Merde Slurréaliste

[Slurrealist]

The title says it all.
This is what happens when you take all the brakes off and let your mind roam and create freely.
The beginning is lame. It was written when my knowledge of English language, mostly syntaxis, was pretty poor, and I was just getting acknowledged with the Illuminatus style. Compared to other chapter's, IMO, there's no really heavy mindscrew material.
Also, I very well aware of the derivative quality of my work, and I really don't care about it. I had the most fun writing it, and it's a work for my own self. I do not tried to please anyone but myself.

Chapter 1: S.N.A.F.U.

...The drug is inhaled to introduce the strange language of the initiation rites...
The Infinity Project - Stimuli

What's up? I came to walk a little inside my own head-head...you know...in some sort of delirium...It's have been very, very helpful to me... Let me show you how it's done... Take you inside-inside...

Jean listened to the opening of the set and felt some tingling in the hands and the spine. He was only eleven, but this didn't stop him from experiencing an intense contact high. At that time, an idea passed trough his young mind, however it was quickly forgotten.

"So...Is everything ready?" A teenage girl asked. Emerald green eyes shone with otherworldly beauty, and the rays of the sun cast their sheen on her long sandal wood hair.

"Why we need to worry about throwing a party for some rat? Where is the world  going?" A chubby old man of short stature moaned. Long white hair and a long Chinese style beard of the same colour adorned his head. The old timer looked silly with no other garment but a long green robe and a pair of tree stumps on the feet instead of normal footwear, but when he spoke, his words were filled with century old wisdom.

A teenage boy standing in the middle of the room looked at the old man with a slightly irritated stare.

"I think Jake is right about this party. It will make Donald feel better," the teenage girl said.

"Look at him! He is always is in a hysterical mood!"

"Sometimes, what's on the outside doesn't reflect what's on the inside," Jake said. His voice sounded angry, but the old sage noticed the sadness beneath it.

"Since when you speak like me?" The local shaman asked in the hope of improving the vibes in the room.

Jake didn't answer. He looked down at the wooden floor, and then out of the window to his right.The sage sighed. This boy knew how to drive him mad. However, when the honorable rishi looked at him once more, some of the anger left him.  Long blond hair shaped in what on Earth would be known as hippie-style shimmered beautifully, thanks to a specific herbal gel. Big, innocent sapphire blue eyes greeted the world around with an incessant curiosity. Tanned skin covered all the teen's body; it was natural, as they lived in the areas nearby the Equator of this planet. Long elf-like ears added a tinge of extra cuteness to the boy. And, of course, the blue tunic, without which it's impossible to imagine Jake.

...In the form an internal layer...

Jake stopped looking at the light blue sea outside and took a glance of the room. A little smile appeared on his face – the place looked great. The white walls were covered with long red banners saying "Happy transformation Donald!"in yellow letters. The big round wooden table in the middle of the room contained innumerable bowls and plates filled with food ranging from bananas covered in molten chocolate to roasted lobster in chilly sauce.  In the farthest part of the room, cushions of all the colours of the rainbow laid together with a guitar, a pair of tablas, a flute and  a hang drum. Donald adored playing on various musical instruments, especially on the guitar. But Jake guessed that in his current state, Donald won't be able to play on it. However, he will have no difficulties picking up various rhythms on the drums, so Jake decided to add these percussive instruments to the party. Still he felt sad, because there will be no more opportunity to enjoy Donald's tunes on string instruments anymore. They were so beautiful.

"Jake! We don't have all day," the old sage reminded to the boy, whose head was almost all the time somewhere in the clouds.

Jake nodded, which meant that everything is fine, nice, and ready for the party, then he went out of the room.

"I can't understand him. Like it's so difficult to use words," the old man, who was the village's shaman, commented the teen's behaviour.

"Calm down, dad! Yes, he is a little...weird, but he is nice," the girl said.

"You're mind is clouded by love, Sheva. He and his furry friend bring nothing but trouble, discord...chaos."

"But if they haven't gone to the forbidden atoll, the world wouldn't have been existing right now."

"I see your point...But sooner or later something would had happened, and someone would had saved the planet. It always works like this. First, the dark forces rise, and then in the end they are defeated by the forces of light. And the whole thing starts again. The principles of drama."

"Whatever," Sheva said with an annoyed voice and left the room. She decided to wait for Jake outside, away from her ranting father. She loved him with all her heart, there was no doubt about, however sometimes his ranting and over protectiveness went way too over the top. Even if he's the green prana sage, it doesn't mean he's always right.

The shaman rolled his eyes. Youngsters...When they will listen to the old ones? If they were more obedient, the world would have been a better place. Or maybe not.

...Ride the moment...

Meanwhile, in Jean's bedroom the bell rang, bringing a twenty five year old man from the reality of dreams back into reality of matter. A smile spread across his face; even in the hypnagogic state Jean remembered about the Precursor party. In 1996, a young man attending for the first time the Burning Man festival had dropped acid...

"What do you know about dark prana?" The previous green  prana shaman asked Manas almost fifty years ago from the point, when the events of this story are unrolling.

"Dark Prana is bad. It brings only chaos, disorder and evil," the boy answered with a very serious voice.
Should I tell him the Truth or not? The old sage thought.

Jake walked to his uncle's place, where he lived together with the only alive adult member of the family, and went into the little round house. From the inside, the place reminded of the hobbits' homes from the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy with it's furniture and the cozy atmosphere. One glance around was enough to say that the crib was empty.  Jake's uncle must have gone exploring the surroundings or sailing into open sea. The desire of exploration was as strong as primal instincts in their family, so the whole family – basically Jake and his uncle – were always crawling around the village, searching for something interesting.

The blond boy walked through the round living room and went to his bedroom. He opened the door and looked around. It was empty; no signs of Donald or of his activity were present around.

"Donald?" Jake shouted. No response. Silence, sometimes interrupted by the sound of waves crushing onto the beach.

Jake went to the bed standing near the large window opening to the azure blue sea and lifted the blue sheet. No weasters there. The boy looked around, feeling the anxiety rising up in his stomach. The open window intensified the ongoing process.

"No!" Jake thought and ran to the window.  He had closed it when he left the house in the morning.  Why Donald disobeyed him? Jake had ordered him to wait here.

"What? What am I supposed to do here? Why do you leave me here anyway? It's not because of Sheva, right?" Donald asked.

Jake shook his head left and right, then said:
"Patience is always rewarded with great surprises. Can you wait here? I will come for you at eleven. I promise."

"Well...Since there's  no escape route from here, I have no other option," Donald said, then he had pointed a finger at Jake. "But if you won't come in time, you will experience the wrath of a rodent."

" You're not a rodent. You're Donald. Changing form doesn't imply changing of the essence," Jake said kindly and left the house.

Memories faded away, and Jake ran out of the house. The day was beautiful: cloudless sky, warm air, soft breeze from the sea. Perfect time for a party, if it wasn't for the missing friend.

...Ride the moment...

A bubbly, severely processed through all LFO filters known to man, voice said from the gigantic speakers.

"They whistling sound are balloons, you know. They experimented with them, sampled them, then, I guess, they created a track from their noise," The False explained to a middle aged man who had asked about the track. Even though they were total strangers to each other, False still decided to participate in the palaver; after all, it was a psytrance party.

"There's an upbeat version officially released – Balloon dance by Metal Sharon, on the Unusual suspects two – though it's free from the samples, and I like this one more. It has dub," False finished explaining, smiled, and took one toke of changa.

"Do you want it?" He asked the new acquaintance, freeing a trail of gray smoke from his mouth.

"Thanks," the middle aged man looking way too much like some actor from the past, but which one False couldn't remember, said and took the cigarette.

One toke is what False needed, and he already could feel the light DMT vibration deep in his body. It will stay like this trough the entire trip, not getting stronger and bringing him to the verge of the hyperspace, and not getting weaker, at least until the end of the high.

The pleasant intensification of colours settled in; it brought to the surface the beauty and details of the surrounding field, crowded to the max by the American lovers of psychedelic music. The sound also experienced some perceptual changes; a third dimension added to it, thus transforming every little synth into something round and organic. In addition to all of this, golden transparent Inca motifs started flying through the air.

It was a pleasant, not very strong high that gave a general feel of relaxation, and covered everything with an ayahuasca style deep sensuality, showing that beneath all the limitations and rules imposed by the male forces a strong feminine spirit flows and  directs the world. It was a revelation for False, however it ended, or maybe achieved a different form, when he saw a skinny, nerdy looking boy among the crowd. He looked absolutely fine, happy with life and content with the party, but still something inside pushed False toward him.

...Oh MIND, MINd, MInd, Mind, mind, mind, mind, mind, mind...

Jake looked up at one of the cliffs overlooking the bay. He could see the place where Donald had lived before the accident hidden in the lush vegetation on top of one of the cliffs surrounding the bay.. A thin trail of smoke alarmed the boy. He started running, hoping that Donald isn't the cause of that trail of smoke. On the road there, Jake thought about his friend. When he is around, everything goes wrong. Donald had touched that artifact back on the forbidden atoll and turned into a talking half weasel, half otter thing; now, Donald couldn't wait for several hours and ran away, once again creating problems for Jake. And something told him that the smoke is also somehow connected with his furry friend.

Jean telephone rang while he prepared breakfast. The young man pick it up without watching the number. Only one person in the world knew his mobile number.

"Hello, False!" Jean said cheerfully into the phone.

"Hi, Jean! Are you reaaady to paaartyyyy?" And old yet pretty energetic voice asked.

"I guess," Jean said with a slightly nervous voice. Dj-ing for almost twelve hours always made him feel a little anxious.

"I guess? Let's rock the place  - that is the only acceptable answer." The voice said and giggled. "Follow your bliss, and don't be afraid.  I am at the place right now, helping with building the stage and decorating the place. When will you arrive?"

"Closer to the evening."

"Okay! See ya later oscillator!"

The connection ended. Jean put down the mobile phone. He already felt the excitement rising trough his body and taking the anxiety's place. That was the power of his old friend The False; it was as if the old hippie guy emanated energy all around him in the same way as a supernova emanated light after the explosion.

Jake arrived to the two storey round house with white walls and little round windows. His knees hurt from the several falls he had during the run to the top of the cliff,  but a trail of gray smoke coming from behind the house paralyzed every painful sensation in Jake's young body. Jake didn't just feel anxiety rising in the stomach; it was a wave of intense, all consuming panic, filling his mind with myriads of useless thoughts, disrupting the normal functioning of his physiological system in such manner that the mouth went desert dry, and a hot wave of perspiration covered all his body in one single flash.

Despite the fear, Jake made a step toward the house. The boy was ready to run inside, when the door opened and mister Psilo, the village's doctor, emerged from it. He staggered left and right, coughing non stop.

Thick clouds of gray smoke with a sweet nauseating herbal smell erupted from the open door behind him.

"Hi...little elf," he said with a raspy voice. The sclera of his eyes was red from the dilated arteries; the light blue irises were barely visible due to the large pupils. A wide, demented smile was spread across Psilo's face.

"What happened here?" Someone asked from behind Jake. The boy turned and saw Sheva appearing from the bushes. Her cheeks were tomato red from the run. Sheva's white shirt was soaked from sweat, and revealed certain curves with little rosy cones of flesh on top, which looked quite appealing for teenage males. She breathed heavily, and with every inhalation, her breasts went up, pressing against the white shirt and revealing more of their beauty.

She walked toward Jake and asked:

"What happened here? Why do you stare at me in this strange way?"

"Sometimes you shine..." Jake said in an out there tone. A smile covered his face. The boy felt good, relaxed and euphoric, and experienced some intensification of colours and mild visual phenomena, like flashes of white light and little white stars floating through the air and covering objects and people. To put it in simple words, he was high.

"What happened, mister Psilo?" The girl asked the doctor with wide pupils  and bloodshot eyes.

"Everything...is fine..." the doctor coughed. "Whoa! I'm stoned...It was a MONSTER hit!"

Then he swayed and felt down on the ground with the face looking up into the sky; the crazy out there smile didn't disappear even for a moment.

"I hope Donald is not the reason of the problem," the girl whispered.

"Well...I didn't find him at my place, so...everything is possible..." Jake said. It was difficult for him to speak.
Not because he had no words to say, but because his mind was racing at the same speed as light. In less than one second he thought about several hundred things.

"Donald..You mean my boy,right?...He was here...Today...I shouldn't had told him... about the herb garden..." the stoned doctor said.

"What herb garden?" Sheva asked.. She tried not to breathe the sweet herbal smoke floating around her.
Doctor Psilo didn't answer. He looked up in the sky, but his face showed that he was in a very distant place, in outer space inside the head.

The girl looked at the pillar of smoke behind the house, grabbed Jake and went around the house. With every step the smoke became denser and denser; an analogy to a fog made from dark gray, almost black clouds can be made about the environment Sheva and Jake were walking around. When the teenagers came to the place that Psilo called the garden, they saw a fiery orange blaze, which consumed with every second more of the tall blue plants with maple-like leaves, sending more of that suffocating herbal smell into the air.

"And how are we going to eliminate this fire?" Sheva asked.

Jake shrugged. He was in no state to do anything: he barely could stand, his mind felt blank right now, and the things he saw in front of the eyes obscured the real world around.

"I think...I will..."The boy started, and then collapsed.

"I guess it's up to me," Sheva said with some heroism in her tone. But she was not sure about making it through all alone. The head felt too light, the body tingled from strange currents of energy rushing up and down the spine. Furthermore, strange yellow lines, squares and triangles appeared from nowhere all around the poor girl.

"Or maybe it's not up to me, but I will try anyway," the brave girl said to herself, her voice was a little off.

"Lay down and keep calm," a deep, throbbing voice said from the veil of thick black smoke.

To be true, I didn't expect that someone will burn their whole ganja plantation to  contact me. An alcoholic offering is all I need. Well, what's done is done, and I must do my part of the job. So, I arrived at the place, and do you know what I discovered there? It shocked me beyond words, you know, made me think about the destiny of the physical Universe – a thing I had done only once, when that control freak continent took control all over the world. Two teens lying there with their minds far, far out there. What were their parents doing so urgent, that they let the kids smoke so much charas?  I know times are changing, and more people are seeking transcendence, but wait at least till your body and mind are ready and stable. Yes, Psilo was there. Love that doctor! He has the best stuff!  I guess he wanted to invoke me, but something went wrong. No, I didn't meet or see anything resembling a weaster at that place. Where did you got that idea? All the animals were running from the destructive fire like if the end of Kali Yuga finally stepped on the land. Wait, what?! A talking weaster?! You must be high, man.

[Slurrealist]

Jake opened the eyes and found himself lying on the sofa in the green sage's hut. The effect of the herb weren't present anymore, but Jake didn't experience a hangover. On the contrary, he felt very good, very relaxed, and at ease with his own self. Never before he had felt so positive about his own being. The boy took a sitting position and looked at every detail of the room he was in. He noticed that he wasn't alone in this place.

Sheva was sleeping on the other sofa in the room. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, so careless and free, free from all the fourth circuit stress most teenagers live in.  A little nirvanic smile stood on her face. One hand touched the wooden floor, while the other rested on her flat belly. Her chest went up and down in slow motion, and Jake shifted the eyes back on her face before the brain could manage to send some electrical impulses into the sacral plexus. Rays of the sun fell on her beautiful hair from the window behind the sofa; in the areas illuminated by them, Jak could see little bright stars sparkling between the sandal hair.

Sometimes you shiiiiiiiine, Sometimes you faaaaaaallllllll......

The blond boy closed the eyes and massaged the eyeballs with the fingers of his right hand. Not enough time had passed for the effects of the drug to wear off entirely.

Jake got up and walked out of the room. He swayed a little, thanks to the legs that felt more like cotton than flesh. In the living room Jake found the old green sage floating above the ground and looking at the village from the house's door. The off baseline teen made a step; the floor creaked; the levitating dwarf turned around and said angrily:
"Well, well, well...Look who is awake! I believe that the fire was caused by your...friend."

"Why blame someone if there's no evidence?" Jake said.

"Because..." the sage floated closer to the blonde teen. "There is evidence. Just ask Psilo. What crossed his mind fifteen years ago, when he decided to foster that baby?"

"What?!" Jake asked, his brows and ears lifted in awe.

"Nothing! It's not a matter for your smoke filled brain. Why did you run to Psilo's home ? You wouldn't had done anything anyway."

"Okay, okay...Where's Donald?"

"I hoped you will answer me that question."

Jake lifted the left eyebrow.

"After stopping the fire, we found nothing and no one in and around the garden, apart from you and my daughter. How did she get into this mess?" The green curandero asked.

"She must have seen the smoke, and then she must have decided to find out the reason of it."

"You got answers for everything, Jake, apart from the answer to the most important question - where's that troublemaker?"

"There are some things that even the wisest do not know," Jake said,  the left corner of his mouth went up.

"Great Kifflom, God of Everything You need to blow off some of your ego," the local munipumgava said in total dismay. "The wisest! Huh! What next? A weaster achieving nirvana? What's happening to the world?"

"What do you know about Donald?" Jake asked. There were no signs of a smile on his face; he looked as deadly serious as the Easter Island's stone monoliths. The ears were pressed tightly against the head.

"Psilo said that he had sensed the smell of burning grass, went outside and saw a weaster holding a big cigar made out of fresh leaves and taking puffs of it. Then, there is a large blank hole in his memory," the old man answered.

"Where is he now?"

"Resting on the floor of my lab. Still travelling in the astral spheres."

Jake contemplated over the information, then went to the exit.

"Where are you going?" The green sage asked.

"Searching for Donald," Jake said and walked out of the house.

Jake will find his only friend. About this the sage was absolutely sure. The boys had some kind of profound mystical bound between them, which couldn't be explained in words or thoughts. Or maybe they were just gay? Who knows the truth?

Manas sighed from relief. It was great that Jak ran off without asking about how the fire was exterminated. It was a mystery even for honorable Green Prana Magician, the Bharata of the the life force, the best friend of the plants. When he had arrived at the place, he had found only the warm black ashes of Psilo's secret herb, but absolutely no signs of an all destroying blaze.

"Weird! All this is so weird! I will kill that troublesome weaster when Jake will find it. So many trouble just from a rodent," the sage murmured to himself.

"Now this is absolute crap!" The voice of the editor said in clinically angry tone. He was a man in the early fifties, with short brown hair, already showing signs of gray here and there, and cold, light blue eyes hidden behind a pair of small rectangular glasses. A white collar shirt hid his desiccated thin body. All his look gave off a sense all supreme knowledge about literary matters.

"But...But...I think it's great and mind blowing. Imagine teenagers reading this and starting thinking on their own for the first time," a young man said with great inspiration in his voice. He was sitting on the chair in front of the editor's large dark brown wooden table. The long black hair, the feverish glaze in the brown eyes and a large smile on the face showed that the young man belonged to the cultural fringe, which was the only thing in the present that kept pushing the creative boundaries of human civilization. The editor felt sorry for him. The world needs bricks in the wall, not individuals. That's why there are editors, who control every single creative work, so that the only things to get published are the books that will entertain people, not make them think.

"Teenagers don't need mindblowing stuff. They need action, horror and romance. The cheesier it will be, the better it will sell in their age group. Just look at "Twilight". Pure ...you know what, but almost every teen girl is reading it."

"If my manuscript is also shit, then why not to publish it?"

"It's just over the top. Too many drug references, subtle hints to sex and allusions to  various philosophical systems. And it looks like a psytrance advertisement with references to the psychedelic culture almost on every page. Kids don't listen, and will never listen to that."

"Well, I can publish an excerpt on some Internet site for fiction and see how readers will react to it. Then..."

"You will be lucky if someone will read it just to the end. The biggest part of these sites' readers is made up of girls, and they want to read something easy and not too thought provoking about their heroes. Angst, drama, action and sex are the keys to success, not psychedelic drugs, stream of consciousness and blue masks," the editor explained and pointed with the left hand at a tall heap of paper in the middle of the table.

"Can you give me some suggestions how to improve it?"

"I can give only one - try to add more angst scenes. Teenage girls love them. But I guess it won't  improve your work significantly."

The man with long black hair got up. The intense fire left his eyes, and gave place to the sad look of a disappointed person.

"Thanks for your comments anyway," the man said, turned around and started walking towards the white door of the office.

"Wait! What about your manuscript?" The editor asked.

"You can keep it. I won't need it anyway. Have a nice day," the young man said, opened the door, walked out out of the bright, light filled office into the gloomy hallway and closed the door behind.  

A man in early forties got up. The most prominent feature of this person were the long dark brown hair reaching the shoulders, showing the man's position on the confusing map of ideologies and belief systems that penetrates the human experience on every level. An indigo band around the head held the hair in place, and it enhanced the position of the man in out society. Another eye grabbing thing were the dark brown eyes, filled to the brim with a flame of madness. Now they looked at the sad, defeated young man, who had just discovered that dreams aren't as easily accomplished as it is shown on TV.

"What's wrong, Jean?" The hippie asked.

"He," Jean took a deep breath, then continued."He didn't accept my work. He said it won't be very popular, so why to waste the money on that. I just wasted five years of my life on it."

The hippie giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"Did you have fun while writing it?"

Jean nodded.

"Then it's not a wasted time. By the way, where's the manuscript?"

"I left it to the editor."

"You did what?!" The hippie almost shouted. "God! Why do we always lose the good stuff, huh?"

"Calm down! It wasn't really that interesting, you know. Just a bunch of freaks travelling across time and reality, creating chaos in different worlds and so on."

"You think that's not good? Let me tell you something about chaos..."

"Later, okay?" Jeans said and started walking down the poorly lit hallway. He wanted to be far away as possible from this building. An intense desire to return back to the studio and write the most aggressive track in the history of trance filled his mind.

"Whoa! Why so much negativity, my friend? You lost on one front, but you gained on the other," the hippie said enigmatically.

"What do you mean, False?" Jean asked. He stopped walking and looked at his friend.

"Look at this," the hippie with the nickname False said, took a paper from the right front pocket of the jeans and handled it to Jean. The young man looked at the piece of paper, and with every line he read, his eyes got bigger and bigger.

"Yes. Twisted accepted your tracks. An album is on the way."

"Oh my God! Oh my God! I need to seat down," Jean whispered. He had no strength to make the voice sound stronger.

"Three years spent experimenting at my studio weren't a waste of time. You know what, Jean? I read your work. You're a good writer, but it's not for you. Your are a natural born musician. What was your first dream?"

"I always wanted to be a writer."

"But writer of what?"

Jean shook the shoulders.

"Exactly. You maybe failed in writing words, but succeeded in writing music. Lets go now. We need parties to organize and Dj-s to play there, and you are one of them."

Both men started walking again. The idea that had visited Jean when he was eleven years old had been working in real life for three years now.

Meanwhile, in the year 1996,  the young man who had taken acid half an hour ago started experiencing some tingling sensations in hands, feet and base of the spine.

"The trip begins," he said to himself, and his words were lost in the desert wind, just like Bob's were lost in the morning mist.

"I think I should do it," the boy whispered to himself in the bedroom, looking at the milky white vapour covering the Earth from the window. "After all, fear is the last frontier."

The Sun settled down over the horizon, colouring the sky in the east into crimson red and orange splashes. A shining orange pathway formed on the surface of the sea. Evening was falling onto the village. Every inhabitant of the settlement was in the green sage's hut. They visitors enjoyed the party, socialized, and had a lot of fun, though they were absolutely unaware about the great tragedy that had bestowed on their tranquil place. Only half of them knew that the celebration missed the two most important beings – the culprit of the event and his best friend.

"I wonder where Jake is?" Sheva said. She felt good now. The head felt too empty, but it will pass. The doctor was also in the room; he was spending the time near the "serve yourself" table and stuffing the food inside the mouth in large quantities. Sheva had interrogated him when he came back to his senses, but he had a total blackout. He had told her the same thing that he told to her father: sensed smoke, saw a weaster smoking, and then...memory lapse. Sheva also couldn't rely very well on her own mind. The last thing she remembered was how a tall, dark skinned Indian had appeared. He had said something to her, but she couldn't remember what right now. The only things about the man that clearly imprinted on her memory were the long dreadlocks and his clear eyes full of compassion and wisdom.

"Jake will be back. He is looking around the village for that...naughty weasel. Soon, he will give up and join us," Sheva's father, the green sage, responded to the question and placed a hand on her left shoulder.

"Everything will be fine. Just wait a little."

But Sheva still felt anxious.

Where are you, Jake? Please come back, for me. We will search for Donald together. Unbelievable, but I miss Donald. He looked cute when he was human. Of course, Jake is more beautiful, with the blond hair and blue eyes...Donald is also blue eyed. Knows how to talk, not like Jake, who is always silent and withdrawn. Wonder why? It's like Donald is Jake's voice. Like if Donald is Jake's active side: Yin yang! Yes! That's it: one's passive, other – active. Why didn't I realize it earlier? But who's active, and who's passive? Do they change roles? Another revelation! I feel it coming! If they are yin yang, then one half cannot exist without other one. Oh, Kifflom! Jake won't stop looking for Donald for any reason! Donald, if you hear me, please come back home! He must be feeling guilty about the destroyed garden. .. I didn't find him in the garden or around it, though. Doctor Psilo says he saw a weaster, while I saw nothing. Weird. Very weird.

"Hey, Sheva! Do you want some lemonade?" The village's sculptor, a young man with a typical stoner accent and purple eyes and hair, asked.\

"Thanks, but no," Sheva said and turned her face back to the window, to the ominous red sunset. The same sunset Heather saw from the windows of the diner where she accidentally fell asleep. Not a good sign: the sky's bleeding: danger ahead. That day, an adventure started, and adventure only a glass of tomato juice can unfold. And so ended the green sage's story.

"What happened next?"

"What happened to Donald?"

The children sitting on the sand around the old shaman asked.

The sage looked at the palm of the right hand, where a little white square of paper was hidden from the curious eyes of the crowd of nice and cute looking children with long and pointy ears. The text ended at the party at his place. There was only one thing to do.

"I just don't know how it went," the sage told the truth.

A sigh of disappointment filled the tranquil beach.

Jake sat on the beach and looked at the deep purple sky around the arc of the Sun's corona on the horizon. Sometimes, he looked up at the late evening blue sky, and the little white dots shining on it. Jake relaxed after a long day of constant run and stress in a secluded place of the beach hidden from the rest of the world by huge boulders. He wished Donald was with him, on the left side, like usual, and that he talked non stop about various things. It was always good to listen at Donald's ramblings. Somehow, Donald always managed to make every mundane thing funny. Jake even wished to have his friend's perspective on the world, because, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get into the same slack state that characterized Donald's view on life and behaviour. But dreams are dreams, while reality is reality. And in reality, Jake is alone.

The blond boy looked at sky, at the calm sea and at the waves crashing onto the the sandy beach, spraying droplets of water all over his legs, and remembered the good times he had with Donald. How they hid from Manas' lessons here, how they shared their ecstatic discoveries about life, how Donald played the guitar and sang his songs here. One of them came to Jake's mind.

(Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm slipping into plaaace
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm spinning into outer spaaace)

Sometimes Jake accompanied him on the guitar, but he never sung. Now he wished he had.
Even after Donald's transformation, they had great times here. Maybe Donald was a hybrid animal now, but he still cracked jokes about everything. The change of form doesn't imply the change of the essence.
Sometimes, they both sat here without saying a word. Donald would rest in Jake's lap, while Jake would stroke his back from head to the the long tail. These moments were the greatest for Jake; it was the only time when Donald could understand the reason why his friend never spoke too much, and share this experience with his only friend.

But these times are gone. So is Donald. A tear appeared in Jake's right eye, ran down the cheek and fell on the blue fabric of the tunic.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here

Molly listened to this particular song while riding the bus to school and looking at thick white fog that seemed to distort the fabric of reality itself from the vehicle's window. It's time to come to a head with the fear lingering inside her, and destroy another one of school's non-written taboos.

[Freeky]

That's a lot of text.  Do you think you could break it up a bit more?  Put an extra [ENTER] after paragraphs, maybe?  It'll make your posts look longer, but have smaller chunks to read.  I mean, I do see that there are paragraph breaks, but, and this may just be me, it is still pretty hard to read when they are still bunched up like that.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

That's a lot of text.  Do you think you could break it up a bit more?  Put an extra [ENTER] after paragraphs, maybe?  It'll make your posts look longer, but have smaller chunks to read.  I mean, I do see that there are paragraph breaks, but, and this may just be me, it is still pretty hard to read when they are still bunched up like that.

Not just you, I couldn't get thru it even though it did catch my interest.  My brain just goes  and I keep losing my place.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

The title says it all.
This is what happens when you take all the brakes off and let your mind roam and create freely.

No, I always wind up with a naked Bea Arthur and a bucket of cheese wiz.

Also, you may want to go break that up into paragraphs with a space in between.  It's hard to read it all in a block.

[Slurrealist]

Thanks for the advice. It truly looks better.

No, I always wind up with a naked Bea Arthur and a bucket of cheese wiz.

I need to free my mind further to achieve something like that.

Here's the next one. I have written it a long time ago, so that's why they keep coming so quickly.

Chapter 2: Donald in The Great Unknown

I wasn't high while writing this chapter. Or maybe I was. I can't remember.

Other dimensions can co-exist with our own and these beings have the technology to somehow... just slip in and out...
Etnica - Vimana

Lets get back to me okay? Whoever I am.  Everything is kinda fuzzy, buzzy, fluffy and unclear. You will feel the same way after spending an eternity in this...I don't know...reality or state. Or maybe it was a second? I don't know...Just like with my personality. Who am I? What am I? The only thing I can be sure about is that I exist. But as what? I think I was a boy for awhile, searching for his friend; a girl, waiting for the boy, who was searching for his friend; an old man, concerned about the girl, who waited for the boy who was searching for his friend. In other words, I am totally confused. You get the picture. I also wish that the place I am in could make more sense. It's not that this...locale is bad. It's the way everything is in constant motion here. Reflective surfaces...morphing like an anacondas skin and shimmering like a million colour changing squid...Holes in the rippling,waving liquid sky, dripping some...weird purple psychokinetic fluid that transforms into flying purple cows...Rainbow like vapours, that can talk to you, coming from every cave in the melting chocolate mountains...Look! There is a lake turned upside down in the sky... And here comes Lucy with kaleidoscope eyes...On the horizon, where the blue Sun is descending, the sky is covered with rapid moving fractals...I squeeze the eyes and see the mask emerging from a mountain lake made out of molten pink ice cream and with cherries on top...

Oh! What's happening? Where am I now? Who am I now? A minute ago (or was it an hour? Second? Millennium?), I was a disembodied spirit. I was everything and everyone, also I was myself. Now I am only myself. Encapsulated into a body. It feels so weird being made out of solid matter. And where am I? Why I am free falling? What?!!! Is that a green sea several hundred miles below me, or is it hard ground? Am I going to die?! I am too young! I have never experienced the pleasures of erotic union. What's wrong with my mind? Calm down...Try to breathe and relax. There is still plenty of time before you'll hit the ground. Better look around. Little fluffy clouds.  They are so beautiful. I am high. High up in the sky. Wait! I am high right now, right? Ultra stoned. Mega spaced out. This isn't my real body. I am in a different place, and it's safe there. This is just a dream. A bad drug induced dream. What's that thing that flew on the left? What?! Is that...? Is that...a rodent falling down? Now I can see a road. And a car. Blue Sedan. I wonder who is inside it? The driving is excellent from my high altitude viewpoint, but Jean always drive as careful as possible. It was a habit acquired after transporting large doses of ergot to the Precursors' labs. The better the driving is, the less trouble will be there with the cops. And the cops were a big pain in the ass these days; Jean heard stories from fellow safrole  distributors about policemen stopping cars for no apparent reason, and doing a total check using trained dogs and artificial olfactory bulbs. He hoped not to meet any blue uniforms on the road, though he was driving through one of the most remote areas in south-western England.

Jean drove through a thick forest. The tallest and biggest trees of the area spread their branches above the road, and didn't let the rays of the Sun fell down on its black surface. A cool wind entered the car's cabin from the window on Jean's right. The young man's short dark hair and the indigo shirt, covered with light blue vine like patterns forming a Celtic cross, waved from the strong current of air. His right arm rested on the open window of the car's door, while the left one controlled the steering wheel. Hallucinogen in dub was playing from the car's stereo. Gamma Goblins( It's Turtles All The Way Down Mix), to be precise, right at the moment when the well known ominous yet playful melody enters the track. Our hero was was ready to bob the head to the beat and forget about every single care in the world, when something hit the windscreen.

"What the...?" Jean said and stopped the car. His body went forward, chest hitting the steering wheel, then returned back into the seat.

Something furry rolled down the car's hood.

"Is that a squirrel?" Jean thought.

He removed the safety belt, opened the door and went outside. The air was chilly, however it helped the panicky psytrance producer to calm down a little from the experienced shock. The forest on both sides of the road was submersed in a gloom, due to thick branches blocking the pathway to the shining beauty of Aton. The ground beneath the trees was covered by a layer of thick green moss; between the big and ancient roots of the trees toadstools grew and accumulated strong psychoactive substances. Sometimes, deep from the twilight tunnels of the forest came the sound of a branch breaking or of leaves crunching beneath someone's feet, but Jean wasn't interested now in guessing the reason of these sounds.

He took a deep breath and went to the car's front. The first thing he noticed was a strong and very familiar herbal smell.

Ok, now it's getting weird, he thought. Then he saw the source of it.

"Hey, Trimurti, can you check that report on the Blueprint deformation," Coleus ordered to the woman in black. He was more than just disturbed by the anomalies detected in one of the fields outside the metropolis.

There, on the black asphalt, laid a weird creature. Jean had seen both weasels and otters, but this animal seemed like a cross between the two mammals. It was two feet long. Orange fur covered the spine, arms,legs and the dorsal part of the tail, while yellow fur covered the muzzle, underbelly and the ventral part of the long tail.

"Why it has gloves on the paws?" Jean said his thought out loud. Unease settled in his stomach.

He squatted before the little unconscious body. The more he looked at the creature, the weirder he felt. Five fingered hands with dark brown leather gloves instead of  front paws. An aviator hat of the same colour and material as the gloves covered the head of the being. And the animal just reeked with a sweet distinct herbal smell, very well known among trancers and rasta.

"This can't be real," Jean whispered as if he had taken the third toke of DMT and crossed the not-so-solid border of the real world.

'What do you know about the Cosmic giggle factor?" False asked Jean a few hours after the visit to the editor. Now they were sitting in a cafe in the centre of the town, enjoying the sunny day, which seemed even more sunnier and shining to Jean, as his consciousness was a little bit altered from the euphoric state brought by the news about Twisted. A big cup of tea stood on the table in front of Jean, and gave off a pleasant aroma of bergamot orange.

"Nothing," the young man said. He felt a little shaky. It has been an awful morning for him. Rejection of the manuscript followed by acceptance of his tracks. And not by some small label, but by the big one. It felt way too weird. He had pinched himself a lot during the previous hours to make sure he is awake and not dreaming.

"This concept is pretty easy to grasp. It mean that the Universe is joking with people. All the synchronicities are regarded as a form of the Cosmic giggle," the middle aged hippie explained in a cheerful voice.

"You are trying to say that what happened to me is a Cosmic giggle?" Jean asked and took a sip of the tea.

"Well...yes! Don't you see the weird connection? You dreamed of being a writer, and now you ended up being one."

"Not the way I wanted."

"Oh, really?" False asked, and an ironic smile appeared on his face. "And a musician doesn't write anything, right?"

Jean didn't respond to False's words; he felt too tired to argue.

"That's the way the Cosmic giggle works. There's no logic in it, and yet in the end you receive a great result."

"Why does such thing exists then?" Jean asked. He looked away from the brown eyes of his friend to the sunny road of the city. A red truck parked on the other side of the street grabbed his attention with its license plate, which started with the number 23.

"I guess in order to destabilize the materialists and the fatalists," False giggled, "And every single person that believes in linear time and a dead, stable world. Imagine you had lived half of your life according to the laws of the materialistic world and then...Bam! Your world is filled with strange events that don't have no purpose but to make you go mad from the inability to find a rational solution for them. Pretty trippy, isn't it?"

Jean put a hand on the animal's chest. The body felt warm. Thank God, it's alive: the sin isn't committed: Brahman in everything, remember? The heart of the creature was beating very fast. The young man felt anxiety churning in the stomach. Was this rapid heartbeat a normal phenomenon for this rodent or not? Smaller the creature, faster the metabolism: biology, ninth grade.

The hybrid of otter and weasel moved. Jean took away the hand and looked in awe as the creature opened his eyes. The big blue eyes looked clear and focused; the pupils were of a normal size for gloomy environments.

Jean paid attention to every little action of the weird hybrid. His senses were aroused as if under influence of a psychedelic substance. Time stopped for Jean. There was an absolute stillness in this part of the forest. Only the Gamma Goblins remix playing from the car's stereo system disturbed the silent and timeless forest with the funky guitars.

The animal sat. A smile, both anxious and happy from relief, spread across Jean's smile. The mammal looked fine and alive.

'Are you okay, little fella?" Jean whispered. A wave of relief spread through his body, however it was short lived.

The rodent looked at him, and when his cobalt blue eyes gained full clarity and focused on the shape of the man in weird shirt, the creature jumped on Jean's chest, holding his shirt with its little fists.

"OKAY?! I am not OKAY! Will you be okay after falling down several hundred miles onto something hard?!"

The critter shouted at Jean and stared at him with angry and bewildered eyes. 

Jean's fell down on the buttocks from shock. The mouth was dry. Perspiration covered his body.

Am I going crazy? Have the years of wild hedonism finally caught up with me? He thought.Trip advices from False filled his mind.

It was year 2017. Jean has been working on the second album in False's studio for several hours. Now he took a little break from work because of an intense headache. False proposed some 'joint' medicine, but Jean decided no to use it; his body still needed a little rest from the previous, and first, experience with five-methoxy-dimethyltryptamine. So they talked for awhile. And, like in every single company of boys, the conversation shifted towards past psychedelic experiences.

"Have you ever had hallucinations, when some weird alien or object talked to you?" Jean asked. He was lying on the blue sofa in the studio with eyes closed and the right hand on the forehead.

"Had several on heavy dose acid trips. You know what I learned from this experience? If an object or a trip creature starts talking to you, communicate with it. It's the best thing to do," False answered.

Then the growling mad scientists from the Precursor labs called him, and he left the room, leaving Jean alone. The young man closed the eyes and started meditating, in the hope of getting rid of headache in this natural way.  When he opened the eyes, the creature was still there, holding his shirt in the hands. The only thing he could smell at the moment was the intense odour of high quality sinsemilla.

"Where am I? Are we near Klesha village?" The weasel thing asked. "Are you mute or something? Haven't seen an unidentified flying weaster before, huh?"

"Weas..ter?"Jean asked.

"Yeah! Weaster You know...The little annoying rodents that speak non stop," the rodent explained in a loud voice.

Weaster...Hmmm... Definitely a hallucination: my mind is going, there's no doubt about: not the right time for Samothraki... Wait! Wait! Wait! Squirrel and biscuits! That's it! I remember how I took a lot of acid and tripped out of my mind to that track. The whole album is fantastic. Now I suffer from a flashback. My memory returned! I have seen these creatures in the outer space. They were the tiny, funny Indian voices in that track. What shall I do now? False! Need your advice!

"Earth to weird man!" The thing that called itself a weaster disrupted Jean's thought process.

"Mir," the shocked man said.

"What? Are you high on something?"

Jean giggled. It was weird hearing such thing from a talking otter smelling like if it was after a sauna, where weed had been used instead of water and coals.

"What are you laughing at? You're crazy, you know... Let's get back to the important stuff. Where am I?"

"You're on Earth, eh..."

"Donald! Call me Donald!" The weasel thingy said.

"Okay... Dexter," Jean said and got up on the feet. The giggling helped to release some tension, though he still felt shaky.  He had seen real weird stuff in the world, but talking animals...Eris is definitely screwing with him pretty badly. If he had met Heather, whose little visit to the mall transformed into a nightmarish lesson about the influence of human thought on the "objective" world, maybe he would have redefined the concept of screw up, and put himself into the not-so-bad zone.

"Donald! Not Dexter. There's something wrong with you, pal. Now, tell me where we are," the rodent said, still clinging onto Jean's blue shirt, feet propped against Jean's lower abdomen.

"Earth. We are on Earth," Jean answered. Keep calm. Communicate with the hallucination. Why did I say Dexter anyway? Must be something from the non-edited version.

"I understand that, but where exactly?"

"England"

"Doesn't ring any bells. Is it close to Klesha?"

"What? I had never heard of such place before," Jean said. He placed the right hand under the the weaster, in order to support the creature, and then went to the opened door of the car.

"Strange. Are you sure this is planet Earth? In the Milky Way Galaxy?" the weaster asked. Now its voice was calm, free from any forms of hysteria, emotional affects, and psychoses.

"Yes and yes!"

"So, there are no six eyed blue masks chasing people around?"

Jean almost choked at these words. This thing can't be real? It just can't be real.

"No. No masks here," the young man answered, after restoring the ability to speak.

"Whooo! That's great! What's this thing?" Donald and jumped onto the driver's seat.

"It's called a car. This machine is used for..."

"Transportation and travel. I am a weaster, but not stupid. I make connections quickly. What is this sound?"
The weaster said and started bobbing the head to the rhythm of Spiritual Antiseptic remix. "Never heard anything like this before. Sounds good, though? What kind of instruments did they use to create something like this?"

Seeing a wiggling rodent made Jean smile. Hallucination or not, this being was funny. The only negative thing was the herbal smell emanating from the weaster.

[Slurrealist]

Donald jumped onto the next seat, and Jean entered the car. He closed the door, turned the engine key and started driving.

"Does this thing hover or something?" The weaster asked.

"No. It has four wheels for driving," Jean explained.

"So, it touches the ground? Welcome to the dark ages."

"Dark ages?"

"Well yeah! Prehistoric times, when the people before the Precursors travelled on the ground, not above it, and used the black oil as fuel."

Cold perspiration covered Jean's back. How this talking animal could know about the Precursors? Maybe it talked about other Precursors? Whatever the answer was, Jean didn't care. He wanted the hallucination to stop. But this wasn't a real hallucination.

"Do you know the difference between real and pseudo hallucinations?" False asked Jean the day after their first mutual trip on DMT in the year 2015. They were sitting in the studio, and Jean was taking a break after six hours of non stop tweaking on Logic Pro. He guessed that if False weren't around, he would had worked for several days without pauses, trying to convey the tryptamine experience into sound.

"I heard something about these two types of hallucinations. I know that if you see true hallucinations, then you're officially mad," Jean said. He held in the hands a cup filled with warm canned soup.

"That's not fully true or untrue. The difference between these things is pretty simple. Pseudo hallucinations is when you know that what you're seeing is just an illusion or distortion. True hallucinations is when you see something illusory, and you perceive it as real, not doubting even for a single moment the reality of the vision passing through your visual field," False explained.

Jean nodded and took another glance at the weaster. It wasn't a pseudo one either.

"How did you  get here, Donald?" The young man asked.

"Well...Eh...Um..." the weaster said and started scratching the back of the head with the left hand. "You see...I...a...kinda turned on to another level of reality...Then I tuned in into it and...I...dropped out here."

"And how did you turned on?"

"Why so much questions? Let's better figure out how to get me back into my world!" Donald shouted, eyes filled with anger.

"First, we need to understand how you got here. Then we can..."

"Yea, yea, yea! Got it! I was high. So high that now I don't remember where I was right before tuning in into Shpongleland."

"What did you say?" Jean asked. He was so focused on the weaster that he didn't notice the police car parked on the right side of the road five hundred yards ahead.

"What did I say?"

"The last thing."

"Shpongleland."

"Yes! Where did you get that word?"

"It just came to my mind while I was floating or flying trough that place between worlds. It was such a weird place. Giant masks,  invisible guys in some glowing suits, gnomes saying hooray...stuff like that...What's that car doing near the road?"

Jean took the eyes away from the weaster and looked ahead. Something dropped in the stomach. A wave of hot sweat covered every square centimeter of the skin.

Oh, God, NO! Pigs! he thought.

A bulky man wearing a dark blue uniform lifted the right hand, which held a long black rod with a flashing red light on the top. Jean pressed on the brake pedal, and the car started to slow down.

"Who's that guy and why are we stopping?" The curious weaster asked.

"That's a law enforcer. He makes sure that the laws are obeyed," Jean explained, mouth dry as a desert, hand shaking like from the Parkinson disease.

"We did something wrong?"

Jean shook the head left and right.

"Then why are we stopping?!" Donald asked in a half worried, half confused tone.

"Because they have the right to stop us and check us, even if everything okay."

"That sucks!" The weaster said.

The young man nodded in total agreement. He started to like Donald, even if he was just a hallucination.
Donald had more fire inside than most of the people in the "real" world.

"I guess the thing was just the personification of my longing for someone, who could understand me, accept me, be me friend. You see, I had never had real friends, so, this hidden desire of mine must have manifested in the form of a hallucination," Jean said to a middle aged man with a short black beard.

"What, in your opinion, had precipitated this psychotic state," The man asked in calm I am your friend tone.

Jean looked up to the white ceiling. He admitted that psychiatrists had the best coaches in the world; after the séance, he would go and buy one, then put it in the studio so that he could listen to the sound in the most comfortable way known to man.

"I guess my experience with hallucinogens played a part in it, however, to be absolutely honest, it came unexpectedly, with not prodrome of any kind. It was a casual day, my consciousness was stable, and then, out of a sudden, this happened," Jean said to the doctor with the name Vincent, as the label on his white coat said.

"Every one has this kind of experience sooner or later. It's good that you understood the illusority of your experience – that's a good sign," the doctor said in an encouraging tone.

"What if several people saw the same thing? Can it be labeled as a hallucination, then?"

The doctor could find the right answer for several minutes.

"But I guess we don't need to worry. Everything is fine, right?" The weaster asked.

Jean nodded slightly. Then he noticed how everything wasn't right. The cabin was filled with an intense cannabis odour, and he also didn't look very normal with the pallid skin, sweat all over the body and frightened eyes. Plus, the music wasn't on their side. The police tribe was made out of anal types with strong epileptoid traces in their character. Even if the music playing inside the car brought in their primitive minds an association with drugs, then a night in the district was inevitable. So, LSD ( World Sheet of Closet String mix) wasn't the best track to listen to while approaching a policeman. But it was too late to turn it off.  Jean was totally screwed, just like Heather in the year 2022, when she understood that something had changed around since that ride down the elevator from the second to the first floor of the mall, and James Sunderland in the year 2023, who realized that his stay at the gathering of psychedelic tribes at Ingolstadt, Bavaria, can turn into something more than just a vacation.

"When you're in a critical situation, and the only thing you feel is fear, then just let go and flow with the current," the six eyed mask said to the panicking weaster, who had just plunged from one dimension into another.

It was late afternoon of the 12th of July. Constable Mike Norris and his partner Arnold Willis were sitting in the chief inspector's office, waiting for questions to come. Mister Ron Hard, a fat and bold guy with red cheeks and large wet patches on the light blue shirt around the armpits, turned around in the chair and looked at the two constables.

"I want to know why the fuck you let Jean Chao go!" He said in a loud, robotic, yet angry voice.

Mike Norris, a middle aged bulky, almost fat, man with short black hair and little, pig like blue eyes, looked at his partner, also a middle aged bulky, borderline fat, man but with short blond hair and little, pig like brown eyes. The partners exchanged a stare and nodded. Then Mike looked back at inspector Ron and started talking:

"Yesterday, at five thirty-five pee am, we saw the subject's car..."

"Cut this formal crap! I want to know what happened!" the inspector said with a voice slightly louder than usual.

"We saw the car, a blue Sedan, approaching. Arnold lifted the hand and showed to the driver that he must stop the car. We both felt very excited. The car fitted the description..."

"Even the license plate was identical to the one mentioned in our files" constable Arnold added.

"The car stopped near us. All the signs pointed that Chao was stoned, and maybe transporting some illegal stuff. The window next to the driver's seat was opened and an intense reek of Cannabis Indica..."

"It wasn't a hemp weed smell," Arnold interrupted his partner, again. "It reminded me of burning plastic."

"Whatever...But the odour wasn't the only thing that pointed to Chao's intoxication. The criminal itself looked stoned. His pupils were moderately dilated, the face was pale, perspiration covered his forehead, and he looked all twitchy and shaken up" Mike finished.

"So...The guy was intoxicated, possibly delivering drugs...And you let him go?! This is the stupidest police failure since that drug lab prank. And when that happened?"

"Last year, sir?"Arnold said.

"Last year you say....Hm...Is it me, or are we getting worse with time?"

Both constables shrugged.

"I think the failures appeared when we set to destroy these Precursors," Arnold expressed his opinion.

"Bullshit! It's because of non competent workers as you two. Now, tell me, WHY did you let the suspect drive away?"

Mike swallowed the saliva in his mouth. The click in his throat sounded louder than usual in the silent office.

The fat inspector shifted his little angry eyes, deeply sunken in the fat hills of the cheeks, from one constable to another.

"Well..." Mike started, "When he stopped near us, I noticed that on the seat next to him stood a weird creature...It looked like an otter..."

"It looked like a weasel to me," Arnold continued, "I didn't pay attention to it. Our main mission was to capture Chao. I looked into his eyes and asked to step out of the car."

"And what happened next?" Inspector Hard asked in an impatient voice.

Jean made a nervous smile and asked the cop:
"What is wrong constable...Willis?"

"Are you aware that you're driving in an intoxicated state. This is a crime. You can harm others with this kind of behaviour," the cop said in a fast and emotionless voice.

"But...But...the road is empty," Jean tried to defend himself. But it was difficult. He was too anxious. He already could feel the cold steel grip of the jurisprudential law on the shoulders, and the damp, chilled, grave like air of a prison cell on the neck.

"Rules are rules. Who knows what can happen even on the loneliest roads," the cop said and placed the right hand on the holster on the right hip.

"You tell him ! It's impossible to fall down on the ground here without being bumped by something," the weaster said in a sarcastic voice and looked at the policeman with the stare irritated clients usually make at the shop when the thing they purchased doesn't work as it is said in the instruction.

"Wait! You...Say...That the animal talked to you?" Inspector Hard asked once more. There was a smile on his face.

Arnold nodded.

"I also heard it," constable Mike added, seeing disbelief in the inspector's eyes.

"O-kay....What happened next?" Ron asked.

The eyes of the cop with the surname Willis written on the badge widened.

"What...Did you hear it too?"

Jean nodded. At least one thing is solved - Donald is not a hallucination. He is real, Like all the other objects in this world. But are they real or just an extension of my mind? There is objective reality, but it can shape pretty good to the mind of a person. Great time for philosophy. What must I do now? Accelerate and drive away. What if they'll find me later? Live here and now. Just push the pedal already!

"He drove away. He just...drove away..." constable Norris finished.

"But this is not the end. We both looked at the car...and saw, how this...creature appeared from the driver's window and showed a middle finger to us" Arnold said.

Silence stood in the office. Inspector Hard looked to the right, at long green fields through a large window. How he wanted to forget everything and run through the tall grass, but this was impossible. Because he is not free. Just like the criminal. Both the criminal and policeman are prisoners, prisoners of the law system. This is the simple truth of their lives.

"Did you pursue the vehicle?" The inspector asked. Now his voice sounded tired.

"We tried...But we did not found it" Arnold answered.

"What do you mean?! You pursued them  on a lonely and straight road with a wall of trees on both sides.
How did you managed to overlook him? I guess Chao's Sedan has a supersonic combustion ramjet," Inspector Hard almost shouted from rage. It was impossible not to scream at these two constables after all the mistakes they had made. The police had been working on Chao's arrest for months, and when a chance to catch him finally glimpsed...And it disappeared. Or maybe not?

"Do you have the video of this event?"

Both constables shook their heads left and right.

"Fan-tastic! Brilliant work! You can go now, but be ready to handle the badges to me every moment," Hard said

Both constables got up and went out of the room. When Arnold closed the door, Hard started to giggle. It was the first time in his career he heard someone make such a lame excuse for their non professionalism.

Talking animals! Ha! What next! Aliens in the local school! But they looked so damn sure about the event. Maybe I should try the lie detector on them? The fat inspector thought.

The same way agent Flanger giggled when reading the new report Phaser received from the UK. If Phaser will fall for that, he will be an absolute jackass, a gullible moron beyond any proportion, although Flanger wished to visit the misty Albion.

"Why did you save me?" Jean asked, still feeling shaky and anxious about the encounter with police authorities.

Trough the car's mirror on the right, Jean looked at the cop car, which with every mile became smaller and smaller.

"You look too pretty to go to prison, or wherever they'll take you, and you're the only one I have in this world. Without you, I am lost here," Donald explained. He was standing on Jean's right thigh. His long ears were waving from the strong current of air coming from the opened window.

For some reason the weaster words made Jean feel a pleasant warmth in the chest.  Donald was okay. No. More that okay. Fantastic. Jean didn't know a lot of animals that could point their middle fingers at authorities. He guessed that the weaster has been a rebel in its home world.

The young man looked again in the mirror. The road was free from the police car. Jean sighed in relief and pushed with the palm of the right hand a soft light blue pad in the middle of the steering wheel. If the pigs will decide to chase him, they will find only an empty road.

"What we will do if they will follow us?" The weaster asked, as if reading Jean's mind.

"Don't worry about this. I activated a cloaking device. This car is covered by a tiny layer of crystals that make it invisible when activated. The only things that are not covered by it are the wheels and the windows. One of the best Precursor inventions, in my opinion."

"What if they will notice us, thanks to the windows?"

A smirk covered Jean's face.

"What will you say after seeing four wheels rolling on the ground, and a window in the air showing a person in an environment absolutely different from the one around you?"

"I will say 'What the ...?' And then I will dismiss that as a hallucination."

"That's the principle of this device."

"Interesting stuff you got here, but still very distant from the Precursor junk of our world. By the way...where are we going?"

"To a Precursor party," Jean answered

Now it was Donald's turn to make an confused expression.

"Precursor?" He asked.

"Yes! Precursor! Small world, huh!" Jean said. And the forest went by, as the invisible car drove to the all night trance-dance Precursor party.

While Jean and Donald partied all night in a green field, and constables Arnold and Mike tried to find an explanation for the weird incident, Jake ran trough various parts of his world, searching for his friend. He had no sleep in two days, and by the end of the second night, he felt very, very bad - the head was spinning all the time, the body felt like jelly, and every muscle ached from the pain brought by constant jumping, running and climbing. The movements became jerky and poorly coordinated. The colours and lights were too bright and hurt his eyes. Thoughts were erratic and disjointed, close to the typical schizophrenic word and thought salad.

By the end of the second night of constant search, Jake found himself standing on a cliff overlooking the sea around Makyo village, covered in thick early morning mist. The Sun was rising from behind the mountains in the east, colouring the few clouds in the indigo sky with a pink shade. Jake looked at them. The clouds looked so pink, so little, so fluffy...He was mesmerized by them so  much that he even didn't notice how he started falling down the cliff into the dark blue sea water below. While Jake was falling, Molly awoke in her bedroom from a nightmare in year 2022. In this dream, a boy was running into a wall and hitting it with the head. She asked the boy to stop doing this, that this is not the way to bring the dark gray wall down, but he never listened and continued banging the head against it till his cranium cracked and shattered into thousand pieces of ceramic.

When Jake hit the cold waters of the sea, he was already unconscious, lost in the mist of his sleepy mind. And so was Jean's car eight or more hours later. It was eight am in the morning, and the tired yet happy psytrance artists was driving the car through a thick milky white mist. It had been a fantastic party. He, Donald, False and Chris had rocked the dancefloor all night and morning, bringing positive vibes to this part of the world and smiles on the faces of the dancers. Now Jean experienced a pleasant afterglow, and felt happy and content about his job.

He looked at Donald. The weaster laid curled in the seat next to driver's one. Its body was covered by Jean's black jacket. The creature's eyes were closed.

While looking at it, a wave of warmth and...ishq spread through Jean's chest. Lost in an alien world: the worse fate of them all: like being in hell. Confusion comes next: what planet are you from? There's something lovely in him. Good vibes? Causal connection? Whatever: he is nice; this is what really matters. Not everything must have meaning.

Jean took the left hand away from the steering wheel and caressed Donald's little body through the fabric of the jacket. Everything will be fine. I promise you. The Universe works in mysterious ways, but, in the end, it always turns out great. And our world isn't that bad. We think you will like it here. It's not perfect, but it's really what we've got. Nice people. You'll find out here is quite nice. Before your time will end, there's lot to see and do, and will be there for you and help you find your way. Peace and Mir! Did I have it in my collection? Yes! On the ambient shelve.

Jean also hoped to help the poor creature. Even if the weaster seemed pretty haughty, Jean could feel some sadness beneath the furry skin, as if it was suffering from some heavy psychological trauma, though it was pretty understandable why. What can you feel after being cut from your casual surroundings and put all alone in a setting radically different from the one you are used to anyway, but sadness, loneliness and despair?
 
Something of cosmic dimension giggled in the space between worlds or, as Donald called it, Shpongleland.

[Slurrealist]

Chapter 3: Loads of flow


...In these states of awareness...There are no boundaries...
Cosmosis – Oceanic.

It was a feeling very reminiscent of the times of early childhood, when there was no difference between object and subject. The world around seemed to lack marked and solid boundaries; every thing in the view was blurry and ethereal, as it was made not of rock, wood or metal, but from water and vapour. And the water around gave a pleasant, drifting, warm aquatic feeling. The only desire was to close the eyes and drift away with the flow, become nothing but liquid and be a part of everything. Comfortably numb. That was the state she sought at this early hour of the morning, while walking to and fro the large stone pavilion of Makyo Village and looking at the calm and peaceful waters with a weak mist lingering above their surface. Long torches placed on the four columns of the Chinese styled building illuminated the vast hall with pleasant orange light. Usually, the atmosphere of the place helped the people to relax and forget all problems, but it didn't work for her. How can she be calm when her dad had brought bad news about Jake? How can she be calm when no one let her close to Jake, who rested now in the blue sage's hut? And that dream? That dream haunted her for almost two months, since that new boy came into school. It was a warning dream. She must tell him to stop doing the things he does. The girl took a sip of the hot cocoa, then bit a little from the jam sandwich. She sat behind the kitchen table and looked out of the window situated above the sink to her right  A thick white mist covered the world outside the house. The more she looked at the milky haze, the more it pulled her into its world, where there is no pain and no pleasure, no victories and no failures. Where exists nothing but a feeling of comfortable numbness. She snapped out of the morning sleepiness. Her thoughts returned to the boy. I must stop him! I must tell him that it's no use! Will I have the courage to do it? Anxiety started to churn in her stomach just from thinking about this.

"No, no, no! He can't die! He must not die!" Sheva reassured herself. "Jake! Please! Snap out of it! Return back to Earth! We need you..." the girl paused.

After a moment of silence, she finished the sentence:
"... I need you."

After these words, she finished eating the sandwich, stood up from the white chair, placed the dirty dish and glass into the sink and went to the exit.

And in the misty morning just like this one, but four months ago, Jean woke up at ten am. The first thing he noticed was that outside still stood the same mist which had covered his car a few hours ago. Jean started to feel uneasy. He wondered why the fog didn't disappear from the rays of the Sun. Maybe the sky was cloudy? Still, it would had gone away around nine am. The young man decided not to ponder too much over this problem. The only thing he wanted right now is to sleep under the warm blue sheet. Maybe I should check Donald? He is fine. What can happen to him? He is a bold guy. If there will be a problem, he will feel no guilt about waking me up.  I will better check him anyway. To be absolutely calm. Weaster. Weird name. Weasters and rubies. It had a different name. Everything is acceptable as long as house prices don't crush. The beat is good. She smiled from this news.

"Can you tell me more about his condition?" Sheva asked with a worried voice. Her long elfin ears were pressed against the head from anxiety. Both hands rested on the thighs.

"He is stable, and in a state of deep sleep. Reacts normally to the surroundings. Just very tired," Manas answered. He was levitating above the gray stone pavement of the pavilion.

"Why?"

"Why?! Since that party he had been looking for his...friend with no breaks. He didn't eat anything, didn't sleep. Just ran around and searched for that prankster."

Silence stood in the building, interrupted only by the crackling fire of the torches. Sheva looked left. She could see the silhouette of an ancient Precursor building  emerging from the water through the mist. Did Jake check that place or not? Don't think that Donald will be so stupid to hide in such dangerous place. After all, Precursor artifacts are the reason why he changed into a weaster in the first place. What if...?

Sheva looked back at her father and said:
"What if...Donald isn't...in our world?"

Manas laughed. "That's a good one. How can he be not in our world?"

The girl with sandal emerald hair shrugged.

"That's right. So...He is still here somewhere. I will ask the villagers if they have seen the rat. For now, we've got only the doctor's report. Aaaannnnnd it confirms that Donald is somewhere around. I will go and check out Jake."

"Can I..." Sheva started, but Manas disappeared the next moment with a bright flash of light.

When Sheva opened the eyes, she saw nothing but the empty room of the pavilion. Anger aroused in her. She wanted to see Jake, and she will see him. She started to ran to the stone steps leading to the misty mainland and jumped into the yellow school bus.

"Good morning, mister Douglas!" Molly said to the driver, a middle aged man with short brown hair showing signs of boldness around the crown chakra, dark brown eyes and black stubble covering the puffy cheeks. He was wearing the bus driver's blue uniform.

"Good morning, little lady!" Douglas said in a loud and cheery voice. The man was always cheerful. Molly couldn't  understand how Douglas was able to smile after all the years of transporting large crowds of screaming children of all ages. Or maybe the smile was a fake? She knew many people that smiled, but their eyes showed nothing but an empty void. It was against these people the weird guy made a crusade. No, not a crusade. He wanted to bring life  into the place behind the doll's smiles. And they hated him for this. They were comfortably numb and didn't want no one to change the situation.

( Okay, the Italian's girl is here, now let's go to the Mason one. Is her name Cheryl? Douglas thought)

Molly sat in the first row on the right side of the bus. She liked to seat as close to the front door as possible, the only door that wasn't crowded when the bus arrived to the school. She looked around. The bus was empty. Only crimson red seats till the rear. Molly turned the head back to the front and saw Jake lying on the blue bunk in the hut overlooking the tranquil bay of Makyo Village. A blue sheet with a white wave like pattern on the rim covered the unconscious boy. Not unconscious! Sleeping. Dad said he is sleeping. Where is he anyway? Went checking out Jake... How did you end up in water? Always looking  for trouble on your head.

Sheva came closer to the boy. The wooden floor cranked a little from her footsteps.

She looked into Jake's pale face. So...serene. Never seen you like this before. The face: not touched by any care of the world.  No wrinkles of tension on the forehead. And a smile. Is it a smile? It's just my imagination. Why I decided to wake up at five am? Don't like the way this particular streak of hair is lying on the forehead.
The girl with deep green eyes moved some wet blond hair from Jake's eyes to his left temple. She had never touched him before. Only kissed, but not touched. The fingertips of her right arm slowly caressed Jake's forehead. The skin felt clammy and wet. Once again, Sheva asked herself about the motives of Jake's actions. Was it suicide? Or something went wrong? The answer will be known when the boy will return from the ethereal world of Hypnos. Or was it Thanatos? Must ask my father about who's the god of sleep. I thinks it's Hypnos. Or Morpheus? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world? Enough zen philosophy for early morning. Jake is so cute when he sleeps. Should I do this or not?

Sheva's actions were faster than her mind. Before she could give herself a definite answer, she bent over and her lips touched Jake's forehead.

"Get well soon," she whispered to his ears and then bent up, hearing some footsteps right outside the Roundhouse.

"We're the craziest fans of this band," a woman with a plastic antenna on the top of the head said.

The group made out of five people laughed. In the late evening gloom and under the orange light of the lamp posts this band looked weird, even downright scary. A red grinning devil mask covered the face of one young man. A blonde girl wore a Bin Laden mask with stripes of biohazard green fluoro paint on its cheeks. Her friend, a brunette teenager, had an exquisite painting on the face; it looked like Alex Grey's work but with more fluorescence. Why they were all dressed up so weird? The answer is pretty simple? It was the 31st of October 2008.

"Where's False?" The young man with the devil's mask asked.

The girl with the antenna shrugged the shoulders.

"The doors will be opened soon, and he is still wandering somewhere," the Bin Laden girl said in an angry tone.

"Calm down, Liz. He gave us free tickets to the show. Be at least grateful for this," the demon man said.

"Look! Here he comes!" the teen with the painted face shouted.

A blue minivan drove toward them. When it drove under the orange cones of the the street lights, everybody in the group saw the young man with long brown hair in the driver's seat.

"It's False alright," the hell boy said with a happy voice.

The car stopped next to them. The left  door front door of the minivan opened,  and moments later an eleven year old boy came around the front of the truck and stepped onto the gray sidewalk.

"Who...is this?" The antenna woman asked.

"A friend of mine. He really wanted to see the show, so I took him with me," False explained. "I will be back in a minute."

"What's your name, boy?" The girl cosplaying Bender asked.

False didn't hear his friend's answers, because he was already several hundred meters away. He turned left into the parking lot, stopped the car in a white rectangle of free space and took a deep breath. It will be a great night today. Even with the new friend, who was looking out of the window with the front paws (or hands) pressed against its transparent surface.

"This is the place of the party?" The weaster asked.

"Yes!" Jean answered and placed the hand on the black rubber handle of the car's door.

"Be careful now," he said.

"Why I need to be careful?" Donald asked.

Jean opened the door, and the weaster's body stretched. Then Donald's hands slipped from the window, and he started falling from Jean's thigh. But instead of falling onto the grass covered ground, he fell into the man's right hand.

"I said to be careful," the young man repeated and smiled.

The hybrid animal slid from Jean's hand and went away from the car.

"Believe me or not, you're the first one that did something instead of just telling me to be careful when I was on the verge of catastrophe," Donald said while walking walking away.

"It wouldn't have been a catastrophe. You would had just landed on hard ground," Jean said and went out of the car.

"Hard ground, dark prana. The difference is in solidity an properties of the substances. Oh Kifflom! I am talking like Jake!" The weaster exclaimed.

"You mean Jack?" Jean asked. He closed the door of the car and now looked at the open air field.

"No! Jake!"

"Okay, okay! Jake. Come on, lets go."

The man in the blue tie dye shirt started walking to the tent city.

"Hey! Wait for me blue man!" Donald shouted, ran to his new friend, climbed his jeans and shirt and found a comfortable place on Jean's right shoulder.

It felt weird to Jean. The creature wasn't very heavy, but still the feeling of light pressure on the shoulder wasn't very enjoyable. It felt as if someone had put a hand there and had no force to take it away. Maybe for other people on the planet feeling something different on the shoulder wasn't a problem, but for Jean it was. He reacted very strongly when someone penetrated his personal space and touched him. Enough whining, Jean! You can do it for a friend, right? Especially for a loner like you. Strange man in a strange land. Yes! That's basically his current state. Try to be a support for him.

They passed trough the place that looked like a parking lot. The cars were parked on the green field in a chaotic way. Straight parked vehicles were mixed with the ones standing in a diagonal position. Then there were the minivans, pickup trucks and the trailers, which added more confusion to the place. One particular truck grabbed Jean's attention. It was a red pickup truck with the plate name below the bumper starting with the letter 23. That truck looks so familiar. I had definitely seen it somewhere before. But where? And when?

"Whaooooow!" Donald exclaimed when he saw the the dancefloor.

"Welcome to my world," Jean said, smiling wide.

It was an vast free space with short light green  grass rising from the ground. Tents of all colours formed the borders of the stage. Long thin metal planks of the colour of copper and five centimeters high projected large holographic screens into the air. These screens floated between tents  or behind them. There were several ones even on top of some food stalls. But the screens itself weren't interesting; it were the fractals that gave them a wow factor. Every single screen showed its own set of unique multicoloured patterns.

At several places amongst the green grass of the natural dancefloor stood little metallic cones, also of red copper colour. From their tops a little stream of light blue and white electricity went up into the air. In this flux of charged ions floated a metallic orb of the same colour as all the other artifacts in the area. There were three indentations on its surface, and two or three centimeters away from them some little cone shaped objects rotated. A stream of transparent white light came from the holes in the flying balls, and projected holographic images right above the dancefloor or onto the people. One glance at these creations was enough for Donald to experience deja-vu.

[Slurrealist]

"Are these things prana generators?" The weaster asked.

"Prana...what?" Jean asked in a distant tone, because he was was trying to get a general feeling of the party.

"Prana generators. Ancient artifacts which are very, very valuable and can unlock the doors of the past."

"Don't know about the door of the past, but they sure can knock down the doors of perception. We call these flying things holo-projectors. They produce some amazing and intense visualizations. Touch that flying snake on the right."

Donald stretched the left paw to the projection of an anaconda moving trough the air. The next moment, he took it away with absolute shock written on the face.

"It can't be...so real! It felt as I touched a real one!  Just like back in the day in the Forbidden Jungle. Cold and slimy. Yuck!" Donlad shouted, bringing some unwanted attention from a young couple looking at the charm and amulets in a new age shop nearby.

Jean made an Ok sign with the right hand to the couple and smiled. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about. It's just your imagination.

On the opposite side to the entrance stood the DJ booth. It looked like a typical market stall but with various electronic devices and computers instead of fruits or some ancient junk. There was a screen on the front side of the stall showing emerald green jungle plants morphing into each other and forming complex alien faces. Sapphire blue fabric formed a tent above the Dj table and the little place behind it, where two men stood.  One of them was a hippie with long brown hair, dark glasses and a  constant smile on the face. Another thing that brought attention to the hippie was the shirt, covered with an intricate yellow fractal design. The other one was a young man in the late twenties with long pitch black hair. Casual clothes covered his body, just a white shirt and jeans. Nothing spectacular, mind boggling or kaleidoscopic.

Another interesting detail about the dancefloor cockpit were the two gigantic speaker its left and right side, which were shaped in a pretty unusual manner for such kind of sonic equipment. Instead of the casual rectangular form, the speakers were round, in the form of blue balls or orbs, and long tripod like legs kept them above the roof level of the various stalls and tents placed all around the area.

On the road to the DJ stall, a food tent distracted Donald's attention. The pleasant smell of roasting meet filled his rodent nostrils and made the stomach churn.

"How can you do so much noise? Such small creature, and my ears hurt as if I was near a belly of a whale," Jean joked.

"When you will travel between dimensions you'll understand me," Donald said with a philosophical tone. "Can we get some of that yummy smelling stuff?"

"I don't advise it. Have you heard the legend of the black shawarma?"

"I think you're not quite here, my friend."

"Tell me about it. Not even the strongest one will be sober with someone on the shoulder smelling so strong of weed, as if it was stuffed with it."

"I learned my lesson. Never do drugs or you'll end up in another dimension and with no one to buy you food," the weaster said in the way a teenage girl repeats her parents' scorn to her friends.

"Okay, you convinced me," Jean said, trailed off right from the straight path to the DJ booth and went to a food stall nearby. He stopped in front of the large meat cone, which rotated on a steel pole with it's top down and base up, and asked:
"How did you save Jake?"

"By pure accident, to be true," the old fisherman said. "I was trying to catch some phosphorescent green squids near the cliffs because...you know...these creatures appear only close to the surface in the early hours of the morning, when I saw the the boy falling."

"And what happened next?" Sheva asked. Her heart still pumped like mad from the fear of being caught kissing Jake.

"He hit the water, and a second later I dived after him. The place near the cliffs is pretty deep and the boy was going down fast. So fast that when I reached him I had no air in the lungs. I don't know how I managed to get back to the surface without drowning. It's a miracle, I guess," the fisherman said.

"And...." the girl with sandal hair hurried him.

"I made a mouth to mouth breathing, he coughed up the water and returned back to life, and I brought him here," the old man finished.

Sheva looked at the elder of short stature with long white hair, white Chinese mustache and clear blue eyes shining from the sullen sockets of his wrinkled face and felt like kissing him. How he managed to do it? So old. Deus ex machina. But it's a literary device. This is real life. When in real life people are rescued this way? If this was real life, then Jake would have died. What's the chance of a fisherman to be at the place of Jake's fall?

"Can I ask you something? Where did you learned to hold the breath for so long?" Sheva asked, trying to release her paranoid sensation. A weird feeling filled her brain. She felt as if the place around was fake and made out of pixels. Or was it created by words?

"I am fisherman, little girl. So, thanks to my many dives in search of the furry octopuses, I have this ability," the old man answered.

"Where did you get that strength? You're old and yet you managed to bring Jake back to the surface."

"I've brought things heavier than this boy back to the surface. And never judge a person by it looks. Maybe I am old, but I can do things that you, youngsters, only dream of."

A sarcastic try me smile spread across his face.  He turned and walked out of the hut.

Sheva looked at his back covered by a blue tunic and felt very weird. He can't be real? Something is wrong here. Why am I feeling as if the world around me is a lie? Calm down girl. You need sleep. That's the answer! Sleep.

"Kifflom bless that old man," the green floating man said with relief. "I need to go to my place and take some stuff from there. Will you come with me, Sheva?"

Sheva shook the head left and right. "I wills stay here with Jake."

"Okay!" The sage said and disappeared in a flash of white light. Why doesn't he use the warp gates anymore? He's too evolved for that now. Got another step of progress, and now blinds me with the flashes. Look! A green chair. Why I didn't noticed it before? Maybe it didn't existed before? Enough of this. Feels comfortable: soft and fluffy: like a cloud.

In less than a minute, Sheva was in the same state of deep sleep as her possible boyfriend. Outside, the mist started to disperse a little; its ethereal white swirling tentacles dissolved under the rays of the Sun, and the world started to get back its casual solidity and reality. It wasn't anymore a place filled with mystery and wonder, an inspiration for both the romantics and the seekers of surreal knowledge. It was just the typical English countryside world where boredom was the best adjective for describing life. Though, I can't say that about my life. Maybe it was poor on interesting events, but the Nature...It was worth living for it alone. That boy taught me that. Not taught me. Overheard some of his rumblings. Here he is! Must be strong now. Wanted to speak with and I will speak to him. Oh no! Not George! Together with the support group. They came to the DJ booth. The young artist with a wide smile on the face and the weaster on his right shoulder, eating a shawarma.

"Hi Jean!" the middle aged hippie said. "What's that on your shoulders?Why do you smell like if you visited the Rub a Dub party?"

"A new friend of mine. He is the reason of the smell," Jean explained.

"Very good for a friend! Maybe you will blame  me for creating this Universe?" Donald moaned.

Truth looked at the weaster with curious eyes.

"Some new Japanese toy?"

"Hey! I am not a toy, long haired weirdo," Donald shouted with the mouth full with lavash bread and a piece of roasted meat.

"Then who are you?" The man next to the hippie, who was known as Dj Formage among the psy community, asked

"I was human, now I am an weaster."

"Skylon!" Truth shouted and made a peace sign with left hand. The three humans giggled. Donald looked at the hippie with the left eyebrow lifted from curiosity.

"Is this some kind of joke? Why when I say the word 'weas-ster' I always get a weird answer?"

"Just google it. And at that moment, you will know the answer," False said.

"What's g-?"

"Let's talk later. The Sun is already going down. People are waiting for the trance to come," Dj Formage said, cutting off Donald.

Jean went around the tent and entered it from behind. Now, from inside the booth, he could see the descending Sun on the horizon coloured with an intense yellow shade. The sky above the main stage was darker than usual. The moon is rising. It's time to play.

"Why didn't you start the party?" Jean asked.

"We were waiting for you," Formage answered. "But before you start, can you explain us where you found that..."

"Donald!" Jean interrupted Chris. "He is a being from another dimension."

"Yeah! What the blue man said," the weaster confirmed Jean's words.

The young and the not so young man lifted the eyebrows.

"Believe me or not, this is the truth," Jean said and went to the stall, or the decks, if name it professionally.

"How we will start it?" Jean asked the two other guys.

"Aes Dana," DJ Formage.

"Biosphere, Irezumi, Robert Rich. I always start my sets with parts of Somnium," False gave his opinion.

"I guess I will start with some pure ambient. Then some Ultimae, and then slowly we'll go into a dance," Jean said and went to the laptop.

Donald finished eating the shawarma and was cleaning the hands with the paper napkin that came together with the food.

"What's Ultimae?" Donald asked Jean.

Jean smiled and said:
"In time...you'll know."

"Can you speak in normal language? It's like being among mad men."

"If you haven't noticed, Donald, almost everyone's  crazy here," False said and started laughing like a totally stoned comic book villain.

Donald looked at the hippie with a whatever dude stare and then asked Jean.
"Who does the job here?"

"I will be the DJ, Formage is on the visuals, and Truth is on the holo-projectors," Jean explained. Great! Ableton Live! Everything's perfect. Now let's start.

And as the Sun went down, Irezumi's "Untitled 4" started playing, bringing a wave of shouts and claps from the crowd on the dancefloor. All the holographic screens started showing beautiful snowflake designs, and the holo-projectors filled the whole place with an illusory snowfall. Will keep it cool for half an hour. Then will slowly introduce the beat. Then it will non stop trance dance till morning. It will be so fun! I am so curious about Donald. How he will react to it? Poor fella. Falling from another world right into an underground party. What he will do in the middle in the night? So curious. But now I must keep it cool. It's always trouble when George is around.

"You know what's real? This is real," the tall blond said and pushed the boy with both hands to the locker. A loud clanking noise filled the hallway. But no one paid attention. Normal day in school: the happiest days of our lives. Did he got hurt?

The little band of bullies went away from the strange boy. Bullies. Ha! Nerds! Someone weaker than them appeared and now they climb up the ladder by humiliating him. Dig up the hole rabbits! Dig it up!

The boy slid down sat on the white tiled pavement with the knees propped against the chest. The hands rested on the floor. Something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" Molly asked

What's wrong with him? Why do his eyes look so distant?

"Are you okay?"

No response. As if I moved my lips but he didn't hear anything.

The girl bent down and put the right hand on the boy's s left shoulder. He looked at her. Finally. But these blue eyes...

"Is everything fine? Do you need help?"

"No...I am fine," the boy said with a tired voice and got up back on the feet.

He gave up! That's reason of the look. He is now one of us. One of them. Comfortably numb. But that's what I wanted. To stop him from fighting. But it's too late. He broke the head now. If I weren't so slow, everything would have been different.

"Okay...Great!" She said, turned and started walking away. Is this the thing I want to do? He was something different. A fresh breeze in this desert. Do you really want to see him dying or you will try to help him? Too scared. Coward! You're also one of them! Indifferent! Another brick in the wall!

Molly turned and looked at the teenager with the head bent down and a tired face. He was taking something from the locker. His movements weren't fluid like before. They reminded Molly of robots and the others. Should I help him? I don't know. I am too scared. Too confused. He looks at me. No emotion on that face. Now closes the locker. Puts the head on it. Hey you! Out there beyond the wall. Be different girl! We're both outsiders. Together we stand, divided we fall.

Molly took a deep breath and walked back to the boy. Emotionless blue eyes looked at her. Tired and numb. If I only were braver. What must I do now? I need to bring him to life. And fast! There's only one way...

[Slurrealist]

Chapter 4: Jake's cheese and bread snack

What is the magic, that makes one's eyes
Sparkle and gleam, light up the skies?
Transit Kings - Concourse

The thing that girl did to him was the same thing he did (or will do) to his friend. As the weird classmate put the hand on his shoulders, the memory of that event struck him like a bolt of lightning. The same bolt of lightning that brought Jake back from the strange blue room he was dreaming about into the world of three dimensional space. The white flash broke the image of a vast room with walls made of some flowing light blue substance, from which rainbow coloured fish appeared and floated through the water environment of the chamber, and filled the space in front of Jake's eyes with the typical and boring darkness.

(First: All composite phenomena are impermanent)

When thunder roared, Jake opened the eyes and looked at the blue room he laid in.

The place was empty and cold. A large telescope obscured the only window in the room. An enormous oven stood near the end of the bed; through it's grate Jake could see the dark orange blaze inside the iron heating device. On the other side of the round room stood a long table filled with heaps of paper; some dried herbs lay on the worn out from time documents. Above the table two shelves hang from the walls, and weird looking bottles with liquids of various shades of blue inside occupied them. One thing was sure. This wasn't the green prana sage's hut.

Jake used all the remaining force to get into a sitting position. The body felt heavy and utterly exhausted. But what did he wanted after more than six hours of DJ-ing? He was a human being, after all. Maybe he should participate in these Epsilon groups? Their specialization was the thing he needed badly in the present – unlocking of hidden energies in human beings. False had been to them. Will ask him about what they do and if it helps. Now, I must got up and check Donald. Why am I so attached to the creature? Only one day together, and I worry about him as if he was a family member. Must be the 4th circuit running its program.

With this mental porridge and physical weariness, Jean shifted the feet onto the  wooden floor. The shivers of cold restored some energy in his body, even the mind became clearer. The DJ removed the white sheet from the body and got up, but before finding out what happened next, we must return to Jake, who was still sitting in the bed and looking around the room, trying to remember if he had been here before or not.

An occasional glance left revealed the girl of Jake's dream sleeping in a blue sofa. One coil from the swirl of anxiety inside the blond's stomach disappeared. If Sheva  is here, then everything is fine. But what happened to him? The last thing Jake remembered was staying on a high cliff and looking at the little fluffy clouds as the Sun got up from the mountains in the East. And what beautiful colours the clouds had... Purple, and yellow, and red. The last time he had seen such beautiful sky was in childhood and with Donald at the old ruins near Klesha. On Earth, in the distant past however, these clouds could only be seen in the desert. And the guy who had taken acid an hour ago regretted the decision about dropping the tab at this time of the day. Because the things he was seeing around were fantastic. First of all, the colours; they were one hundred, no, two hundred times brighter than usual. The sky above just pressed on him with its sheer light blue intensity. The sand beneath the feet sparkled as if it was made out from thousands and thousands small brilliants. Another new thing for the neo hippie was the rightness of everything around. Every object felt right and totally there, like it was the thing's destiny to be in that place. Even the motorcycles and Humvees passing by, which brought large clouds of sand into the air and distorted the music with the engine roars, felt totally natural, as if they were a part of God's Big Plan. This new sensation was a revelation for the young hippie, who will be later known as False, and at that moment the only thing he could  do was laughing. He started to laugh. It felt sooo good. What was the last time he laughed so much?  Maybe he had never laughed this way before. Especially at a file regarding paranormal events.

"They want us to check what?" Agent Phaser asked.

Agent Flanger could only nod in agreement. This was the stupidest assignment ever. And they had seen plenty of weird things during their careers.

"On the other hand, why not?" Phaser said, throwing the five pages of the England case on his desk.
Flanger choked after hearing these words.

Should I wake Sheva up or not, Jake thought. He was enthralled by the beauty of the girl. Short sandal hair reminded of distant and exotic emerald seas in the West. The fragile oval face brought associations with the celestial nymphs, the elementals of light prana, from Manas' books. And the bazooms! The boobs were the most beautiful sight of Sheva's body. Two ripe watermelons of sensual flesh, waiting for someone to suck on their soft and juicy pulp. But who had compared woman's chest with udders? It must have been Donald. He was perverted enough to think such things.

Before the eyes managed to check the lower parts of Sheva's body, Jake heard some footsteps outside the house. The next moment, the girl's father appeared in the entrance of the hut.

"Come on here! It will rain now," the old man shouted to someone.

At that second, Jake remembered the main question of these hectic days.

"Where's Donald?" The blond boy asked. Jake wanted to give as much power as possible to his voice, but it still ended sounding weak and tired, almost on the border of a whisper.

The floating wizard turned and looked straight at the boy sitting in the bed.

"Jake! You regained consciousness! How glad I am to see you alive! How do you feel?" Manas asked.

Jake looked at him with firm eyes. He asked him a question and wanted an answer to it. Inside the boy's chest a storm of emotions ravaged with full power. An enormous hurricane of anxiety swirled in the belly, and heavy dark gray clouds of sadness pressed on the chest.

Manas looked into Jake's cerulean eyes, then shifted his stare on the wooden floor. The anxiety he saw in them was too much for the old man. How he can deliver bad news to this small and innocent boy? But he must do it.

"Well...emmm....We....eeeeh..." Manas started, and then let a heavy sigh out.

It was enough for Jake to understand that Donald was still lost. The boy frowned, flames of anger appeared in the otherworldly blue irises. He prepared to turn and put the legs from the bed to the floor when Manas started shouting.

"Wait! Wait! Wait! You need rest! You almost died a few hours ago!" The green prana sage tried to stop the boy with his powerful booming voice.

"What's going on?" Sheva asked sleepily. She lifted the upper body from the back of the chair and looked around. The imprint of Hypnos( or was it Morpheus?) was visible in the half closed eyes and a general relaxation of facial muscular tissue.

"Can I come in?" A voice asked.

"Of course, Bella," A blonde middle aged woman answered. She was sitting on a beige sofa in the living room and reading a book, a romance novel to be exactly, about a business woman in the late thirties ( like she) falling in love with a beautiful, well built blond biker ( like her ex-husband). She enjoyed it very much, felt it through the bottom of her heart and wished the same events would had happened with her (in fact, they had happened to Sylvia, even ended up like in the book). But Bella interrupted her fantasy flow; the erotic fantasies went away, giving place to an I love you feeling, which was just a cover for the deep hatred toward the daughter. If she could only find that bastard and cut off his precious little hose...

A moment later, an unpleasant looking man entered the room. All in his appearance gave off an aura of aggression: the crimson red dreads, the weird blue geometric tattoos on the face and elfish ears, the haughty smirk on the face. Also, his constant juggling of a curved knife with the right hand didn't give any sense of trust to Sheva and Jake.

"What do you want?" Sylvia asked her fifteen year old daughter with a Richard. D. James smile on the face.

"Calm down, Sheva!" Manas said to his green haired daughter, right hand waving in the same way as the hands of the trancers while they danced to the "Welcome To All Extraterrestrials" track. The weaster standing on the DJ table left to the DJ mixer bobbed the head to the dubby rhythm of the track. The music sounded a little too weird for Donlad, however, it was pleasurable to his ears. He had never heard such layered sound before. It was just layers behind layers, a never ending play of sounds and stereo nuances that took him only to higher states of sonic intoxication.

The three-dimensional visuals floating between the young dancers were incredible. Round, rectangular, triangular, even octagonal saucers oscillated above the crowd. Transparent glacier covered mountains stood among the dancers and waved in a hallucinogenic fashion. Pink clouds with myriads of smiles on the surface flew between the mountains, exploding into a shower made of eyes every time a hand touched them. But this wasn't the end of the visualization. A halo of bright yellow flames appeared around the eyes, and then the eyeballs flew up to the saucers and transformed into white points of light.
When Jean, with the help of the crossfader, started introducing the next track ( Etnica – "Deep East"), the visuals began to change. The mountains lost all solidity and morphed into puddles of rainbow coloured liquid, then they disappeared into the ground. The main place took the Ufos with golden Thaj Mahals floating between them. The warming up period of the party continued, the real madness still laid ahead. For Sylvia, the real madness had already begun.

"Well...there is a guy that...well...I like...but I am afraid to tell him about my feelings," Bella started speaking. She now sat in the armchair near the sofa with legs bent beneath her body, her hands constantly moved in the air. "He isss...weird...just a little weird...Not popular, not a jokey, stuff like that...He is a new student...I think he's still trying to find his place...But he is sooo cute. Aaaah!"

I guess she gets all wet from that guy, Sylvia thought. His blue eyes never went away from the new guy. Jake tried to hide as best as possible his fear from the visitor, who stood near the sage with hand crossed behind the back. The dagger was back in the brown sheath on the waist, with the polished golden handle gleaming from the orange light of the oven.

"This is Thorne from Sukkha city," Manas said and pointed with the upper end of the staff at the man next to him. "He is one of the best bounty hunters on our planet. There's no one who can hide from him."

"I will help you finding that rat," the man with auburn dread locks said in a raspy, but confident voice.

"Try to catch him alone, after school. You say he feels insecure – try to be nice with him. Show interest in his activities, make little jokes but never - never - mock them. Little jokes will be enough," Sylvia gave advice to her daughter, completely unaware the guy Bella was planning to befriend was the same guy she had seen yesterday in the chillout room of the "Gaga" club, the same guy that now haunted her most sensual and forbidden dreams.

"Okay! Get together girl. I will manage to do it," Molly murmured herself in the misty morning, while standing outside the school's gray prison like building. But when the boy with sad and numb eyes passed by, she brought her hazel eyes down and couldn't do what she wanted to do.

"Donald is not a rat!," Sheva exclaimed in a harsh voice without knowing that she had just voiced Jake's thoughts. The boy was still staring at the man in deep blue scuba-dive suit with red pads on the elbows, shoulder and knees. The man's azure eyes were fixated on the view opening from the window. Only one thought circled through his mind – why have I decided to visit this Hicksville? A green prana sage that looks more like a grandpa with severe Alzheimer,  some autistic kid, and a girl dressed like a ho from the Red district. Thanks Ashley! You need a vacation Thorne, go visit the East, nice people there. I had to lie to them. Proud LGBT General becomes a bounty hunter. It was your choice. No one forced you too lie. She was right. I am too humble.

(Two: All contaminated things and events are unsatisfactory)

"What are you looking for, then?" Torn asked in an annoyed tone. Kifflom, are they stupid or what? Why did I agree? Oh right, my job. Served the people so much that can't say no to a cry for help. Will help them. How difficult it can be to find a rodent here?

"He was a boy but then, due to some contact with dark prana, he turned into an weaster," Keira explained. Her voice was hostile, her arms were crossed around the chest, the left leg laid on top of the right one, the ears were tightly pressed against the head.

"Dark prana you say...hmmm! We have a cure for this back in Sukkha," Thorne said and looked outside the window.

"You have a cure!" Jake shouted. A wide smile stood on the blond's pale face. The ears were tilted up in the same way as the cat's when she hears a distant and unknown sound.

"Of course! Only the monks know the cure, though. It has to do something with changing the thing they call "reality tunnel." I don't know the precise things they do, but I know the four basic principles," Thorne explained to the silent crowd of hicks( but his opinion of Jake changed a little; he wasn't an autistic teen to him anymore, just an ordinary hillbilly)

"And can you tell them?" The floating sage asked.

"Later, okay. One step at a time. First, show me the place where you have seen the rat before the disappearance."

"Once again – Donald is not a rat!" Sheva almost shouted at the bounty hunter ( LGBT General, in fact), but Thorne didn't respond to her words. He went out of the hut into the heavy rainfall. Heavy and big droplets of water hit Thorne in every part of the body, strong wind threatened to take him away from solid ground, bright flashes of white light burned his retina, and the immense rolling of thunder stuffed his ears. Yes, the rain wasn't something typical for the city he came from.

A minute later Thorne returned back into the hut, soaked wet and shaking from the cold.

"I guess I am stuck with you," the bounty hunter said, took a little round chair standing near the telescope and placed it in front of the oven. Then the general sat on the wooden chair with hands stretched toward the grid, which emanated warm orange-red light into the room.

"I have seen a lot of stupid thing from this guy and his ...friend, but what you did was something these two would have never thought of doing," Manas said, a giggle escaped from his mouth. "It's monsoon season. When a storm arrives, everyone stays at home."

"Why didn't you say it earlier."

"I thought you knew. After all, you're a big guy from a big city, while we're just some rednecks."

That's right, Torn thought. In his pride, the general didn't understand the pun in Manas' words. A new feeling distracted Thorne, and made him remember that the last time he had a meal was more than twelve hours ago, right when Donald had landed on top of Jean's car.

"I am hungry. Did you have something to eat?" The general asked

A smile appeared on Sheva's face.

"Let me check the shelves," she said and stood up from the blue chair.

Thorne looked at her curves, all ready for the primary function of a woman – give birth. She has a bad taste in clothing, but she's beautiful alright! However she's too young for me. Jake is her boyfriend, I suppose. Or was? Whatever. Why should it bother me?

He turned the head back and looked at the hands stretched to the oven's grid. Orange lights danced on the fingers, shadows of the hand's valleys looked darker than usual. But darkness wasn't something on Thorne's mind right now. The orange light gave a comforting feeling to his tired body and soul, as if he was home. Torn closed the eyes and focused on the warmth spreading through the body, completely oblivious of the fact that two elfish beings were giggling somewhere between dimensions. Another synchronicity was set, why not to giggle a little.

Back in the human reality world, but not in the  present time (where Jean is getting up and walking to the bedroom door), Bella entered into the gray building known as school. If it weren't for the large announcement board - that looked more like a wide tombstone - saying "Kickbucket school", this edifice could be easily confused with a mental asylum or prison.  A three story building with gray walls, windows made out of toughest plexiglas, security cameras on every angle, and a police car in front of the main entrance. Typical modern educational facility.
But let's return to Bella. What can be said about this girl? Well, Bella was one of many...thousands. A typical teenager, not in cheerleader group and not a brainiac. She was something in between. A nice looking girl with long brown hair, hazel eyes and a constant smirk on the face, which can be both a smile of kindness or an expression of sarcasm. Nice attractive spherical forms both up in front and down behind brought to her a lot of attention from the male population of the school. Like many girls, Bella had a deep fascination with a series of novel entitled "Twilight", and she was extremely proud about her name. In her free time she loved to walk with friends, hang out in the mall or write fanfiction about Bella and Edward (or other similar romantic dramatic stuff) while listening to some "deep" songs from popular artists and staying away from techno (by which she meant every type of music with four to the floor beat), because it was non popular, therefore bad. In most cases, she received rave reviews of her stories, that were just the alteration of one single theme – ultra saccharine romantic stuff between two heroes of a book, game, anime, film, TV serie and other forms of art. A thing she enjoyed using a lot in her fiction were the Twilight styled combined words like "hisvoice", shesaid among many others, thinking that itwillmakerherlookmoresophisticated.

Sometimes, Bella got "high" on caffeine and considered that state as equivalent of being intoxicated by marijuana or acid. In this state she liked to write something called crackfic, a form of fiction involving the heroes doing "crazy" stuff in absolutely "crazy"situations, but in all cases it looked like some dribbling of five year old. Still, she got great reviews. In all cases, the biggest bulk of reviews came from real or virtual friends, some from her alter-egos and a little part from casual readers. When Bella saw interesting ideas of other writers, she used them shamelessly without even making a reference to the author she grabbed the idea from. And people still reviewed her stories, not paying attention to the source. She enjoyed their attention, she enjoyed writing, she enjoyed being with friends, and she just enjoyed life like any other teenager( e.g. worrying about popularity, boys, girls, getting money, making a family in the future, breed, relax, breed once more and so on, you go the drill).

[Slurrealist]

For the first time in life, she got really upset when someone posted a bad comment about "Twilight." She ate only ice cream for about a month, moreover she even died her hair black and changed into an emo for several weeks. Then it passed. Good comments to her stories helped her. The second time she got truly upset was when Bella saw them in the hallway before physical education. Why did she get upset?

(Three: All phenomena are empty and selfless)

"Wait!" shouted False. A big joint jumped up and down in the hippie's mouth. "Cut this thing off! You're putting too much skills and words in describing some girl I can see every day around me. Just write one phrase - 'She was a typical teenager.' It will explain everything."

"I need to describe her that way. I want to bring the image of a casual teenager," Jean said slowly.

"It sounds more like a robot to me. Not many will like it. I tell you what. Cut that part out, 'cause too many people will be offended by it," False explained. In the left hand he held a page of Jean's manuscript.

"Isn't this what we're trying to do with this fic? Lift up the illusion, make them see the real world and their true selves?" Jean asked and looked at the window to the right, opening to a long green field.

"If teen girls wanted to see the real thing, they wouldn't spend so much time hiding their faces with cosmetics," False said, put the manuscript on the low dark brown wooden table and fell into the silky softness of the sofa.

Jean didn't pay attention to the last sentence. It was just stoned talk, he presumed.

"Maybe we can put fnords here and here," The editor said to himself. He sat in his office, also with a page of Jean's manuscript in the hands. "And then we can publish it."

The sound of a busy street penetrated into the room from the opened window, a hideous amalgam of mechanic noises and chattering of people who were not really different from machines – all programmed to do the thing required from them by the government, all comfortably numb, and all of them ignorant about the fnords.

The state of discomfort, casual after seeing a fnord, enveloped Bella when she saw for the first time the new boy. She understood her "Edward" had arrived, even if he wasn't close to that "hero." He wasn't as pale as the vampire, didn't have crimson lips, which can be found everywhere at gay pride fest, and his walk was far far away from Edward's DXM robo-tripping stoner walk featured in the movies. In other words, he looked like normal fifteen year old teenager; his little congenital defect didn't count as a problem. On the contrary, it made the boy look more cute and out of this world, but not in the way like Edward from Twilight(because the vampire's "out of this world" feeling is widely spread among young glue sniffers). Since the first moment Bella saw him, the boy filled a hole in the heart. The world turned into a fluffy rosy carpet with beautiful pastel colours...Wait! That's not it! It's Sylvia's ecstasy experience about which we will talk a little later. With the appearance of the new boy, new feelings entered into Bella's life, although they were just a result of extreme hormone release followed by hyperactivation of serotonin production.

Like a typical girl, raised([fnord] programmed[/fnord]) in the good manners of Western civilization, Bella never approached the new guy. She tried to send signals with her beautiful round hyperthyroid eyes. When the boy was nearby, she tried to bent down and extend her curves all the way she could, but the only thing it managed to do was giving good hard-on material for thirteen year old students. Bella didn't dare to approach the boy when she was in company due to his reputation, which in school is more important indicator than grades, friends and love. She even had to hide the crush from her friends. If someone will discover she loves the fool, the crazy guy, the "ginger" weirdo, her life is over. And so time went by. Bella waited and waited and when finally she decided to make her move, it was too late.

"That some nice cheesy delight!" Thorne exclaimed after tasting the sandwich Sheva made only from white bread and Les Ponts-de-Martel Bleuchâtel.

"She's my girl!" Manas exclaimed proudly.

Jake was the only one who didn't comment the food, although he showed his appreciation of the sandwiches by devouring them in the way a vacuum cleaner devours dust from the carpet.

"Now that we're stuck here, can you tell us the four main statements of the monks," the green prana sage proposed. " Maybe I can decipher them with my wisdom."

Jake's left brow went up. Yeah, of course! Can't find Donald but will resolve the secret of some laws. Donald was right – you're nothing but talk.

"If you want to," Thorne sighed, took the last bite into the mouth and chewed it. When it went down the throat, Torn turned around and opened the mouth. And someone near in time, but far away in space, experienced the fourth law. What was the last time he had felt so peaceful, alive and content? The source of his happiness was a certain girl with the name Molly. Like Bella, she had also felt something different inside her when she saw the new boy; the only difference was that the way she had felt couldn't be recreated with any kind of drugs and wasn't connected with hormones and serotonin. Another thing that separated Molly from the brown haired robot was her modesty, at least in attitude with boys. She never made eye contact with the boy, neither she tried to impress him with the hollows and hills of the body, because if she'll try to do something like this, she will broke her image as of "ball breaker,' a name she got for kicking in the nuts every boy who got too intimate with her.

She suffered from her love every day, feeling intense compassion for the rule breaker. She knew what it felt to be like in the fringe groups of school, and she wanted to help the boy to cope with the aggression of the peers. The problems that stopped here were simple – Western civilization education (programming) of girls and her own fear. No matter how distant Molly was from the top of the school's food chain, and no matter how liberal and free thinking the home environment created by her father was, she still was chained to the cultural norms of the society, which clearly stated one thing: the boy must do the first step and try to conquer the lady( read reproductive partner).

But that Friday something changed in Molly, especially as the day progressed toward the physical education lesson. Like Neo - who understood that he doesn't really need to die, that death is just a program he must do - Molly realized  that she doesn't have to wait for the boy to invite her, and that the model of behaviour she's following is nothing but a program she must do. The iPod song shuffling divination method also helped her. During the break before the dreaded lesson of the fat guy and she-gnome, Molly initiated random shuffle mode on her black iPhone with the picture of the all seeing eye inside a triangle on the back. The song will tell her what to do, and when she heard the ticking of clock anxiety filled all her body. When the first line of lyrics came

( Ticking away the moments of a dull day...)

Molly got and went searching for the boy.

A few seconds later, Bella left the classroom and entered the crowded gloomy hallway. After listening to Dima Bilan "Never Never Let You Go", she had a strong urge to find the fool and talk to him a little. Maybe he will loosen up a bit, smile and invite her to a date. Then it will be everything like in the "Twilight" novel. 

The indigo blue elf laughed in the middle of the empty dome similar to Buckminster Fuller's work but more organic and fractal. A stream of golden triangles formed on the top of the dome and slowly flowed down to the ground level. During the flow downwards the triangles multiplied and formed complex fractal images. When this fractal reached the waving floor made from green snowflake-like patterns, it melted into a puddle of purple liquid. Some puddles transformed into snakes whose body consisted from blue triangles with intense white light beaming from the spaces between the geometric figures. These beings flowed across the room and liquefied into the blue fractal covered skin of the elf.

In front of the gnome laid little round objects that looked like the marble balls kids like to play with. Beautiful multicoloured mists floated inside the marbles, and each sphere had an aura around it, apart from one – Bella's sphere. The girl was a robot, her behaviour was robotic, her thoughts were robotic, so the gnomes formed a robotic reality for her, and, furthermore, machines do not have auras.

The most interesting aura had a marble filled with pleasant looking red smoke. It had the aura of all the colours of the rainbow – the sign of an old spirit.

The next interesting one was a purple marble with a yellow and blue colors swirling around it. Whoever the marble was, it was an extroverted and deep person at the same time. The third important marble for the moment was a yellow one covered in an orange haze. To a very very talkative and foolish human being this stone belonged to.

The stage is set, the main heroes are set, and the elf pushes the yellow marble near the purple one. A giggle follows after the event.

If it weren't for that nuisance of Lucy, Bella would have arrived in time to speak with the fool, but now, thanks to that chatty bitch, the only thing she could do was watching Molly and the "ginger" kiss. The next thing she did was out of envy and failure.

"Look! Molly's kissing the fool!" Bella shouted across all the hallway, bringing the attention of every student walking on the white tiled floor, completely unaware that nobody knew who actually Molly was.

(Four: Nirvana is true peace)

It happened in a flash. As he opened the door, fear gave place to love, pure perfect love, not connected with the shock Jean felt after opening the door and looking into the living room.

It was as if time stopped for one moment and all the events of past, present and future started to exist all together. The boy felt warm and soft, very soft, compared to the males she had known all her life. There was a silky quality to his warm pulsating lips reminding her of the best times from childhood.
 
Molly didn't know for how long she kissed the ginger head, but it felt like an eternity, or maybe two eternities, had passed since she placed her trembling from fear lips onto his sad and empty ones. When Molly removed the mouth from the boy's face, she looked into the boy's indigo eyes. The emptiness, that had inhabited these eyes only minutes( or eternities) ago was gone, the otherworldly sheen was back, sending rays of positivity and hope into Molly's heart.

A smile went up her red as tomato cheeks."You're not a fool. You're -"

"Donald?" Jean asked. An absolutely shocked expression stood on his face. "Is that you, Donald?"

"Yeah! Who else it can be!" The red haired teenager said in a voice filled with excitement and shock. He stood in front of the sofa with the deep blue sheet wrapped around the lower part of a body. The boy looked pale; ribs were visible under the skin of the chest; the arms looked scrawny, there weren't a bulge of muscle anywhere; fiery red hair fell on his shoulders. But the most disturbing thing for Jean were the long elfish ears. It was, like, back to DMT trip.

Not for the first time in his life, Jean thought about being a hero in some crazy novel.