The Rapturous Wonders of Miracleland
Log-Entry № 1
Just when I had entered the security-check-room, I remembered that this whole thing is just a construct.
“Excuse me, sir… This is not your cane — would you mind giving it back to me?”
It was an old man, about 90, maybe 95 years of age. His glasses were like open windows showing a gaze that was big, curious and fascinated. He was both: Child and old man. Maybe there was a hint of judgment in his attitude but I had trouble figuring out what was real and what not.
“I, uh…” I stuttered. Looked down at my right hand… Had I really taken the old man’s cane? Without even asking…
I shook my head in confusion. “Of course not… I don’t mind. You can have it back. I am very sorry for taking it — ”
“Thank you, lad,” the old man smiled. “These little punks…” he added in a whispered tone, walking away rather quickly. His hunched over posture and his jittery head complimented each other perfectly and were now rendered complete with the golden cane in his right hand. Despite the posture, he seemed fit on his feet.
My thoughts collapsed — just like the reality before had done so.
I was unsure of the amount of gamma-juice they had injected into the pressure chamber.
‘Hold your breath, it’s over soon, miracle-baby…’ — the words echoed through the hallways of my brain and traversed in circular motions along the lanes of my already weary inner world.
‘No matter the weakness, no coughing allowed!’ and ‘The early bird catcheth the worm — the late one loses his form!’ were only two of the somewhat cryptic mantras.
The system wanted me to bow down.
It wanted everyone to bow down.
To follow the route of the sheep, not of the underdog.
But I said no to the system.
Something told me… whispered in my fatigued ear: It would collapse in due time. Sit back and wait.
I was sure — and still am. Just like the thoughts and constructs before I had entered the chamber.
Someone’s dreams must have gotten out of hand, I remember thinking, when I first noticed the change in dimensionality. All forms ceased to exist for a split second and I felt like I had been reborn.
Reincarnated.
But without the loss of memory attached to the endeavor.
But there was no time for hesitation — I couldn’t simply sit back and wait… do nothing… This was not — What time was it again?
Ah: Noon. Perfectly on time!
“You can move ahead, mister. Don’t block the passage. Move on!” a cold, compressed female voice crackled through the sound-system of the security-room №331.
“Alright, alright…” I mumbled to myself, raising my arms and walking out of the narrow space that slowly filled with steam that was pushed out with an eerie, elongated, hot-tea-pot-like Tssssssss before the metal structures were covered in a weirdly familiar foggy haze…
I walked out of there like the old man I had met before. Same hunched over posture, same demeanor, even our clothes carried a certain kind of similarity (at least in terms of color-combination), now that I thought about it.
Hm. This surely is not part of the protocol, is it?
“Didn’t you hear?” the metal-masked guard on the left of the cold-steel corridor walked towards me. The baton in his left hand was enveloped by his tight grip. His stiff fingers were coated in a black glove — he seemed like the kind of guy who would punch you first and ask questions later…
I nodded hectically and moved along as if in a fever.
As I reached the vault’s primary gate — a big circular door made out of stainless steel — I turned around to see if he followed me: There was no one and nothing, not even the corridor was there anymore… Instead I found myself in a fairy garden filled with butterflies, bees and the strong, lovely smell of honey.
I scratched my head and turned back to the gate: The structure had shifted into the shape of a rose arch overflowing with beautiful flowers that were held in place by meticulously crafted embellishments.
“Rose?” a voice came through the RealmSpeaker, the gadget that they gave me before sending me through the portal of the chamber.
I took it out of my pocket and pressed the relic-button.
A holograph appeared in front of me.
It was the old man with the golden cane.
“Are you there yet?” he asked.
“I’m not Rose. What are you talking about?”
“So, I come to understand that you have met my phantom. Be aware of him. He is not the greatest tutor!” he chuckled. It sounded humble, light and almost enlightened — his whole belly moved in waves of childlike humor.
“So it was not you…”
“You are also not you but merely a mirrored shard carrying the reflection of your Self.”
Deep talk on an early morning. Too bad I didn’t have my coffee today…
“This was not part of the protocols,” I said and was quite upset — not only about the old guy and the situation but also about myself. “Let me return to sender.”
“You are not done yet,” he responded calmly. “There are still a few dimensional shifts you have to get through. But soon enough…”
“What is soon?” I was getting more and more impatient.
“The closer you get, the grander the urge in completion.”
I looked down, gulped silently and watched the small pink daisies underneath the holograph’s feet dance in the gentle breeze of Gaia’s newfound hope.
“There are four million of you. You shall meet soon.”
I nodded again, even though I felt absent-minded.
Gaia was trembling silently as the transmission ended.
Let’s not disappoint her, I told myself. Let’s give it at least a few more tries.
End of Log-entry №1
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