
The Mongoose darted off towards the cave they holed up in after Justin's most recent altercation with local gang members, namely Jim Carsa.
Justin halted the Mongoose just outside the entrance. Before killing the ATV, he looked in all directions; he scanned every angle until he was satisfied no one was watching. He left for the cave, disappearing into full shadow. Everyone stayed put and waited. Moments later, Justin came jogging out with a whole trash bag full of the Trumpet Flower. "Holy shit!" Pete said. "Are you planning on killing yourself?"
Justin had just about cleared the mouth of the cave when he heard Pete. His lips moved to respond, but movement behind silenced him.
A cluster of rock fragments rained down from the ceiling.
"Watch out!" Chris yelled.
Justin quickened his pace by a few strides and smoothly exited before any of the objects had a chance to hit him. Justin glanced rearward at the fallen debris, smirking, then glanced down to his bag full of hallucinogens before finally responding to Pete, "This will be enough for a whole month." He strode up to the ATV and stowed the bag on the front rack, lashing it down with bungie cord. "Plus, I promised Solomon I'd give him some next time we visited."
Justin hopped aboard and righted the Mongoose back home.
…And though not a single one of them noticed, Jim Carsa was at a nearby Admin building watching the whole thing. Justin's Mongoose faded from sight and sound. That's when Jim made his move. He headed for the cave entrance, on a mission to see what it was that Justin Reid pulled from the mines.
It would be his last act as a human being.
Bill, Pete and Ken were content to ski along on Justin's lead. They were nearly home. Pete had pulled from his coat a large bottle of tequila, drinking it straight up with one hand while holding onto the rope with the other. It was quite clear to Chris that Pete didn't enjoy drugs as much as the others, he preferred alcohol. It seemed tonight was different. Pete wanted to take a ride on the wild side tonight with the others.
Suddenly, the Mongoose slowed—eventually came to a stop.
"What's up?" Chris asked as Justin dismounted.
"Drive." Justin simply said.
Chris' eyes shot wide. "You want me to drive?"
"Sure."
"Last time I drove, I made you pretty mad."
"I won't get mad this time, now drive."
Chris slid from the rear footpad up to the driver's seat, a sense of exhilaration already swelling inside him. He remembered the last time he drove this powerful ATV, when he plowed right through two criminals that tried to take him off the Mongoose—and do who knows what else to him. The ATV was very powerful. It almost sent him staggering back from the overwhelming inertia of lurching forward to far and fast. Even though he almost lost his life that night, it was the most fun he ever had with his clothes on. "Say no more." Chris said.
"Now you've seen me operate this thing a dozen times, so don't ask me questions about it. If you need pointers, then you obviously don't know how to drive this thing and you aren't ready."
"No, no, I'm ready."
Chris pushed the ignition button and the Mongoose came to life. He goosed the throttle once and felt the masculine vibration surge through the handle bars. He savored the feeling, the sound of the engine, and the smell of the different oils on and inside the Mongoose. He was ready. "I'm ready; get on."
Justin—for once—took pillion, and they sped off.
The sky was different this late afternoon. Nobody had ever recalled in all their years here that the sky ever took on a red hue. This was a first.
"What the hell is up with the sky?" Ken asked.
"Beats the fuck outta me." Justin said, voice trailing off. "Increased solar activity mixing with the ionosphere, I don't know."
"I don't like it." Bill said. "Let's go inside."
"Yeah, yeah." Justin said. "Soon enough. Chris, go get some water and bring it inside." Justin stepped into the igloo.
Bill approached Chris before he went to get the water. "How did you like driving? Did you get a good feel for it?"
"It was fun! I wanna do it again!"
"Good. I suspect you will."
"Why do you think Justin's being less mean to me lately?"
"He is not mean to you; he is just very picky. He wants you to learn the ways of this world and how to survive here. Inevitably, you will come of age. So, we think it is the right thing to prepare you."
"How can I make Justin my friend?"
Bill thought for a moment, then knelt down next to Chris. "To have a friend is to be a friend."
"But I've always tried to be nice, to do what he asks."
"That you have."
"So why does he still talk down to me?"
"You are still so young, and you are new to this world. Don't misunderstand him. Don't take things personally."
"That's…impossible, Bill."
"I know it's hard to understand him. That is something we all have in common, but over time you'll see that he is just…very set in his own ways. Just keep doing what you're doing. He means you no harm. He's just trying to toughen you up."
"So how do you get by? Everyone else is so cruel but you are like everyone's friend."
"That's because I am." Bill said. "I try to be a friend and mentor to anyone willing to listen."
"Thanks, Bill."
"Anytime, Chris."
The sun had fallen.
The sky was no longer blood-red. It was pure dark now, a blanket of eerie blackness over the barren plains.
The scene was different in the perfect safety of Justin's igloo. They were surrounded on all sides by steel and tons of clay. The only door was locked. The interior was bright with fluorescent lighting and Justin had a shotgun in the heater room if things got nasty—if unwanted individuals wanted inside.
The atrium was rather jovial; all of them huddled around the dirt floor in a rough circle waiting for Justin to start getting the night ready. "Alright, it's gonna be a wild night tonight." Justin said. "Some ground rules: no one…repeat…no one…is to go outside until tripping time is over—for any reason whatsoever. We have all the water and food we need for the night. If you have the need to drain the liz or drop the kids off at the pool, go to the latrine."
"What?!" Pete shouted. "The latrine? I haven't used that pipe-in-the-ground for years, and I'm not about to use it now."
"Then I guess you're holding it in." Justin said. "Because whoever I catch going outside, stays outside. It's too dangerous and you fucking know that. I don't want anyone opening that door. Now, rule two: don't play around with the shotgun. If I catch anyone doing that, I'll blow their fucking face off myself. I'm fucking serious. Rule three: it's all just a game, remember that. No matter what happens, you're in control. Whatever you see and hear, don't let it get to you. Enjoy the hallucinations but don't let them own you. I've been through this shit before. It's fun only when you feel good. If you aren't feeling well, find someone. It makes all the difference in the world to talk and share your experiences, believe me. Any questions?" Justin looked around the room. "Good. We can begin."
Justin dumped out the bag of flowers over a small, plastic bag. He started with the largest one and began tearing little fleshy bits from the pedals. He repeated these motions for all the rest of the bulbous flowers.
Everyone's eyes were on Justin's handy work. They all mentally prepared themselves for the night to come. But Chris wouldn't be involved directly. He'd be a spectator. It was actually a good thing, too. Because there would be one sane person that night to keep order over things, to make sure nothing got too crazy. Chris would be the voice of reason in a chaotic experience. He watched Justin dig in. "You know, I think I've finally figured out what is really wrong with this place." Chris said as they all sat Indian style in the dirt floor of the atrium.
"Oh yeah?" Justin asked, "what's that?"
"It's the drugs. You said it yourself, Justin, that this place started to go downhill as soon as the smugglers and dealers arrived long ago. They got too greedy. Plus, drugs fuck you up. Before that, this place was doable. People are all moody and touchy now. They kill over material things. And the business deals that drive it all, the black market goods and illegal services floating from one part of the galaxy to the next—it all comes through here."
"No." Pete said. "You're wrong. It's the planet itself. Traxus Nine is a biohazard altogether. Let's look at the facts here. This place got its start on heavy industry—ideal place with the elements under the soil and the location in the galaxy. This cold, dead sphere emits more carbon than any other colony in the galaxy. And we're not that old of a colony! Remember that Traxus Nine was founded right before bulk shipment to the outer colonies was even a dream. So that means the inner colonies had all this time to smother themselves with all kinds of chemicals. But look at us now: it would take Earth or Reach fifty years to catch up with the kind of greenhouse effects we're producing. And they are far less industrialized than us! Plus, we have no equalizer here like good soil or plant life. At the rate we're going, this planet will be unlivable in less than a century. So no, you're wrong—the chemicals in drugs could never match up to the chemicals already in the air."
Justin added, "How about everything that both of you just said? Everything wrong here adds up, and—"
"—And we're just perpetuating that." Bill said with an uncharacteristic, sardonic humor.
"What are you talking about?" Pete asked.
Bill replied, "We're smoking up or binge drinking every day. And we've done nothing to make our lives any better."
"But for good reason." Justin interjected again. "We don't have the power to change anything anymore. THI has this planet," he said, looking to Pete, "as well as the people in it," he said, looking to Chris, "by the balls. And dealing will still take place here; THI doesn't give a shit about what this place has become. Might as well live it up while we fall from grace." Justin finished tearing up the last of the petals of the strange flower, stuffing them into a large water pipe.
"There's no way that I'm running away." said Pete.
"That's because there's no other place to go." Bill retorted. "We've got it the best here in Justin's house."
"Well, duh, Father." Pete said cruelly. "…So how does a priest find the moral currency to be both a man of God as well as a weed-smoker?"
"I am not a saint." Bill said with an air of a teacher. "But I can strive to educate people in the way of good deed and forgiveness. We are all brothers here, are we not?"
Justin didn't offer any answer as Bill regarded all inhabitants of his dwelling. Justin immediately hopped on the bacteria-infested sofa, waiting for the argument to die. Just as quickly as Justin changed his seating, Ken immediately shied away from the question, looking dubiously to the clay beneath his feet. Pete however, said, "I honestly couldn't tell you, Billy boy. That's a question for someone who gives a shit."
"You should give a shit." Bill said, a fire now in his eyes.
"No one ever gave a shit about me." Pete retorted.
"And that is a shame." Bill replied. "But you must look past your own misfortune from time to time."
"So why the sudden condescending approach tonight? You're a little more pompous than usual."
"…Because we are all travelers in this life. By the graces of God, we could be in others' shoes, living out there instead of in here."
"Then let's smoke one up for all those poor bastards." Justin said with authority. "C'mon. It's go time. No chicken shits allowed in here tonight."
"Fuck it." Pete said.
Everyone else—minus Chris—gathered around the water pipe.
"Here goes." Justin announced. He retrieved a butane lighter from his jacket pocket and brushed some of the sugar-fine dirt from himself. He stretched out his arms briefly to loosen his outer clothing and brought the lighter to bear down on the bowl-full of crushed Trumpet Flower—resting torn and broken just inside the pipe. He sparked it.
The bunched up flower fragments seemed to invite the small flame inward. They hissed and crackled and popped as Justin placed suction on the business end of the bong. Smoke from the combusted flower billowed up the tube towards Justin's open mouth like a witch's evil concoction. He inhaled it like a champ, not letting any of it go to waste before passing it immediately to Pete—sitting right next to him. Pete eyed Justin sidelong, watching his face flush slight red as he held in the smoke. He held it in. Kept holding it in. About ten seconds later and Justin finally let it all dissipate into the ambience.
"Thatta boy!" Pete said as he prepared to light up.
Everyone had multiple turns at the pipe. The contents of the bowl were used up, nothing but blackened, charred remains of the once soft and yellow petals. The room had grown quiet, no conversation created. No one would ever think anything had changed by looking at Pete Barker. He was sprawled out on the cot, looking neutral and apathetic as ever. But looks were always deceiving. He definitely felt the effects of the flower. He lied still in the cot as brisk blurs raced around the room. His head spun with the blurs—he involuntarily giggled as some of the blurs whisked past his bare feet.
Throbbing tickled the inside of Justin's ears. It was rather annoying, but at times it could also be quite interesting. In fact, some of the time it was rather soothing. Nevertheless, the noise and the feelings it brought on were still strange. Not a possession of his in the igloo could cause such a reverberation. The heater was off, even if it was capable of making any more noise than it was worth. And no one was moving; they were all lethargic and immobilized either on the floor or on a molded out furniture piece. This piqued Justin's attention. As he looked around, the thudding in his ear diminished.
Then, faint whispers could be heard. At first, Justin was unconcerned, indifferent about what the voices said. He was in wonderland at the moment, a wash of vivid colors undulating all about the lifeless, grey walls. He let himself slip into fantasy. He hadn't a care in the entire world. All Justin knew was that someone was talking, or many people were because there seemed to be more than one voice. Pete or Bill, or whoever, it didn't matter. But…the cacophony of sound was indeed ever more strange the longer the voices rattled on. Even though he tried to put a finger on it, his mind was perpetually occupied by the other sights and sounds in the room, so vivid and splendid, various events tugging at his awareness all at once.
Justin saw shapes invert themselves, swimming into each other and falling to the floor. He felt the whole world turn upside down and let himself become immersed in vertigo. He smiled crazily and let go of reality, sinking deeper into the netherworld of his mind's wildest impossibilities.
As one with himself, as all the colors and shapes swirling all around him coalesced into a whimsical galaxy of bizarre amalgamation, he heard all the whispers in the background—so far off—coalesce into a solitary voice just as all the sights had. The voice became singular, each distinct identity now joined together. Then, silence.
Total, curious silence.
Not even the laughs of Bill or Pete or Ken were audible as their lips moved.
All the imagined sights and the sounds that took the form of sights shattered and fell to the floor with a sudden violence. Looking down, Justin saw the creations of his imagination simply disintegrate. Now, he saw only the bare igloo. No longer the pleasant fusion of color and light, but just reality again. His trip had abruptly ended…but nothing was still real. The periphery of his vision was stained with blood, slick and crimson, the smell of mineral in the air aloft. The lone voice came back and started to speak, its source seemingly far off, yet close to home as well, as if Justin existed everywhere in an instant. A sudden dread resultant of nothing in particular sprang up from inside him. The visual equivalent of moldy lemons suddenly appeared all around him, the sting of stomach acid registering in his mind, calling him back to reality. But he was too far gone, now. He tried with all his will to reject the omnipotent feeling he possessed. Tried to shun away the voice in his head, but it fought back with infinite ferocity. It overpowered him and all his free will. The voice was him, here to stay, and no way for Justin to pretend it didn't exist. It spoke...
The odds tipped and stars aligned,
foreshadowing of your tomb
Blissful sleep 'till ends of time,
corpses shift and offer room
Join the amity of us,
and never exist alone
Come down, offer up your flesh…
this place will become your HOME!
Justin feared for his life.
The voice staggered him; he was a tuning fork struck against a steel cage. He willed the voice away, but it echoed off the walls of his skull, swaying back and forth—in and out of his cognizance. Now he fought, harder than ever in his life to drown out the voice with his own thoughts, his own whispers. This time, to his great luck, it receded into the background noise of the igloo from whence it spawned. He did something right. Faint echoes of it remained, of what just chilled him more than the eternal winter of Traxus IX itself.
He was out of breath, his heart pounding between his ears. But it all slowly came down from boiling to a mere simmer. He blinked his eyes and the blood faded away from his vision. The walls expanded and contracted with him, perfectly in sync as his breathing slowed. His veins receded back under his skin. He was okay now. He was safe.
He slumped over and blacked out.