This is a short story I wrote a few months ago.

Please read and tell your friends to read as well!

I would also like it if anyone would be willing to write a review/blurb about this.

I could use printed praise.


-------------------
 Everything had changed. The people that I knew weren't the same, the places that I went varied, and the things that I did were quite unpredictable. In bars and brothels I would stay, until I was no longer welcome, and in forests and alleys I would sleep in peace without worry. The people would look at me with eyes that were dead, and I would stare back with a visage of grudging acceptance. I drank in the plethora of experience that presented themselves to me with much gluttony.
        I was born, and I will continue to live until I die. There isn't a thing that would have me leave this reality sooner. The heavens are too wonderful, the colors too vivid, and the electromagnetism too pleasant. The women are too beautiful and the thoughts are too satisfying.
        That is what I tell the people, when they ask how can I live with myself. Surely you haven't done much to positively affect the world, they say. But what do they know. The world is merely a shared hallucination of the collective mind. And it creates a bleak one indeed, if fragments of my true self are hinting at my insignificance. But such things don't concern me overmuch, for the thoughts come and go.
        When I was young I my parents called me Joey. And so I was Joey. Completely separate from Tom and Nick down the street, and having no connection with Linda and Gertrude from Quebec. Since then I have realized some things. And now I am called God. At least that is what I call myself. When I am asked my name I like to make something up, or recall a really good name that I have heard before. I'll be Brad J. Howell the architect from Chicago, or maybe Buckminster Fuller (which most people don't recognize. Surprising, huh?). I have tried to identify with myself, but alkaloids and personal experience have seen to it that I have no false notions of individuality.
        I have traveled this planet in search of the perfect situation, but I have yet to find one. Time is a foolish idea to be certain, merely a tool used for the benefit of more foolish ideas. You can live outside of time and experience any moment at a whim. It's not easy, but it's worth it. At least that's what my friend in the asylum said, a great fellow named Kilgore Trout.
        I have met many interesting people, and they all seem to show me some quality about myself that I have yet to discover. In Tibet I learned that reality is truly flexible, and in Chile I learned that I could kill. In the Caribbean I learned that the best way to fish is with a spear, and in Darfur I learned that I am fragile.
        I have spent more than a quarter of my life dreaming, and I think that's what got me through the harder times. Adolescence was particularly difficult. For then I couldn't control the dreams, and sometimes they were more of a cage than my waking life. But at this moment I can do anything I wish while dreaming, and it is quite marvelous. I have realized that dreaming an action and actually carrying out the action while awake are the same thing to the brain. So I rectify all of my personal failures in my dreams.
        I have made love to goddesses and flown through the atmosphere unaided by technology. I have swum under the waves and vanquished serpent kings who plundered the nations of peaceful otters. There isn't a cliff I haven't jumped off of or a valley I have not seen. I have been a storm trooper captain leading the charge, and a mother of three. The facts may decay in my mind, but the imprint is there and it affects every decision I make.
        Once I was a worrying homo sapien like you. I had a job, a girlfriend, a mortgage, a 2004 Chevy Suburban, four credit cards, a power lawnmower, a 2-car garage, and all the kitchen appliances that you could possibly have. I had convinced myself that these things were important, and I was a slave to them all. But one day something happened to change all of that. And with this narrative I hope to explain the experience, so that others might unlock their full potential.

* * * * * *

It was a Monday that will never be forgotten. I woke up at half past five to the alarm clock radio playing They Might Be Giants, and I was instantly ready to start the morning ritual. Breakfast came first, and was composed of a poptart and coffee. Then a shower and all the standard bathroom activities. The face shaving followed the tooth brushing, and I had it all arranged in a timetable. A quick combing of the hair and I was ready to put my clothes on. Underwear, socks, pants, shirt, tie, jacket, and shoes were placed on taking no more than four minutes and forty eight seconds. I picked up my briefcase, gave Rebecca the morning departure kiss and was out the door.
        Outside I got in my SUV and started my morning commute. It took about twenty eight minutes to get to the bank where I spent forty hours a week. I was a manager and it was my job to make sure that everything went smoothly. I would open new accounts, service existing ones, deal with any complaints, and replace the toilet paper in the restroom; all of which amounts to dealing with unruly assholes. I had been sitting in my small and sparsely decorated office for an hour, when I heard a gunshot echo from the lobby.
        I realized we were once again being robbed, so I did the thing that every bank manager does. I sat patiently and waited for the thieves. Sometimes they were guys who knew the trade, and actually thought about bothering me to open the safe. More often however they were just small time crooks looking for an easy score, and would be gone within five minutes. So I began to hum the song I woke up to, 'Am I Awake?'.
        I was in the third verse when a man clad in black and wearing a masquerade mask burst into my office, screaming obscenities and waving a pistol at my face. This man must be the muscle, I thought to myself. His gun probably isn't even loaded. Oh well, I didn't want to take that chance, so I did as he said and began the walk to the second floor where the vault was. I had it opened before the guy was done describing the countless sexual encounters he claimed to have had with my mother, and he waved me inside, indicating I was to start carrying the money down the stairs.
        I began to oblige, but I didn't get the chance to comply, because we were startled by another gunshot from the lobby. He went to see what was going on, and found his partner lying on the floor with a puddle of blood reaching outward. There was appeared to be an Abercrombie & Fitch model standing over him brandishing a pilfered pistol, with a frightened look in his eyes. The scene erupted into violence once again when the living thief opened fire upon the would be hero. The sirens began to wail in the distance as the authorities hurried to be worthy of their pay, and the thief realized he had no way out. He was trapped.
        So he did the only rational thing someone in his situation would do.
        He panicked.
        He shot two prone bank patrons, and rushed back to the vault. I was still standing in the threshold of the vault, and when he saw me he began yelling again. I was hardly listening, more intent on my thoughts. When were those police going to get in here? There are four bodies lying in my lobby and I've got to get them out.
        When I didn't reply to some question or other, he shot me three times in the chest. As I slumped to the floor I saw him take his own life, with one shot to the head. Quick and painless, the bastard. I was in a world of agonizing hoarfrost, growing colder as the red rivers ran their course out of my body. I was unable to stay conscious, and everything disappeared, fading into brilliant light...
        And suddenly I awoke, bolting upright in surprise. What a crazy dream. I felt like everything was as it should be, yet the room seemed entirely too still. Things weren't what they appeared to be. I must be losing my mind. The calendar on the wall read Saturday, which meant no work for me. I decided to spend the day out, and drive around town. I got in my car, despite the fact that I had quite an aversion for the thing at this point. I began to feel sick the moment I got into it. But I managed to start the car without vomiting more than three times. Maybe I should see a doctor. I tried to pull out of the driveway and start the trip, but the car stalled when I met the street. And it wouldn't start after that.
        So I felt it better to walk. You see I was quite incensed to go into town. I needed to feel the city's energy and bask in the neon glow. Maybe get some drinks, buy some peyote, whatever I came across. It had been more than eight months since I actually hit the town. I have spent the last half a year shopping at Wal-Mart and fucking my sex-addict girlfriend. I began to question my sanity, but in a different fashion than usual. Surely I have been stuck in doldrums of the mind. Not depression, just a lack of any feeling beyond the contentment brought about by having all of my physical needs met and all the luxury that modern life has to offer.
        The thought of doing something new excited me, and I was in high spirits as I walked down the sidewalk. I realized the neighborhood I inhabited was terribly oppressive; pastel colored houses with matching mailboxes lined the street, the manicured lawns differed little from one another, and the few people I saw pretended not to see me as I walked in front of their houses. The blinds were closed on all the windows cementing the attitude of total hostility. The sky seemed to heighten the gloom, as the overcast clouds permitted little sunlight to illuminate the bleak landscape.
        The walk into the city was not a long one, yet it was decidedly unpleasant. Everyone I laid eyes on had misery etched in their frame, and much more than imaginary loads weighed them down. Their faces were masks of granite and I could detect no emotion in their lifeless eyes. Whenever I would meet the gaze of these beasts of burden, they quickly looked away and pretended there was no such encounter of our souls. It was not long before I began to hate this people, these lifeless drones living a life of toil for the benefit of society. Their appearance, and the glossed-over eyes with which they viewed the world, stirred something deep inside of me. Their outlines were vague and indistinct, blending into the gray of the city and becoming one with the drab background. I have lived my whole life here, and yet never before have I truly seen my fellow slaves for what they truly were.
Everyone looked gray, the life and vibrance drained from them. But I saw a fellow some yards ahead, who stood in stark contrast to the drab surroundings.
        He was an older man, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and slippers. What was left of his hair was wispy and waved in some faint breeze that I couldn't feel. His eyes were beacons of azure iridescence that dominated his face and seemed to see everything. He saw me, another aberration among the meek, and began to lessen the gap between us. His eyes never left mine during his journey, and consequently he disturbed the flow of human traffic. People reacted as you would expect, either with little verbal guffaws, or with no action at all. It was obvious by his demeanor he didn't give a damn either way.
He stood in front of me, a half smile slanting the left side of his face, which seemed to express his surprise and delight to find another human being. "Hullo my brother! Good luck to you on this, the eve of your day. We have much time and very little to discuss. What should I call you friend?"
        I hesitated to answer. He was clearly in the same situation as I, separated, or perhaps elevated, from the normal fabric of the universe. We both stood out among the sheople, focused and separate from the scene, existing in stark contrast to the established order of the ant colony we found ourselves in. While everything else around me was gray and hazy, he and I were in brilliant detail. With everything happening as it was I figured the world I had come to know was long gone, and I had better get to understanding this one. "My name is Joseph. You can call me anything you wish. Shall we find a pleasant place to sit and talk?"
"Ah my boy, I can tell that yours will be an easy trip indeed. My name is Isaac", I heard him say. An easy trip? What is going on here? I could read no malice from him, and indeed feared no violence from this old man. I decided to play along, and we began to walk northward.
        "So few of our fellow humans ever bring themselves above the limits that are set for them. You and I, my boy, are something quite different. I bet you are a wise one indeed, to be here at such a young age. Of course you are wondering where, or more appropriately what, we are, yes?" He spoke clearly, with an accent that I couldn't place. He spoke with his hands, which waved in circles while we walked, and I was barely perceptive of the words he used. And yet I knew what he was trying to say.
        I nodded, queing him to continue with his speech.
        "We have been separated from the corporeal reality we have come to know and love. Our bodies weren't able to support our consciousness for some reason or another. Our souls have risen above limitations imposed by the physical state, and we survive only by willing it so. The unrealized potential stored within you was released, and you have become a navigator of this cosmic dream world. All things exist as you will them to, and all of this is housed in your mind. All of these people are creations of your mind, and so am I. But that doesn't make anything less real. It is a common misconception among the mortals that each person is different and we all have an aspect of originality and creativity that sets us apart from the rest. But I have come to learn differently. You see we all have access to a greater mind which holds all the secrets of the universe. Some of us have limited ability to communicate with the Unimind, and others are born with a natural affinity for psychic capability and have nearly unlimited access to the information stored there. The Unimind has been around since the first life form, and we are all adding our lives to the collective memory of this eternal apparition. Is it not a common occurrence to relive memories of a past life, or receive the thoughts of others? These both result from a greater link to the Unimind, which not all humans have. The whole purpose of being alive is to become one with reality, and rejoin the collective consciousness we have isolated ourselves from. Right now we inhabit yet another of the many buffer zones you must cross to reach the path's end. It is a weird plane this one. As I have come to understand it, the souls on this level of existence collectively maintain and alter the fabric of this universe. I have found that our brains are in communication constantly, due to some electromagnetic interaction and the properties of information at the quantum level, we manifest this illusion from what we remember from our life on the material plane. The average person will disregard the transcendence they are offered, and maintain that nothing ever happened. It is the collective illusions of the Normals that keep this place so mundane. It is puzzling stuff. I can't say that I fully understand it myself. I have been here for a long time, but I don't keep track of the years. I stay to be a sort of welcoming wagon for the newcomers. There are many who have progressed further than I, but I am not envious. I don't think I'm ready to give up on my comrades just yet." He said it all with the confident tone of a priest or college professor, so he clearly regarded all of this as truth.
        "You see I take it upon myself to accelerate the pace at which my brethren adapt to this kind of life. Most are skeptical when they first hear this, and think me quite insane. They just continue their life as if nothing has changed; going straight home to tell a friend about this crazy hobo they met. Others accept it and attain enlightenment. I am hoping that you will adjust to this great change. The path to bliss is different for everyone, but we all reach paradise in the end. So I leave you now to travel your path, and find what it is we are all searching for."
        And, with that he left me. He didn't walk away, or leave in any discernable fashion. He just wasn't there after he finished talking. So here I was, standing in front of a barred pawn shop, his words echoing in my mind. Or what I guessed was my mind. If what he said is true, every part of me is an illusion adopted by the supreme consciousness. And my soul is merely a vehicle for the universe to experience itself. So I am an extension of the universe. Everyone I encounter is just another accessory to the entirety of reality. These thoughts carried with them tidal waves of sensation, rolling across the ocean of my being and enveloping everything that I ever knew.
        I decided to continue walking in the direction he had led me. The trek carried me past street signs that were blank and shops that were closed. The city was wholly unappealing now; I could see every great human tragedy, and those benefiting from it. The cars were red blood cells that carried the precious oxygen of humanity to all the dependent organs of this giant creature I found myself in, keeping the Juggernaut alive and growing. Even after the body is dead the soul is tortured by an eternity of depressing desk jobs and faceless corporate greed. I wanted to leave right then, but I didn't know the way out. I couldn't read the sun because of the titans that surrounded me, and I was entirely lost in this Byzantine maze of misery and toil, cursed to be aware but not alive.
        Do I want to live in a world without any real essence? A world that moves in the empty space where my brain used to be. Furthermore, did I have a choice? Was I really dead? I couldn't tell. Everything felt normal, like it always had.
        I was not seeing things clearly. I would probably need the company of the fairer sex to get through the hard times. It's sort of funny; the drive to procreate stays with you, even though the act no longer has a purpose. Here I am in the afterlife thinking of sex. As I wandered the sidewalk in a haze of doubt, I saw flash of blue light up ahead.
Where before there was nothing, a figure stood, whose presence seemed to illuminate the air around it. She was dressed in what appeared to be a toga, and it sparked memories of my frat days at Cornell. If I told you she was beautiful or becoming, I would be lying. She seemed to represent everything that could be attractive in this or any dimension. But of course she would. She was creating her own image.
        In her eyes I once again beheld the great mysteries of life. I could see the birth of planets amid fields of rubble. I could see the fiery deaths of stars, exploding into bursts of photons and gamma waves that travel the paths of eternity, waiting for something to run into. And they had run into me.
        I stopped where I stood; staring at what was no doubt just another figment. But the knowledge did little to bring my attention away from her mind numbing magnificence. She turned her head and looked at me, her mouth parted as if to speak, but no sounds past her exquisite lips. Normally I would be surprised such a vixen would take more than a second glance at me, much less stare at me. In this new place, however, understanding came easy. Realizing how pointless it was to stand and stare while infinite possibilities lay before me, I walked over to her.
       "Do you do that often? Spontaneously materialize, I mean." I felt like a grade school kid talking to a girl I was crushing on.
        "That's a hard question to answer. I go where I am taken, and I do what needs to be done. This teleportation thing is not new, but I had no intention of arriving here. I gather I am needed. So Handsome, what can I do for you?" Handsome? Suddenly the city was not so depressing.
        "Wow you think I'm handsome? Well, I'm new to this place, and I'm trying to understand all this," I said as I spread my arms to indicate the periphery. "I met a man who told me strange things; he said that I am here to become one with existence. And something about a Unimind?" When I said this she looked amused and smiled.
        "Yes that would be Isaac; he spends most of his energy helping newbies, like you. I remember when he gave me the speech, about the Unimind and all that. I was quite frightened. One minute I was walking across the street, normal as always, and then I turned to see a car barreling towards me. Next thing I knew I was laying in my bed," while she spoke of her death her eyes took in everything at once, and her face revealed not a hint of sadness. She seemed unconcerned that her life had been ended by some reckless driver.
        "I figured it was a nightmare, but things were different, strange. I ran into Isaac when I was on my way to work, and he explained everything. I didn't really take him seriously, but I found out later he was right, for the most part. I admit I had trouble dealing with it at first, but you get used to it. Now I spend my time exploring and comparing notes with other Spectranauts."
        "Spectranaut? Is that like an astronaut? Or a cosmonaut?" I asked.
        "There is some relation yes. You see whereas astronauts and cosmonauts explore space, we spectranauts explore the ethereal plane. It is the pinnacle of human ability to be a spectranaut, and you should count yourself fortunate to have this opportunity. Most people have no inclination to be true explorers. They just continue their lives here, too frightened of change to contemplate their new situation. As humans we have a limited perceptual range and do not see the giant tapestry of existence for what it truly is. Much is lost to us. Even here, in this place that is purely mental, it takes some effort to alter the filters we have in place. It is easier than on the material plane however, because we don't actually see through our eyes or hear through our ears. It's all directly interpreted by the consciousness," she said, with no measure of hubris. She seemed to have no prevailing emotion at all, aside from the contentment that permeates her every action.
        "So that would make me a spectranaut, right?"
        "Yes. We generally have gatherings, but not everyone attends."
        "What do you talk about? Can you tell me everything that you know so far?" I said. I wasn't expecting instant comprehension, but it would have been nice to have a general idea what is going on.
        "It would be somewhat reckless to just hand you everything it took me months to learn. Might shock you into depression or something worse. You might get knocked back to earth," she laughed at that thought. Her laughter was musical, entirely more pleasing than Schubert ever could be. "The best advice I could give you is to test the limits of everything you see around you. Find out for yourself what is going on. The first steps are always the hardest here. I good first goal would be flight. It took me a few weeks to get the hang of it. See how fast you can get it."
        Here I could fly?! I have been dreaming of that since childhood; to be able to ride the swells unaided and see the earth from the perspective of the eagle has always been my highest aspiration. To move unrestricted from place to place, to my hearts content, visiting the foreign shores I have only read about in magazines.
        "Are you serious? I could fly?"
        "I most certainly am, and you most certainly could. Would you care for a demonstration?" she clearly derived pleasure from my ignorance and enthusiasm.
I nodded like the happy child I was. With that she rose from the ground, not like a bird would take off, but as a balloon floats upward and moves with the air currents. She was as calm and collected as before, as she willed herself higher and higher. I stood flabbergasted. I could really fly. She reached about 200 feet, and then hovered for a moment. Then she dove unexpectedly, taking sweeping turns and carving the air as she spun, like a jet at low speeds. Arms outstretched in front of her, she looked like Superman, only she wasn't a speeding bullet. She flitted in and out of view, sometimes obscured by buildings, high above me.
        She landed next to me, exactly where she was standing a few moments before, and made a flourishing 'Voila!' gesture.
        I could not have been more pleased. I golf-clapped slowly, in absolute amazement. It was really possible. "Could you teach me?" I said, hoping that she would.
        "Hmmm. Nope, sorry," she seemed to care little, and consequently her apology was hollow. "You'll have to learn on your own, like everyone else. I think it's about time I continue on my way. You're starting to bug the hell outta me."
        And with that she gave me a dismissive and patronizing wave, and flew away. I tried to hate her for ignoring me and my troubles, but I couldn't bring myself to.
I knew I would do the same in her position.
        Oh well. It looked like I would have to do everything for myself here. Not too different than the previous life, but more disappointing I suppose. I always thought the afterlife was supposed to be a cake walk. How could I let Christianity lull me into a false sense of security? If I ever do go back to Earth I am going to put that and other philosophies in there place. Let people know that you have to work for happiness, in every incarnation of life and existence.
        I decided to flex my mental muscles a bit, and distanced myself from sensory perception. I concentrated on my body, and I perceived the fluid nature of my composition. I delved further into myself, seeking the immaterial. Searching for the lack of physical sensation that was my true consciousness.
        I found a distant ripple of psychic activity deep within my 'head'. I was aware of my deep-seated belief in the physical constraints that held me in place. The idea of gravity that kept me rooted to the ground, and all the structural portions of reality that had been ingrained into my psyche. I did not know what I could do to manipulate those beliefs, or what I was supposed to do in this situation. There was nothing in my life that prepared me for this.
        I tried willing myself to float, hoping for absolute simplicity. I opened my eyes to see if I was getting any results, but alas, there was nothing. I tried viewing myself as a balloon, riding the ebb and flow of the winds. And still nothing. I focused on everything that I was, and I tried to make it all weightless. I was not a construct of matter, and I had no weight. I continued this mantra for a few minutes, and found my imaginary form breaking free from the chains of indoctrinated belief.
        I opened my eyes to witness the ground receding below me. I was levitating, and without much difficulty. I was rising and the sensations were wonderful. I wasn't an itinerant hominid bound to a planet any longer. I could see over the buildings that towered over me moments before, and the sky seemed like the most natural of homes. I was a being in my own element, reveling in the hedonism of the sky.
Though I was floating, I couldn't really control where I was going. I assumed it came with practice. So I entered that state of mind that allowed for my rapid advancement, and began another mantra. I am in total control of my movements. I willed myself to stop my ascension and hover where I was.
        I found that my orders were obeyed by my 'body', and I was floating over a mile above the city I had previously thought the limits of my world.
Where there any limits?
        Moving forward, I thought it best to explore this panoramic landscape. Below me stretched the entirety of my current world. The view was not encouraging. All around the city there was nothing but empty plains, gray places drained of any imitation or semblance of life. The city seemed the only structure within miles. In fact, as I looked further outward, there was only hazy smoke evident in every direction that started about 3 miles from the city's end.
        Quite discouraging, indeed.
        I tried moving past these walls of opalescent haze, but to no avail. I just stopped when I came within arm's length. No amount of repetitious chanting could move me past the barriers.
        Apparantly, I was limited to this until I found the greater potential within myself. Isaac's talk of self-made realities came back to me, and I was envious of those who could manifest such a thing. All in due time.
        I thought of the great speed with which I conquered the barrier that was my belief-system. If it took my female friend weeks to learn to fly, I must be on some sort of fast track. An express route to enlightenment. Funny.
It was time to buckle down, and step up. If I could learn to fly in five minutes what could I do in five hours? Or five days?

* * * * * *

        In the sky I found my true home. I could stay in the sky forever, and nothing bad would happen. I didn't need food or water, and consequently I never had to piss or shit. I didn't sleep either. There was no need. I spent all my time trying to strengthen my links to the Unimind, as the old fellow suggested.
        The knowledge of the links came easy, but supporting them was a different matter. At first it was difficult to distinguish the electrical impulses that originated in my brain from the ones that are transmitted from the collective unconscious. Gradually I was able to see my thoughts as the illusion that they were. Even they came from the collective unconscious, transmitted to my very flesh in some intricate process of communication completely unknown to me.
        It is the knowledge of the communication that is important I suppose. There is no need to suppress any thought process, no matter how trivial. Everything has its place, but it won't do to get caught up in a single thought too long. I let them float by like so much flotsam, taking no lasting interest in any particular one. They are to be observed, but not pursued. This I learned early and it made things easier.

* * * * * *

        There wasn't any reliable way to track time in this place. There were no calendars or clocks to mark its passage. I didn't mind much, because time mattered little here. The sun never rose, and the moon never showed itself. This world was cast in perpetual twilight, without any heavenly bodies to capture the imagination.
        I didn't know how long I had been floating above the city, meditating and adapting my thinking. It didn't seem important though. I was learning more every instant, and I have beheld magnificent sights that words could never describe. The vistas of my consciousness stretched before me; never fully explored, some discovery or revelation just over the horizon.
        The spiritual growth allowed by this place is seemingly endless. I was once an ignorant monotheist, believing in a God who does what He wishes, changing the lives of His creations at a whim. With every passing moment I gained more insight into the nature of reality and its architect. I have learned that all of physical existence is a vessel for God to experience the wonders of life. He grows in the plants, He courses through my veins, and He fuels the fusion reactions of stars. He is everywhere and everything. He lives to love, and experience the depths of emotion. There is such love in Him, that every other emotion seems insignificant in comparison.
        With this perspective comes a torrent of understanding. There is no right or wrong, good or bad. Every state is one of godliness, and every act is holy. We are all vehicles for the ultimate love that is God.
        I feel I must clarify a bit. When I use the word 'God', I don't mean any one god or incarnation of Him. All previous notions of a Hebrew God, and His descendants in the Christian and Muslim faiths, are inherently flawed by close-mindedness. I use the term 'God' to illustrate the wonder and majesty of the universe. This all powerful force behind the cosmos, which has driven evolution and the complication of reality to its current height. This joy of life and experience, and this exaltation that is existence. We are all manifestations of God energy, basking in the cosmic pulses of life and love. There is much that I still do not know, but with my current understanding I don't think any leaps of faith will be required.
I feel that with this one truth all of the mysteries of life will unfold accordingly and without effort. All things are Great and Wonderful. The sensation of holiness washed over my being, encompassing my astral body and charging me with such energy that I was no longer in phase with my surroundings. The illusions of my current world faded away, just as the illusions of the previous one had.
        I was adrift in a sea of brilliance, which had no beginning or end. All around me shone the light of a billion stars, and I could see nothing else. I had no body, or the holographic mental image of one. I was pure consciousness, without delusions or doubts. I had reached a state that I heard about before. One of the other spectranauts, Wilbur, told me of thoughts that will bring you above and beyond all previous illusory landscapes. He told me that he had been there, but he was not ready for it. The pure and endless love that was the place brought him to a state of emotional upheaval, and he couldn't take it. He came back to the ghost of life that we lived in Limbo-City.
        I could feel my ties to that place, the strength of which was lessening every second. This love was not too much for me, I could handle it. With time. Though the sheer magnitude would take some getting used to.
        I tried to think about my current environment, but all thoughts seemed trite. I was here, in the place that has been my destination since birth, and I was happy with that.
I was One with God, the universe, and everything.
        All lines of thought brought me nothing new, so I will bask in the glory that is eternity. Sensing the presence that is I, one with all. Safe and secure in the knowledge that my journey was complete, and I was finally at peace.

        Bliss...

        Love...

        Peace...


* * * * * *

        A distant spark seemed to make its way slowly to me, drawing closer with what seemed like hesitance. I could sense its presence moving towards me from the outer realms of Paradise. The closer it came the faster it moved, and the distance lessened exponentially, becoming none at all. And then I felt it.


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        The pulses came in waves, each more intense than the one before, jolts of fiery sensation screaming across my soul. Waves of dynamite exploded in my chest. I could feel my legs and arms again, fingers and toes. I begin to feel all the familiar aches and stress points that I had forgotten. I could feel the weight on my neck, and my shoulders. I could feel my head, and I opened my eyes.
        Before me lay the second floor of the 41st National Bank building. Exactly as it was, but now there was a small crowd gathered around me. Towering above were the faces of two paramedics and a police officer. I was lying in a lake of my own blood. I could not make any sense of the situation. One second, I was united with the Holiest of Holies, and the next I was back in what appears to be my body.
        What would posses these people to be so selfish?
        They hoisted me on the stretcher and rolled me to the waiting ambulance, and set off for the nearest hospital at full speed, sirens a-wailing and lights a-flashing. As we flew through traffic, one of the paramedics started to patch me up. When he had done all that he could, he tried to talk to me. He was young, only in his 20's. Probably trying to save the world, too...
        "Sir, are you okay?"
        The question hung in the air for a few seconds, and the paramedic sat waiting for an answer. I didn't know what to say to him. I looked around, and decided to answer.
        "Yeah, I am doing great kid. You got a smoke?"
        He considered for an instant, and apparently thought I was deserving of the poison.
        "Yeah hold on," he fumbled in his jacket pocket, and presented me with a lighter and a clove cigarette. "You're one lucky guy; I've never seen anyone come back after being dead for that long."
        "Lucky, huh?" I lit up the smoke and had a couple drags. "You wouldn't think that if you were me."
        "Why not?"
        Could I tell him of the things I had seen? That I had been united with God. That I was God. That I hated him for bringing me back. Did he know that due to his actions I would never be happy with my life again? I was lying prone in a pool of my blood, in a body that no longer felt like home. Trapped in the shell of my human form, doomed to live once again in the material world. The pain of my wounds had gone, but the ache I felt would continue forever. I was back in Hell, forced to duke it out with the devils of fate once again.

* * * * * *

        That is the tale of my rapid ascension to divinity, and the subsequent fall back to manhood. Some would say it was merely a hallucination brought about by a near death experience. Some would say that I am as mad as the Hatter. But I know what happened. I was there. I am confident that the insights gained during my journey are sound and true.
I have kept fairly quiet about my experience since then, but I think that, armed with the knowledge of the realm that awaits us, others will have an advantage in the twilight of Limbo. So I choose to share the knowledge with my brethren. I can already hear the skepticism, the unfavorable reviews, and the trucks coming to take me to the funny farm.             They will classify me as crazy, but I know the truth.
        It is far more insane to believe in the 'concrete truths' and 'knowns' of this life. Surely nobody who discovered anything great and truly groundbreaking is considered sane by the delusional masses. There are those who stand to gain mightily by the ignorant populace slaving away for the goals of 'humanity'. They silenced Galileo with threats of violence and death, but I wont be cowed by such things. I do wish to be united with my true self, after all.
So let them kill me, it wont bother me.

1
As usual, Henry Fleck was watching the clock, waiting for the hour of 5 to show itself. The work days seemed longer each year, and his misery deepened every day. He only worked for his children's sake. They needed to eat, and he was the only one who could put food on the table. If they were grown or dead he wouldn't work at all. His wife Beatrice was a louse who latched on to him right after high school. She hadn't worked a day in her life, but she had no problem spending Henry's money on fashionable shoes and the latest installment of Vogue.
These thoughts swam through Henry's head, just as they did everyday near quitting time. And after the clock struck 5 he would be out the door, ducking his boss and trying to get on the road before traffic on the 405 got too bad. Rushing to pick up the KFC and get home to his family. The same thing Monday through Friday.
His home was little better than the office in which he worked. He sat on the couch and watched the VCR clock during the commercial breaks, waiting for 10 o'clock, so he could lay his head down and make his nightly escape. He avoided his wife, trying to pass the day without getting yelled at. His only breaks from the drudgery of his daily life involved his two boys.
They would throw the football around in the backyard, watch TV, and he would help them with their homework if they needed it. He was a loving father, but he was still an empty shell of a man.
His life was spent perpetually looking ahead. To the wonders of teenage life, to the mystery of adulthood, and finally to the predictable malaise of retirement. Nothing ever worked out quite right for Henry Fleck.
He never really enjoyed himself, and he couldn't remember the last time he had a real good time. In fact, his kids were the only thing that meant anything to him on this whole ball of dust. His wife could starve, his boss could fire him, he could lose his house; but as long as he had his boys he wouldn't bat an eyelash.
Jason was 8, and still thought girls were gross. Greg was 14, and was trying his damnedest to finger-fuck the next door neighbor‘s daughter. The inevitable stages of boyhood would continue even after Henry’s bones had turned to dust. Henry lived vicariously through his boys, and they were the happiest kids on the block. He took them to hockey games, and they cheered when the players fought on the ice. He took them to Six Flags, and they flew across tracks of metal strapped on to little carts. He took them deep-sea fishing, skiing, mountain climbing, hiking, and to the movies. They had 3 albums filled with photos,
Henry was planning their next trip, to the Catskill Mountains, when he walked through the front door of his split level suburban home. His wife’s car was gone. Thank God, Henry thought. Probably getting her nails done or shopping for a new dress. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself. His afternoon bowel movements were routine, like almost everything else about his life. Henry sat on the porcelain throne, and picked up his current bathroom book, ‘12 Easy Steps to More Money!’. Beatrice had bought it for him last Christmas, and he was finally getting around to reading it. The truth was that he had run out of anything worth reading.
Step 1: Confidence! What absolute crapola, Henry thought. Just like every other self help book, full of encouraging garbage, meant to reaffirm a pleasant outlook on life. Well, the jokes on them. The glass has been empty for 17 years now.

* * * * *

The living room floor was made of particle board, stained to look like acceptable wood. It felt like wood, it looked like wood, but it was not wood. It was made of plant fiber, that is true. But not wood. Just like Henry. He looked like a man, and felt like one. But he was not a man. A man would not allow himself to be bullied into a life of toil and false promises. A man would make his own mind, and do what he wished. A man would not slave away for an ungrateful wife sucking corporate cock 5 days a week.
Just as the flooring was a composite of base parts, so too was Henry. He could be compared, perhaps favorably, to many other men. He could do some of the same things as well as many men. He could type and run Outlook EX. He had an E-mail address and a laptop computer. But these things do not a man make. A man is forged out of triumph over hardship, the overcoming of obstacles. It takes experience to be a man. Age and experience.
Henry is the particle board of men. He served the same function that a man would, but he was not yet a man. He always took the easy way. Working at the same company for over a decade. Marrying the first girl to have sex with him. Eating fast food for dinner every night. Watching TV before bed.
If Henry were to witness a bar room brawl, which is unlikely because he always drank at home, he would move to the safest corner. Away from the rush of sensation that reaffirms the living of their virtue and divinity.
To be fair, the blame does not rest solely on Henry. As a child he read the newspaper everyday, and still does. Doing so instilled within him a fear of danger, a fear of death. Reading of the brutal murders and political appointments daily ruined life for him. Much of his mind was consumed with the problems of others; intangible things that affected him minimally at best. The vice president of a charitable foundation caught embezzling funds meant to bring clean water to children in Africa, a man sentenced to death row for multiple rape-murders, and the Annual Rose Competition all weighed heavily on his mind.
So it is fairly redundant to say that Henry is a coward. Something less than a true human being. Humans are meant to grow, change from day to day, year to year. Progress as inhabitants of this often contradictory multiverse. But Henry has never experienced such growth or expansion. His life and personality were both stagnant and boring. Henry was convinced that he would be stuck in his daily routine forever.

2
On a seemingly average day, Henry was on his way out of the office for his 45 minute lunch break. Usually he got take out from one of the nearby restaurants. Today he decided to eat in at a diner that he passed everyday on his way to work. He had always thought of eating there, but until this day he had come up with some excuse not to. The Total Package Diner was the penultimate 24 hour diner. It had creaky bar stools, booths made of plastic and off-white tables that made a mockery of eggshells.
He took a seat at the bar, and waited for the waitress to come over. She took his order of coffee and a club sandwich with little words wasted between them. She gave it to the cook, poured Henry's coffee, and went to the cash register to sit and read a magazine. Henry couldn't make out the title, but it was clearly a woman's magazine. There was a picture of some celebrity with a huge smile and unattainable features.
Henry had always had a special kind of hatred for those publications. His mother read them throughout his childhood, and he hated it when she used some bit of useless knowledge they gave her. Either it was some tip on how to more effectively use make-up, or it was something even more pointless. Not to mention the awkwardness that came over him when he thought of his mother using the sex tips. Now his wife read them, and it seemed that he would never escape their presence. Even here, in a rundown diner on the side of the highway, he wasn't rid of them.
Henry sat and tasted his coffee, which was insanely hot. He never liked the taste of coffee, but it was the proper thing to drink. It gave him the energy he needed to complete his day.
There was only two other people in the diner. A trucker driver on the far side of the bar, and what looked to be a crazy man chatting him up. The trucker just sat and listened; not really reacting or adding anything to the conversation, if that's what it was. The madman spoke in such a way as to be unintelligible at a range of 24 feet. He seemed animated, and the speech must have been stirring something inside, something passionate.
He looked like a biker crossed with a mountain man. The gray hair on his head deceived you, for he was not old. His beard still held the dark color of youth, and his eyes were covered by dark sunglasses. His feet were covered in army boots, and he wore layers of clothing that were far too cumbersome for this mild weather. His jacket was made of black leather, and it was so old and dirty it was gray, like his hair. Very dark and frightening, at least to Henry.
After a rare period of silence, the man looked east and got his first look of Henry. To the man, Henry proved a more appealing conversational target than the weary trucker. So he sidled over Henry-way, and sat next to him. “How are we doing today Necktie? I thought your kind was locked up till dinner time?”
Now to Henry, this sort of talk was mildly offensive. Certainly what he said was entirely factual, but nonetheless it was wholly unpalatable for Henry and his meme. He didn’t appreciate the candor of this madman, but he was unable to get rid of him without becoming embarrassed.
“I’m fine thank you. And yourself?”
“Well Necktie, I could be doing a lot better, you know what I mean?”
“Eeeyyyaaaah I do.” Henry chose the elongation of a single syllable word to express his derision. David was very familiar with this tactic and chose to ignore it out of habit.
“To cut to the proverbial chase Jack, we need to talk,” David said with the smoothness innate to the insane and the brilliant.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve got a lot to think about. For instance, the price of gasoline has gone up, costing you more of that precious credit. Meanwhile, your unhappiness tears away the levels of restraint you have in place, causing you to think more and more of unimportant things, like the past and how things could be. And in the near future, great disaster will befall you and your loved ones. Things will happen that you have no control over, and it will leave you a broken man.”
To Henry this man was just another drug addict getting jollies from pestering a sane person. He didn’t think that perhaps it was best to take this stranger seriously. David minded not at all if Henry took him seriously or not.
“So I guess no response to that, aye Necktie? Well, if you want to chat later you‘ll be able to find me. Oh, and I usually charge for the fortune telling. But in your case it doesn’t seem to be fair. Bye bye now Necktie.” With that David stalked out of the diner, waving goodbye to the waitress and throwing a shaker of salt at the trucker. It hit him in the shoulder, and he turned around to see Henry sitting and trying to look innocent. Henry’s club sandwich came and he ate it unceremoniously.
Today was just another day, just another lunch, just another Tuesday for Henry Fleck. By suppertime however, Henry would have changed his mind about today.

3
The wall clocks small arms indicated 29 minutes had passed, so Henry paid the bill and left for the office. He got his car into the 4th story of the parking garage, and sat on the hood to take a breather. His encounter with David didn't shake him up too much. He lived in the city, and was used to crazy people. As he sat on his car, he began to think about what David said.
Could his family really be in danger? There wasn't a thing that could have frightened Henry more. The thought of something bad happening to his children ate away at his rationality and his body began to respond to the imaginary stress. His palms got sweaty, and his chest became constricted with tension. He was falling apart on the hood of his Honda.
Time to go to work Henry, pull yourself together.
Henry had enough time to sit for a few minutes and compose himself. Although he spent most of his work day alone, he still needed the appearance of a calm demeanor. Henry was one of the top middle management goons in his company. He was basically a secretary type for the vice president of the Mason Argo Company's construction branch. He maintains the connections between Gerald Covington and the level directors of the Tokyo office. All day he sat, waiting to receive phone calls and dial his own scheduled ones. A life spent in waiting. He regularly had other office folks meandering into his office with invoices and memos, number sheets and files. Henry spent much of his time scrawling on dead trees.
He got to the lobby elevator without an incident, and pressed the up bottom. While he was waiting for a ding, a woman stood next to him. She was also waiting for a ding, which would bring her one step closer to a job. She was hoping to be a secretary, or an assistant, and she was desperate for work. It showed in her eyes. She stood, but not still. She swayed about like a rope hanging from the gallows. Her every movement made Henry even more nervous. Like everyone else in polite society, he tried not to take interest in strangers. But, Henry was not a master of self control.
He looked over at the woman, who was about five feet to his right. When he noticed that she was looking his way, he made it look like he was checking the time on the lobby wall. She knew that he was looking her over. She wore a gray pant suit, and heels that gave her a few extra inches of height, which she needed. She had short hair in the style of a female news anchor, cropped to curl just above the shoulder. It had the pigment of burnt sienna, and looked incredibly soft. He was captured by her beauty. She had a pleasant face, but at the moment it was marred by stress and anxiety. After she caught him looking her way, he wouldn't chance another snafu.
So he just stood there, staring at the elevator doors, first from the outside, then from the inside. They didn’t exchange words, civil greetings or otherwise. It was clear that they were both uncomfortable, but neither took any of the steps necessary to remedy the situation. This scene played itself out several thousand times a minute across the United States, and very few people ever say hello or smile. People aren’t very good when they leave their comfort zones.
Henry got off on his floor, and thanked his God that it was all over. The woman was on her way up to some advertising firm or law office, never to bother him again. It wasn’t often that Henry was placed into predicaments such as this, but he always handled it the same. With complete inaction. So it is that Henry handles most problems in his life, by doing nothing.
He managed make it to his office without suffering any more personal humiliation. Henry's face was still red from the elevator ordeal when his secretary came in to his office with a message from his wife. Apparently Beatrice was not going to be able to pick the boys up from school, so they were going to ride the bus home. Not an entirely unexpected situation. Greg was a fine young man, and always did a decent job watching his little brother. There was no cause for concern.
The rest of Henry's work day was routine. He sat in his chair, received a few phone calls, and drank sake. He always got free sake. It was one thing about his job that Henry actually enjoyed.
His day was nearly finished, when he got a call from Beatrice. She said that she wasn't going to get home until late, because her bridge club was taking a trip to an Indian casino. This was strange, because Henry hadn't heard anything about a bridge club before. But, he wasn't going to call her out on something so trivial. Henry chose his battles with the utmost care.
Henry was not a man to let strange occurrences come between him and his day plan. He left the office, got in his car, and began the descent to street level. The traffic was thick as usual, but Henry had grown used to it. He was waved in by an elderly man in a pickup truck and took his place in the long line of cars. The work van in front of him had a bumper sticker on it that read "Keep on Truckin'" in large friendly print.

4
The ride home was uneventful as always. It was stop and go most of the way, giving Henry lots of time to mull things over. He arrived home to find the living room deserted. Strange. Greg and Jason should be sitting around watching TV or playing videogames. He began to search the rest of the house. The bedrooms were empty, as were the bathrooms. The backyard held no children, and neither did the basement.
They weren't here at all. Panic exploded in his head, spreading its chaotic chemical signals, causing his heart to race uncontrollably. Something was wrong. Henry walked to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed his wife’s number. It went straight to her voicemail. Why does she even have a cell phone if she’s not going to have it on or answer it!
Henry could not control himself. He was sweating profusely, calling every number he could think of. Greg’s best friends house, the school, the police. Nobody knew where his kids were, and the police couldn’t report them missing yet. Something must have happened. Something bad. He knew of no reason that his children should not be home, and, coupled with the ominous clairvoyance of one David Huxley, these events took on a significance that could not be ignored.
Henry was not a man of action. He had a date book, appointments, and a schedule. He was the last man do to anything impulsive. But now, it seemed, Henry’s hand was being forced. He knew this. He also knew, that it was his time...
His time to act.
So he went to his car, and started it up. He searched the block, then the neighborhood, then the town. He drove down avenues he hadn’t seen in years. He passed hookers and homeless on the streets, trying to scrape out a life in the mire. He saw an adult book store, a prison, and a college, all on the same street. He flew around town, desperately searching for his offspring. Every minute that passed during the hunt, Henry got more dejected. He scanned the sidewalks and streets for anything that would lead him to Greg and Jason. He saw nothing but the filthy streets and gutters of a town whose name he couldn't remember. Henry grew numb from the chemicals being pumped through his system.
As the search dragged on, he began to calm down a bit, to think rationally. Things weren't as bad as they seemed. Greg and Jason were probably at home right now waiting for him. They must have gone to the store, or a friend's house. This was crazy, driving around town for no reason. They have to be safe. They have to be...
Of course they're safe, he thought. Everything is going to be alright.
As you know, whenever someone is repeating that mantra, things aren't alright. It is a simple way to trick the brain, but it's ultimately ineffective. One can pray and hope till their eyes bled, but its not going to change anything. Henry was not one to pray, but he was praying now. He was praying for the safety of his kids; for the safety of all kids, lest he appear selfish in the eyes of God. Henry wasn't devout. In fact, one could say he paid lip service to the Catholic Church. Right now though, Henry was a believer. He believed in a God that wouldn't let bad things happen to good people. He believed in a God that punished the wicked and rewarded the righteous. He believed in a God that didn't exist.
The whole drive home he sat in a tense silence. The only thing he heard was his engine, and the sound of air rushing past him. It was easier this way. Without noises to distract him he was simply a driver moving towards his destination. There was no urgency, no tragedy, and no crisis. He allowed his mind to go blank, and it gave him the strength to continue. Without his incessant mind chatter, he could look at things from a detached point of view.
He knew that the only logical course of action would be to wait patiently at home for his wife and children. All the running around had solved nothing. In fact, it had made everything worse. He might have seen Greg and Jason by now, coming through the front door, or walking through the back one. He had failed his offspring somehow, and there was little he could do to change that. The guilt climbed up his legs and settled in his stomach. There it settled for the night.

5
It was later that evening, when Henry returned, that he discovered everyone where they were supposed to be. His sons were watching TV, and his wife was talking on the phone in the backyard. To absorb these images after hours of a frantic stress induced energy high would cause some to collapse, others to cry in desperate joy, and yet others to go completely insane. Henry, like certain others are want to do, did not react at all. He shambled around the house, and eventually made his way to the bedroom for sweet escape.
Greg tried to talk to his father, but received no answers to his questions. He asked where his father had been. He asked why he was so sweaty. Henry didn't appear to hear him. He just stared at Greg, with eyes unblinking. Greg was a bright kid, and he knew when things were amiss.
Earlier his father had come home, and walked right by them, yelling their names. When they answered he didn't hear. When they touched him he didn't feel. He couldn't hear Jason crying. Greg had been puzzled by his father's behavior, but dismissed it out of turn. Now that he was back though, Greg wasn't sure if everything was alright. But, being a respectable young Christian man, he wasn't going to question his father.

* * * * * *

David Huxley had been following Henry the rest of the day, and watched as the seeds of doubt he had sown took root. It was a good life being a crazy man. He took every opportunity to shake up the Normals, and he had a damn good time doing it. Its not that David is mean spirited, or malicious. He just delights in the elaborate dances of human emotion. And this waltz was utterly perfect.
Henry had taken every step exactly as he should have, the panic shutting down his mind, giving rise to the perfection of unconscious thought. He had followed the blueprint laid in his brain, and this is what intrigues David. That hardwiring in all of us, that takes over when all other means of cognition have failed. Where does it come from? Why does it exist? Is it a result of genetic memory or the inherent link between all of our minds?
Maybe a better question would be, why do we exist?
The answer is simple. We live to create, to pass on our memories, our genetics, and to give life to that which is lifeless; but mostly we live to fuck.