Murph Dreams of The Past

Chapter 8 // A Slave to Memory

The dream world spun, and Murph and Omni blurred until they were one.

Colors danced and twirled as if alive. Reality twisted and morphed into something new, and the world they knew dissolved into a psychedelic whirlpool. Sensation overwhelmed Omni, an assault that obliterated her mind, the transition jarring as the two merged into a single entity, their minds melding and intertwining like vines in a garden.

They swam together, sharing in the hallucination of Murph’s stirred memories, projected into their minds by Syn’s hand. Murph’s past came alive, a palpable presence in the room, invading their present with the past smells and colors of a more hopeful world. A time when Murph knew hope.

Murph was conscious of Omni’s presence behind his eyes. He could hear her ragged breath and feel her racing heartbeat, even as he was awash with his own memories.

Be calm, he thought, go with it. Don’t fight it.

The world around them was a phantasmagoria, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. It was like a fever dream, a vision quest in some ancient tribal ritual. Murph’s memories were being played out before them, but they weren’t just reliving them passively; they were actively taking part in them, like players in a surreal drama.

Visions of neon-lit streets, towering skyscrapers, and shadowy alleyways filled the air. They saw people, faces, and events from Murph’s past. Every sound was magnified, every color was more vibrant, every smell was more pungent. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and burning wires, and the hum of machinery and the crackle of electricity were ever-present. They had entered a parallel world, a place that existed only in their minds.

The two of them, fused together, rode this strange wave of memory and sensation. A world where two become one. Where we became I.

Eventually, they emerged on the other side, gasping for breath and disoriented, alive in a single moment of Murph’s past.

Somewhere near the beginning of the end.

</>

I remembered our home.

From the outside, it looked like any other house on the street. Or unlike any other on the street, if you were looking strictly at the color. Every single one was a different color: pink, turquoise, green, or yellow. A patch of permanent rainbow.

Ours was peach.

All had white trim though, the edges of doors and windows, the finer details near the roof and elsewhere neatly painted in a stark white. Bright against the dull gray rivers of the cobblestones and granite bones edging every street.

As I walked home, down our street, I fell in love again with the history of this place, the connection with the past and the continuation of Cape Malay culture despite everything. Here was a real place, a place in the Real, that held firm to what it had always believed in.

An anchor in time and place, saying we have always been thus and we shall endure. A joyous splash of color in an otherwise dark and turbulent time. The city had stumbled in recent years, struck over the back of the head by circumstance and waylaid by corrupt bedfellows.

But here, at least, that seemed a faraway place.

It’s why I chose it.

Yes, I chose it so that if we were to be a single cell of hope, pushing back against the tide, then we needed a home that reminded us what we were fighting for.

A pain in my side. An exploratory touch and my hand came back red. A wound, a minor one, but something I’d need to get Gabe to stitch up.

I entered the bustling house in Bokaap, to good natured cheers and the occasional friendly barb. My eyes always looking for her, but she wasn’t waiting for him this time.

“Look here, what the cat dragged in, it looks important. Should we keep it?” said Nova, her hands busy as always, repairing or building something.

“Welcome, stranger. Did your stomach bring you back finally?” yelled Zeke from the kitchen.

There were times when these comments might have triggered him, poking an ever present simmering anger that masked a far more tender bundle of fears.

Not anymore. These people were his family now.

“Oh, no, don’t keep it. It smells of the docks and cheap old fish,” I said.

Nova burst into laughter and slapped him on the back, “Any trouble?”

“Nothing serious,” I said, gesturing vaguely to my side.

“Gabe won’t be happy.”

I shrugged, “But, I did manage to track down something interesting.”

“Oh, did you?” She said, eyebrows climbing her brow. Her eyes twinkled when she saw what I held in his hand.

“Treasure.” I said, “Where’s she hiding today?”

“Pretty sure she’s within earshot, always is when you come home,” said Nova. “Viniah?”

Her adopted daughter crept from behind a nearby pile of equipment, appearing out of thin air it often seemed to me, a skill I knew to be very useful.

And a skill I abused, I thought, the emotion coming through the memory more clearly than any details.

“Hi Murph,” she said, eyes downcast but glancing at his hand. She still after months moved like a stray cat, forever waiting for a reason to bolt. He walked up to her and dropped to his haunches so that she was taller than him. Instead of him towering over her.

“So, Vin, what I’ve got here took some effort. But well, a little trade, a good bit of searching, and here it is.” I said, uncovering a book.

Vin’s eyes widened, and she gasped, this spiky-haired girl thin as a reed and but quick like a hidden blade. A street urchin, still unsure of her new home, gave me a lopsided grin before throwing her arms around me in a bony hug.

“You spoil her, Murph. How’s she supposed to grow up to be ready for this world?” joked Nova.

Vin pulled back, “Thank you, Murph.” She said, fingering the old worn paperback cover, her fingers tracing the title Mistborn.

I squeezed her shoulder, and gave her a wink before standing up.

“Where are my people?” I asked, but Vin was already lost in the final empire, a slight smile creeping onto her usually solemn face. I gently guided her to a place to sit and left her there, moving deeper into the house.

Where was she?

I passed the cramped kitchen, the smell of the evening meal tugging at his stomach. A breyani? No, chicken curry. It smelled so good I popped into the kitchen to steal some.

“Out thief! Give me a couple minutes and it’ll be ready. Why don’t you go let everyone know you’re back.” Zeke said with a knowing look.

“I’m trying, do you know where she’s hiding?”

Zeke jerked his head to the side, and I followed the direction, continuing my search for Jessalyn.

Despite the small frontage the townhouse rambled backwards and two stories up, it had grown over the years, much like my new family and our sprawling city.

Absorbing neighbors and devouring them whole, in this case the house next door. Taken in like a kind of marriage.

There were only a couple places she’d be this time of the day and I found her in the last, the plant-filled courtyard, trays of cuttings and pots of every shape and size holding everything from spekboom to other more exotic succulents.

Her refuge away from the endless glaring bustle of the city. Shielded by old thick walls of stone and plaster.

She hadn’t seen me approach, and I hid in the door frame, watching her as she sat in the fading light, a small smile on her face as she stared into the eyes of another man.

Next chapter on Thursday

Or checkout the full chapter list

Support Omni’s Revolution and this Serial

By becoming a patron and getting early access to chapters and lore.