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Abide Abode

ABIDE ABODE

 

 

 

ABIDE ABODE

 

Episode 1

 

After All

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Words By Noah Silverman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A babies arm reaches out into empty space.

 

‘I always wanted to be born’ whispers out amongst infinity.

 

 

 

 

PRELUDE: A dream in the future.

 

ALEJO

 

A great glowing orb of fire hangs in the sky illuminating vast idyllic surroundings, beating light through my sunglasses, creating a warming Spanish summer that kisses my skin highlighting the hillside for miles, my farmland, my home. Connected to a child-‐like focus and a meditative serenity I kick a ball against a barn wall, it hits, bumps to the floor and back again on repeat 1, 2, 3. It’s a cycle of repetitive action, reaction and consequence that brings with it a peace, like music to my ears, that I never could feel as an adult. I’m relaxed and fully focused. All I have right now is me and this blue ball bouncing, one, two, three, like a heart beat, I would never will myself to lose this peace nor let daily trivialization take it away. I long you to try these things, as you would have a child.

 

 

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One, Two, Three, foot, wall, floor, action, reaction, consequence. Hills roll down to the left, hills roll up to the right. There’s something’s odd on the hill… a congregation of people up in a nearby field. Unusual. Town’s people and farmers grouped together; as this is a no drinking affair it seems an odd occurrence for familiar people to be huddled like penguins in an unfamiliar location about 800ft away from me on farmland. They look at each other as if deep in conversation without speaking a word. Twenty or so of them. What are they doing?

 

I remove my sunglasses for a better look but end up placing my hand above my forehead casting a shadow to my face to adjust my vision for a better look. One, Two… The ball!!! The meditative repetition of the ball has been broken. 1, 2, 3, Foot, Wall, Floor. No more, 1, 2, 3, just Floor, Floor, Floor. The ball rolls away starting a journey down hill. I’ve dropped the ball. As always in life if you look away from the ball, if only for a second, you’ll turn back to find life making its own way. Making its consequence. You can’t let go of anything. Nothing is static. Is this my adult mind thinking? I pull my attention from the ominous gathering as the ball picks up pace. I teeter after it breaking into a run down the cobbled stones down towards the lower farms. The ball, watched and chased is taking up speed with the afforded velocity of the down ward slope. Knowing my road curves at the bottom I expect to get it easy, it bumps up the curve

 

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inevitably, unexpectedly nestling into the sleeping armpit of a body.

 

My neighbour Mr. Cobo lays face down on the grass, his hair gently swaying in the breeze. This is unnatural, Mr Cobo, is not the type of gentleman to laze on the floor, he is a gentleman, a hard worker. I find this natural scene unnatural, but to my young eyes it seems only curious. Spying a stick I pick it up wanting to prod my neighbor and wake him. I know he is dead but I don’t seem to have realized. I hold out the stick and near it to Mr Cobos face.

 

ALEJO

 

My name! Screamed out. A quake in the voice. echoing from my house; my house, my name, my brother Osil calling me. I recognize this type of scream, desperate loss. I turn back to the body. The stick edging closer to the sleeping, if not dead, turned up neighbourly cheek of Cobo. Closer,

 

Closer, Closer.

ALEJO comes the pent up call again, shrill and shouted to the sky, I know these calls too well. An impulse hits me to run to the house, I feel fearand its inevitable adrenalin.

 

I’ve let go of the stick, spun and am running home, up the garden path and into the darkness of my open front door. A small light shines at the end of the hallway flickering for a silent minute. My body obscures the light becoming a silhouette running to the end of time unable to get there quick enough. The living room has its own deathly silence, it’s not jubilant, and it’s not a living room anymore.

 

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Osil, my eight year, smarter, taller brother, sits on the floor staring morbidly at his hands, thick black hair covering his eyes. Our father Samile! I fight for breath, he, like Mr Cobo lays as if sleeping on the floor. His breath, his breath is silent! His eyes, open and unmoving. Pain wraps around me like a cold blanket, as I stand stilled behind Osil. Please let me take back what I’ve seen, emotions rack through me and I realize as an adult I should be prepared to understand these things but I don’t. Samile is dead, Papa is dead.

 

‘Papa!’ I CRY. Distressed youth leaking from me. ‘They’ves gone away’ speaks Osil in our native Spanish

 

tongue.

 

‘Where? Where’s he gone?!’ I panic demanding information I do not want to know.

 

‘He won’t wake up, gone to the dead place’ flounders Osil grasping his hands together looking closely atour open eyed father.

 

‘The one with fire or wind?’ I respond relative to a story my mother once told me. My mother! ‘Where’s mama?’ I cry.

 

Osil’s eyes slowly lift to mine, broken and bare, flitting them over my shoulder as tears break down his cheeks and meet the made pathways of their recently cried brothers. Behind me is my mother, beautiful and sleeping too, slumped in her favorite chair. My childhood is over. No breath.

 

She’s gone away too’ he croaks. ‘Sleeping.’

 

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I’d not been bothered that people have been dropping like flies recently, and what an expression, dropping like flies, the idiom pertaining to the transitory and fragile nature of an insect’s life. People are dying and falling asleep. Ruber was the first to go, he fell asleep, heart attack maybe, then Jose, then Kiti, then Bernado. It hadn’t seemed so suspect when it were those over 70 suddenly giving up their day for the rest of days and dying, now suddenly the whole town was at it; dropping like flies. The newspapers had been talking about it for months, spreading with the speed of gossip and nothing travels faster. Somewhere in England this had started and somehow it was spreading, a wave of people turning off. I had cared little then, why should I when it didn’t affect me, or life on the farm?

 

‘But who’s going to read us the stories?I ask Osil. A tragic silence echoes between these walls after. I try to speak more, but these are my only words murmuring with pain and inexperience.

 

‘There are no more stories, Alejo’ Osil answers.

 

‘ But Mama said there are stories everywhere -‐ the world's made of stories’

 

‘It’s not the same world anymore.’ Osil pauses ‘We’re the parents now.’ He drops his head and lifts it heavily back up to see me, gesturing for a hug. We hold each other in the living room that used to be filled with, well I wouldn’t say laughter but it was warm. It strikes on me how mama and papa had both asked us to look after each other last night. How they had told us everything happens for its reasons. I

 

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paid little attention then and yet now the look in their eyes when they had haunts me with a whole new meaning.

 

‘We’ll make our own stories.’ I straighten. I‘ want to know why all the people are sleeping Osil?’

 

‘I don’t know because they don’t know how to wake up?’ ‘Maybe is thems that woke up? ‘ I say. Maybe it is them

 

who have woken up! I hug harder to Osil’s hunched body, my face next to his. ‘Please don’t leave me Osil, never leave me without saying goodbye. ‘

 

‘There are no goodbyes Osil, only good journeys that’s what mama said last night.’

 

We hold each other for a time but after it becomes apparent that something needs to be done. I see my father, the light removed from his eyes now and reach my hand out to his face, ‘Good journey’ I say, moving to lower Pa’s eye lids with a half hope he is still awake and will shout me for disturbing him. Please make this some horrible mistake. As my hand touches his open eyed face a judder runs through me. I can’t move, transfixed in a skin bond. I feel a magnetic connection made to him, like strings moving coldly through my fingers, I can’t tell whether they are coming from him or from me. I can not pull away, a link, it’s as if I’m falling into a heavy cold stream, waves of energy pouring out of me into him as warm intensity courses back. An electric shock ripples through me; I go with it. Unable to move, my eyes slam shut.

 

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EPISODE ONE.

 

 

 

 

after all.

 

 

 

 

 

Earth from Space with far enough distance will appear only as a dot against infinity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • *

 

 

 

 

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Changes of distance alternate your perception of any given object or idea.

 

-Triangle Walk Excerpt –

 

 

 

 

NOAH

 

Aged 28. Me. I’m in my trailer out the back of my ma’s house in Peacehaven. I’ve just had a dream of Alejo, a dream wired from the future, he’s being born today but in six years, well, his parents die. I share the dreams of others. I contemplate this and how it came to be that I gave up on the things I loved by caring about one thing too much. I lost my constant and when I did screamed so loud I cracked the sky, ripped a trench across ocean floor, and inside me, a mark appeared. Noah, the one who eventually sank ships not engineered one to save two of each species. I’m on that boat alone, the one I sink.

 

 

 

 

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My skin, the abode I abide changed forever when I met Anna Mason on a dark tumultuous night. I’ll tell you how I got to her. I was drunk, as I had been for a long time. Drunk to keep me sociable, to keep me open to others. Anna first introduced me to a book called ‘The Triangle Walk’ and since reading it I’ve been able to get inside people’s memories, dreams and bodies. Be careful what you wish for. After meeting Anna I would drink with the sole purpose of keeping people out of my head, the dreams, the Alejos. It’s not that I can control the people I inhabit, no, it’s that I watch through their eyes and know their innermost thoughts. Drinking helped me from entering other skins, your skins, it quieted the voices and helped me to escape the reality of what was happening. I would tell myself these are not my memories, they are yours, they are hers, they are his! Now I see them as mine, they are ours, they are us, memories and experiences of the abodes we abide, bodies collected in one mind. Since I’ve come to see that there’s no such thing as time. Life may come to us in a linear fashion but when you’re receiving incongruous worldly memories out of context it does wonders to eradicate a concept of time. There is no time any more. Only now, only all of time living concurrently. When all time exists as one and you see all the atrocities and virtues of man together in circular patterns and formations; and I need to break the cycle.

 

 

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I do not use alcohol anymore to escape what is happening. It’s happening and after reading ‘Triangle Walk’ and resisting its truth I’ve come to find that there are those intended on destroying its secrets; there is power in secrets and some will do anything to keep them for themselves; secrets are what keeps the magician magic.

 

 

Alcohol was my crutch to ignore purpose, as much as it was stop me slipping into memories. Who wants to have the memory of a child half way around the world losing his parents six years from now?

 

If you are reading this please assume I am most probably dead. There is nothing like choosing to give up alcohol when A – there are people trying to kill you and B – you’re killing the ones you love, parts of them anyway.

 

 

If I have any words of advice for you it’s put down your poisons, get strong. We are amongst a spiritual war and the poisonings are a distraction. Get Strong. I can’t say it enough. Get strong or go home. Bitch you’re going to need it. Bitch, you gotta get smart.

 

 

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I live in a trailer, in my ma’s yard on a piece of aptly named land called ‘Peacehaven.’ My skin an aptly named piece of land named Noah. My name, a noise that had no relevance to me until I started sinking ships, the irony does not escape me. I can’t bring myself to do that again, to scream a scream that loud that it tears the fabric of the universe, the scream does not go away, it is in the universe now. Incongruous pain echoing for eternity. Nothing ever really dies, it is energy, energy living internity within the polar whole ( everything always. )

 

 

 

This is my written attempt to put back out there the laws I learnt of the polar whole, the circular cycle of all life. I picked it up from ‘The Triangle Walk’ book that Anna bought with her, it has disappeared and it is unlikely to come back. The book taught that circular paths are made without direction. If you are lost in the desert walking on forever naturally you will sway in one direction, try to walk in a straight line eventually you will find yourself back where you started. Water whirling down the plug hole, for instance, will swirl to the left or the right because of the planets hemispheric magnetic pull on it, never straight down. In space water with gravity will fall but outside of gravity it will but float contained in and of itself. Likewise you will walk in a straight line in the

 

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desert if you have a direction point a point of horizon. The triangle is the direction point, it is the signpost, the purpose, gravity and gravitas. As a united whole humanity’s next stage of evolution is to find its purpose, our next step. Humanity has no need to evolve physically anymore, we have conquered our environment and being no longer controlled by survival it is not our environment shaping us but us controlling and manipulating our environment to suit ourselves. Evolution no longer is physical but a metaphysical journey; we have by rights conquered the physical world. Without a united purpose humanity is in the desert without a sign post. Parents the products of their parents and you the product of them. Circles of information passed genetically down. A Russian doll inside a Russian doll, blood memory after blood memory passed back to an infinitesimal infinity, the polar whole. Until you take ownership and responsibility for your own life, until you/we find that purpose, the circle will be our destination. The Triangle Walk speaks different. It tells us a possible future, and when you know it shows us all futures.

 

 

 

I had a dream not so long ago… Not a Martin Luthur King dream, a ridiculous dream, one where I asked the world for purpose and the world answered.

 

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I shake a magic 8 ball.

 

I propose the question.

 

The answers rattle inside. Thunderous whiling as water displaces for plastic answers coming to meet

the surface.

 

I imagine myself inside the ball with the answer rushing up towards me, what would it be like to live in

 

here – inside the magic 8 ball? I may well have been living in a Magic 8 ball for the time before I found a united purpose, small, drowning, looking for answers in a tight space. Waiting for answers to reach the surface and save me.

 

I imagine thirsty apocalypse survivors splitting magic 8 balls open for nourishment.

 

The answer comes to the magical watery surface. Focusing, focusing. Boom – Answer in view!

 

You’re a cunt.

 

It says ‘You’re a cunt.’ I stare at it blankly.

 

You.Are.A.Cunt.

 

I look over to the wrappings of the Magic 8 Ball.

 

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The ball box Packaging. Written on the side. It’s a magic hate ball. Oh – Nice insult.

 

I wake up.

 

Nice insult. Mind, you’re the cunt.

 

I’m hung over again sometime in the past and I’ve a long stretch to reach for a glass of water, the kitchen is where? I’m thirsty. My purpose is to drink water, survive but my body isn’t moving and right now my mind is a totally different entity to it. No, no, bed will have to do. Ignore it, ignorance, ignorite. Sustenance will have to come later. Sleep is food right? If I had a magic 8 ball, I’d try to drink its possibly poisonous liquid but I don’t even have a one for sustenance.

 

Do I get the glass of water? Do I hydrate myself? I’m lying in bed putting chaos theory into play. If I don’t get water could I be causing an Earthquake the other side of the world? Better stay in bed, save a few lives. Humanity outside the third world has come along way from struggling to survive.

 

I fall to sleep into another dream that will take me a long while to wake from. Strange things had been happening since reading ‘Triangle’ not just slipping into bodies, not just screaming and creating holes. In

 

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this dream, I meet myself, Noah, he knows me, he’s been watching from another dimension, he offers to guide me to a place within him, within myself. I follow to a place he calls ‘The renaissance garden.’ It is a place where the other Noah renderings congregate sharing information about their lives, their other worlds. Trees surround us and there’s a swimming pool sunk into the Earth. This pool can be as deep or shallow as you wish, swim deep enough and you pour your self into the collective consciousness of your inner body, into the Polar whole and there live amongst your other worldly bodies. The pool is a portal.

 

 

 

This version of myself demands I get up in life. ‘I’d rather have you sharp and tired than blunt and awake.’ He says. ‘If you skip bodies become them. Accept the unexplainable, live the lives you were supposed to simultaneously. Keep the lines straight and the Triangle pointing forwards. It sounds a cliché but be the change you want to see, to change the world, change yourself.’

 

I respond rambling and unfirm ‘There are two types of people in this world, those who get up to get a glass of water, those who stay in bed. I stumble over my words ‘and there’s those who didn’t drink in the first place.’

 

‘So there are three types of people in this world,

 

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those that can count and those that can’t.’ He replies. ‘Who’s world do you think this is?’ He pauses, I say nothing. ‘Come on Noah ‘is the glass half empty or half full?’

 

‘It depends if there’s gin in it.’ I reply

 

When I woke up from these dreams it was as if for the first time. I woke up, three months later on in my life. A version of myself from another dimension had taken control over my body and got it back in shape. He then returned my body to me with all my lives from all other Worlds connected together helping each other as one. And that is why I call that version of myself Magic 8. The Polar Whole, The Triangle and Magic 8, the infinity me became One. 8 ∆ O .

 

They say that writing through something you don’t understand is the way to find the meaning in it. Ordering chaos after it’s been delivered. And that is why I am writing this.

 

I dream of Anna and take myself into her skin before I met her.

 

 

 

ANNA

 

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The moon is full, I’m driving my car.

 

[ It’s incredibly complex being in the body of a woman, probably not if you’ve been a woman all your life, but as a man inside the body of a woman the feeling of the inside anatomy is very altered. My brain works and feels different; having breasts is enough to make me feel my balance is off, as is missing your testicles. Whilst in another’s body you are merely a passenger, I’m no driver, and I’ve no choice of vessel.]

 

 

I’m heading through a wooded road to Pelham Mansions and excitement for my husband tonight doesn’t even cut it, he has brokered the deal not only of his life but one that changes the future today. Evan he has pooled together $29 billion of funds to put to the sea the first man made island – Atlantis. I go to call him; distracted, a blur moves in front of me. A wolf darts out! The tires screech in a noisy cacophony swerving with full effort to avoid but I am too late. THUNK! I slam on the brakes, screeching to a halt.

 

I step out of my vehicle with only a second of apprehension. It’s an open road, the full moon lighting the road probably silhouetting me and this… this wolf. This wolf is 6 foot, huge and gasping for air, blood pouring from its stomach. Rasp. Rasp.

 

I reach out to the wolf.

 

‘What are you doing?’ The wolf asks. ‘I’m driving to a party’ I respond.

 

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‘That’s the trouble with humans, you don’t look where you are going, walking in circles not triangles.’

 

‘I’m sorry’ I reply.

 

‘Apologies, huh. Don’t mean much if you don’t learn. Don’t need apologies, need action.’

 

‘What can I do?’

 

‘Who put that road there?’ The Wolf asks. I can’t unmake a road I think, not responding to the seemingly rhetorical question. ‘The time of the wolf is at its end’he cries. ‘There’s not many places we of the woods can hide anymore, your species has seen to that. You know that don’t you? About the animals, the ones that have their own nature are culled, they are being killed off, it’s the obedient that are surviving,and you are leaving behind shadows of the animals, machines that forget their nature. It happened on the farm you grew up on too didn’t it?

‘How do you know?’

 

‘Nature knows everything, and you are nature, ask yourself not what I know about you but what you know that you have not realized. Sentient beings are dying. It’s happening to your species too isn’t it?’

 

We sit in silence, is it true? Is it happening? I guess it is by our very nature we are becoming more tamed. I think back to my parents’ farm and what happened there. ‘Who are you?’ I ask.

 

‘The last of my kind, Gaia.Stroke my fur whilst I pass from this world. Anna something is calling you, remember your nature and pass it on to your children. The time of the

 

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wolf is at itsend; it’s your time, time to grow. Remember the Wolf. ‘

 

I don’t know how long we sit there, my red dress flowing in the breeze, the warm soft breaths of Gaia slowing as I stroke strong bristled fur.

 

‘Good Journey’ whispers the wolf ‘it’s your time.’

 

As the wolf passes I feel the ache of motherhood, I ruck Gaia’s fur as if it’s part of methat’s leaving, but it’s not me who leaves. Silence. I’m responsible. A road stretches onwards. I stand looking up at the moon dwarfed, the stars and the world hold me, and there are no humans. It’s just me, alone sitting and staring at the moon. It’s as if I’vea book in my hand, reading out my life story and space wants to hear what I have to say.

 

There is a beep; I am back on my phone driving my car. ‘Anna’ my husband says. ‘ Are you there?’

 

 

 

 

NOAH

 

A picture sits on my wall. It’s of a lady running into the Boxing Day tsunami. The wave thunders towards her and between her and the wave are her children.

She runs into the wave, into certain death. For her it is not about survival it is for love. For her

 

children, for family. Greater is this need than survival. They need her, it means death, they are

 

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more important.

 

 

I have another picture on my wall it is the first photo taken of Earth. It was taken on August 11th 1963 by Apollo 11 and is the first time all of Earth’s population was captured in one frame. It shows us, as

 

one, on one planet as one organism. It is a dot.

 

 

Every hard object that you see is made of space, atoms on a cellular level vibrating at different speeds to give hardness, shape and ultimately depth. You matter. You are matter and should be hungry for it. As planetary beings space does not end with you. It is not only outside of Earth it is within it. It is you. You are space, filled with energy; with and without the choice to what you absorb into your space.

 

-Triangle Walk Excerpt –

 

 

I’ve since named life without a collective purpose as Surreality. Without a goal life tends to be like lucid dreaming only in the real world. You can do things but

 

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when you wake up nothing has changed.

 

Lucid dreaming is highly addictive. I started by imagining a thing that is not found in the real world. I imagine a grate like a fireplace, golden with a lion’s head on the top. Imagine your own ‘thing’, or use mine if you will. Know it, feel it, let it become you. It is an object known only to your imagination. Spend some time thinking about this object; place it in your mind. It must be something you would never find in your day-to-day life. Think about this object before you go to sleep. Should you see this object in real life question it, could you be dreaming?

 

You are. If you see this object, touch it, feel it, realize to yourself that you are dreaming. This takes practice, but when you know you are dreaming take a look around, you are about to become awake in your subconscious and with practice you learn control. Suddenly Time and Space does not exist.

 

All objects, beings, words, real or imagined hold their memories, their worlds, where they’ve been, what they’ve seen, what they’ve believed, their secrets are stories. We have pools of information passed down to us through our time lines and some of this information has been kept back from us. Reading a memory of an object is a lot like picking up in a book in another language, if you don’t know how to read it,

 

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you can’t access the information.

 

Mum said ‘if you don’t believe in magic, you’ll not recognize it when it happens.’ And like that I realize I’m skipping again and unable to hold my consciousness in this time and space. I slip. I remember. I reside./

 

 

 

I’m carrying food up to mum, I used to talk to myself until dad said it was a sign of madness, after I stopped it was only then that I felt crazy. Mum told me she did the same thing and dad told her to stop, she said dad was right but I never believed her, now she has Parkinson’s. She seems more at peace now than most people I know, but I miss her.

 

My brother, Ruben, is banging in his room, when I look in wearing large hissing headphones and lifting large dumbbells with a cigarette hanging out his mouth.

 

‘What are you doing?’ ‘Pumping GOD!!’ he replies.

 

‘For fucks sake.’ I retort in another World. In this one I don’t.

 

I head to mum, Dawn, who is lying in bed in front of

 

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a large bay window. She’s asleep, I try to wake her up but she doesn’t stir.

 

I put the food tray down at her side; the sharp green knife there evokes my memory… Fuck…

 

 

I’m walking along the Infinity Cruise liner again; light obscures you before me. There is a scar across the sky, my scream echoing from it, across my memories, across all the deserts I walked to get here. This is life with the colour drained out. Am I dreaming in black and white again? I hate this memory.

 

‘I would tear a hole in the world to get back to you.’ I say. It’s me talking from another world to you. ‘I’d destroy a world to protect all others, sacrifice will breed new life, and with its own twisted fable of feral I’ll not leave without you! Not again. Never again!’

 

A green knife is in my hand, it’s surface glinting, I know what I’m about to do. I’m passively watching through my eyes. I can’t stop the motion as I thrust the knife forward into your flesh, I’m stabbing, and red. Blood leaks from wound, running red rivers across the deck of the boat. I look at you, part of a silhouetted couple, one falls down, you. Blood drips off the ships edge straight into the black and white sea, into the mass of grey colouring the ocean; the sky and its scar watching above. The large Infinity cruise liner

 

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passes over a crevasse in the water dwarfing the floating infinity above, an open trench in the ocean emulating an everlasting scream.

 

 

The sky has its scars, it’s watching. One day all blood will return to the sea. I’ve been crazy. Shaking, I’m holding the knife back in my mum’s room, she’s been ill for a long time.

‘Noah?’ Dawn murmurs in her haze.

‘Yes mum, I’m here.’ I say, glinting knife in hand, I turn to her knowing what I must do, ‘I’ve met someone recently and it’s changed a few things.’

 

 

Skipped again. It’s some time before and dark. I can’t remember getting here. I’m drunk, walking home. The path is winding home is close. I hear something, a foot stumble, and a murmur. ‘Hello?’ I call out. Silence. ‘Is anyone there?’

 

A woman with long blonde hair, naturally pretty in a thin white dress walks out of the darkness clutching a leather bound book, she looks wild.

 

‘ARE YOU OKAY? My name’s Noah.’ I say.

‘Tell me.’ She says slowly and precise as she steps into the light revealing her feral glinting eyes.

 

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‘Yes?’ I ask.

 

‘Can one person change the course of human history?’ Anna says ‘The Triangle Walk’ in her hand.

 

 

 

 

ANNA

 

Beethoven plays through the car speakers. I’m driving. Spotlights meeting the horizon at my destination shining way up into the depths of the sky, I’m arriving at the mansion for my husband Evan’s big reveal. I’m excited, a little bit nervous but sexy in my red dress and matching lipstick. The concierge takes my car and I walk up the grand stairs, a Latino bellboy taking my coat. Mike greets me, Evan’s counter partner; they’ve been friends for years and have worked together ever since Evan’s father Russell did away with his inheritance. Together they formed this company Trident to hedge fund small businesses and have since been on the up and now have acquired and designed the first floating island with help from the pharmaceutical and oil industries. Floating islands are the only solution to world population but also theever-‐growing gap between the rich and the poor.

 

‘Hey Mike, nice Tux’ I say surveying the sea of suits. ‘Global warming setting in, I see they’ve found a new home for the penguins’

 

‘Always good to see you Anna’ He kisses my cheek.

 

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‘Evan’s somewhere inside.’ I look over seeing Evan, donning a tux that shows off his well-‐built frame as a commanding presence. He has one of those youthful sparkly-‐eyed faces that adorns a manly built physic. ‘He’s the main event this evening’ says Mike ‘I’m sure you’ll be his main event tonight.’

 

‘Thank you Mike’ I reply to his jest. ‘I meant in the bedroom.’

 

‘I got that.’

 

‘In whose bedroom?’ Evan calls me back surprising me. ‘Hello baby.’

 

Evan reaches in for a quick kiss, the subtle tentative way in which he does in front of others even though he’s no fan of public displays of affection. ‘Congratulations, how does it feel to pull off one of the biggest transactions the world has ever seen?’

 

‘It was nothing and a team effort’

 

‘Too right’ Steve Richards laughs, a tiger of a man, joking and bloody lovely, but I wouldn’t want to cross him in business hours though, apparently he goes through personal assistants like hot dinners. ‘Modest Evan, and it was the biggest, pulled together in only three and a half years.

 

‘Atlantis, the first floating city.’

 

His hand makes way to reveal a projection of thecircular floating island, accommodation for seven thousand residences, shopping malls, all amenities, gyms and boutiques, helipads. Atlantis. Jewel of the seas.

 

‘Setting sail in 2024, and what’s the bet you guys have a penthouse apartment.’ Nods Steve.

 

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‘To Atlantis.’ ‘Salute.’

 

‘To Atlantis’ comes an echoing chorus of voices.

 

I raise my glass joining in the Viking tradition of eye contact during cheers and pretending to slosh each other’s champagne into each other’s glasses, in case of poison.

 

I catch eyes with Maria, Evan’s long time, hard working and persevering personal assistant. Italian, her hair curled and tonight voluptuous, she’s wearing a beautiful blue dress I’ve never seen before. She raises her glass with us. ‘Well boys, congratulations.’ She says.

 

‘Maria!’

 

‘Treacle.’ Kissing me on the cheek. ‘And Evan, congratulations making a spectacle of yourself.’

 

‘As always. ‘

 

In an instant phones are going of left, right and center.A somber tone hits and Mike comes over in a flustered panic. ‘There’s another riot kicking off in the city, they are disabling access, apparently thousands have taken to the street.’

 

An exchange of worried looks take place amongst those not reaching for or staring at their phone. Around seven years ago there was an economic downturn and unfortunately not much had recovered. The poor were unable to afford their homes and the margins between the underclass and the rich became wider. The middle class barely exists today. The riots have been labeled the riots of disparity. We were the lucky ones. Evan managed to

 

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recuperate the losses from his father dismantling his empire of businesses. Russell his father sold off his estates and Evan’s inheritance. Evan was not happy and took this to be a personal insult. He’s spent the last years since with determined vigor to put himself on the map and in my view impress his father. His father had lost interest in money and was happy to settle for a quiet life, urging Evan to do the same, settle down and have children. Evans interest has been to capitalize on hisroots; tonight he glows with pride in his accomplishments, as attractive and motivated as ever. Hopefully we’ll now be able to settle. Money has never been a great motivator of mine and now I find myself in the position of luxury I find it hard to imagine going back to my roots, though living on a farm would be nice, with space.I’ve been looking after his ill mother for the years since Russell, his father, departed. He was found dead outside his home, the circumstances largely unknown.

 

The commotion clears as Mike announces that helicopters will take us back to our estate. It would be the first time we’ve been choppered around.

 

‘I’ve got the car here’ I remember. ‘Maria can take it.’ Evan says.

 

‘Sure I can. I’ll bring the car with me to the burbs tonight and head over to Peacehaven tomorrow and pick up those photos your mum’s been asking for.’ It’s been near three years we moved Sylvia into the hospice. ‘Have you been to see your mum recently Evan?’ Maria asks.

 

Evan becomes disgruntled and angry instantly, ‘You’re

 

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our assistant Maria, we ask you to help us with our affairs not get personally involved in them.’

 

‘Sorry Mr Mason.’ She apologizes.

 

‘Evan, please.’ He says. ‘And you’ve no need to apologize. Let us move on.’

 

‘To Evan.’ Maria raises her glass. ‘And the captains of Atlantis!’

 

Drinking, laughing, eating, and somewhere along the evening it gets messy with a few lines of click in the bathroom, a super drug that enhances the senses and sexual prowess. Evan whispers in my ear and I take him by the hair and let him ride me in the cubical, his life banging against me, two animals in the throngs of passion, I hold his face towards mine, lick his mouth as he grabs my hair. He looks longingly at me, kisses me and makes his way out of the bathroom, helping inch my leggings back up. I fix my hair and reapply my lipstick and head out to have a cigarette of the balcony and think of the luck in being in such a position. If only it wasn’t at the cost of time with Evans mother. I worry for her.

 

 

The party is rambunctious. Today people move to sea whilst others fight for their space on land. Some dodgy karaoke is taking place and it’s hazy, I’m high. My eyes flicker out and it looks like a wolf is moving between people’s legs but then its gone, a shadow. A helicopter comes in sometime later, my husband gets in first and helps me aboard and we

 

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fly home. Down below the city is in turmoil, I clock some click again and time is lost flying over a city of rioters with the occasional fire erupting from the world below, figuratively and very literally I am very fucking high.

 

 

I’m within our lush penthouse, cosy and warm, home. Evan is dealing out a line more click. I can take or leave the stuff until I get started, its harder for Evan, he been losing himself in it since his father threw his arms up at his inheritance. Our life lines the walls in photos, our trip to the troposphere where we passengered the reaches of Earth and experienced zero gravity.

 

‘After all’s said and done’ Says Evan. ‘If these people want to get themselves out of poverty they have to work at it. Its their own laziness keeping them poor.’

 

‘And what of the top one percent that have bought up all the property and keep everyone in rent arrears as they gather interest on their accumulated wealth. Where’s the fair tax?’

 

‘This is money I’ve earnt why should I be penalized for it’. ‘You know that I’m not working, I’ve spent the last few

 

years looking after your mother…’

 

Evan cuts in ‘Why bring her into it? Maybe you could work…’

 

It irks me to hear him talk like this but I don’t want to upset him. I shouldn’t have bought Sylvia into this. As strong,

 

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noble and kind as he is, sometimes he’s like playing with fire. I guess he’s right but I stopped working for the right reasons and against my own judgment maybe. I wish he remembered the sacrifice it was for me. Loved me that bit for having done what he suggested best for us.

 

‘I’ve wanted to get back into acting’ I say. ‘The last production that I was offered was when your mum got worse and I couldn’t commit to it. We decided it would be better for me to look after Sheila, we talked about having a child then.’

 

‘Raise a child into this. It’s senseless violence out there. They’re not our people, there are too many people on the ground, no solution, everyone’s interested in having what the neighbors got rather than earning their own.’

 

It’s true in part about raising a child now with excessive population problems but further and further I see intelligent people not having children for this exact reason whilst others without life experience feels it’s their natural obligation to have children before thinking, before living their own life, forming their own identity, before becoming something they themselves are proud of. What am I proud of? I think.

 

‘Couldn’t we do more?’ I say. Change the mindset, like your dad did? With random acts of selfless kindness.’

 

‘Russell did enough for them, that was my inheritance he gave away! Anna, can we get back to this evening? You are pissing me off’ Dark fury floods his face, it feels like the air has been sucked from the room, he balls his fists. Why‘ do

 

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you have to bring my parents up?’

 

I get scared of him when he’s like this; I pacify and smile at him. ‘Let’s not talk about mum tonight.’

‘She’s not your mum Anna’

 

The pain’s back, the degree of separation that has to be put in after these years of marriage, nothing is let go.

 

‘I mean as family, mother in law’ ‘She’s my family’

 

I want to say I spend more time looking after her than he does seeing me. My face reacts somehow, he’s furious. I‘ care for her at the hospice around the clock’ I attempt to explain ‘it’s my full time job these days, she still thinks I’m her sister, calling me Valerie she doesn’t even recognize me..’

 

‘You are so defensive the whole time! Valerie is dead. What are you doing to me? Why tonight?’ he rages.

 

I take a deep breath not wanting to argue and try bringing the conversation back around, my energy is heightened, my natural instinct is to kiss him, tell him its okay but then he wont feel listened to. ‘Forget it! This has been biggest project for you sweetheart, but you’ve not seen your mum in months, I’ve been supportive with Atlantis, with your Ma, I love you.’

 

‘Supportive? Anna, you’ve just been here.’ Evan takes another line of click.

 

‘Please Evan, I love you I’m just saying I see your mum and its what she needs. She’d be so proud of you tonight, share it.’

 

‘You’re thinking about yourself, what about what I need?’

 

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I reach out for him.

 

‘You need to know when to back off.‘

 

‘Let’s sort this out, what’s it going to be like when we start a family’

 

‘I don’t want children’ ‘You said you wanted kids’

 

‘Well that was then.’ He coughs. ‘I was just telling you what I thought you wanted to hear.’

 

Evan’s angry and just when I feel this is it for another night and he’s about to shut conversation down for good he comes back to me like he disappeared into another world and now he’s back.

 

‘I don’t want to upset you baby, I don’t want to pass on my genes.’

 

The emotion is a little too much tonight, I want to see a small Evan running about, I love this man and have dedicated myself to him, my life now wrapped so completely to his. The strong guy that people know and underneath how I held him when his father passed and how he made me promise never to leave him and how I’ve stuck with him through his weeks of disappearing. ‘We wouldn’t be married if I didn’t want to see more of you in the world.’

 

‘I’m not a good person, this isn’t me, I’m cold it’s just who I am’

 

‘You are a good man Evan’

 

‘Leave it Anna, I need to be alone a while, stay here for a while I’m going to the lounge.’ He takes another line.

 

‘I’d like to take a walk if you’d like the space.’

 

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‘Don’t be stupid, its dangerous.’

 

‘I’ll be safe and will stay on the estate.’

 

‘No Anna, you’ll be raped or murdered, do this for me’. I’m angry, I dig my fingers into my hand to keep me

 

awake, I don’t want an argument, its unfair, he can’t control his sense of abandonment. It’s not your fault Anna I tell myself, it’s all okay, it’ll be fine by morning. My seventh grade school teachers voice repeats in my head. You’re an actor Anna. Act.

 

‘Okay sweetheart’ I say. He looks at me incredulously and tells me goodnight, leaving the room.

 

 

 

 

MARIA

 

Peacehaven. Love this place. A quiet viliage on a meandering river. Ford Fiesta ST has pulled in. Brakes on. Maria, you have arrived at your destination. I snigger. Welcome to the Masons Mansion. So sad that no one visits this place any more.

 

I’m on the phone to Anna, I love her, and I wish things would sort themselves out with Evan, she’s such a good girl, he has her acting like a personalassistant and that’s my job. I open the front door, put down my bright pink suitcase.

 

‘I’ll pick up Sylvia’s brush too.’ I say into the phone. ‘As long as the hair is combed through a mother will always be giving her girl a good education.’

 

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I can hear Anna still driving on her way to see Sylvia at the hospital down the phone.

 

‘Sylvia’s well past her education years.’ Anna says. ‘She wants the family picture on the mantle and there’s one of her that Russell kept in his work shed.’

 

I pick up a picture off the mantle, removing a layer of dust from the glass exposing a 15 year old Evan, a scrawny boy with fitted clothes, and his parents Sylvia and Russel. They are all suited and booted and a reminder to the privileged lifestyle they used to live. I have to give it toEvan he made it in his fathers stead, he is his fathers son.

 

‘Anna, give this photo to Evan and he’ll get to see his mum.’ Suddenly I’m biting my tongue on bringing this up but knowing that Anna would see it injest.

 

‘I’ll give it to Sylvia’ she says. ‘Encourage her to become a model again.’

 

‘I’m sure respirators are in this season, bless her heart, hospital pageants ain’t what they used to be.’

 

‘ Hospice pageants, ha’ Anna laughs. ‘Oooh -‐ level Up!!’

 

I put the picture of Sylvia and Evan in thesuitcase, unlock the back door and survey the wild green that used to be a garden. I mouth the word fuck. Not that anyone’s watching but it feels right to do so. Sometimes in my head I’m a reality TV star and a total dick. A total dick mostly.

 

‘I tell ya the gardener is doing a good job’

 

As I step outside I hear a creak and a murmur. I turn to follow the noises that next doors fence is obscuring. So

 

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ABIDE ABODE someone is watching, someone is listening.

 

I hold the phone up to my ear and whisper to Anna‘hang on a second, I’m being watched.’

 

‘Who are you?’ Comes a voice from the fence as I take the phone from my ear.

 

Nothing can be seen, some ominous, obvious rustling and breathing comes from behind the fences border. It’s Elizabeth Snelgar, she’s awful, about 68, I’d befriend her but she makes a point of seeing the worst in everything. If it’s sunny it’s too bright, if it’s raining it’s not sunny. She moans about her family that they don’t visit and the last time they did, about eight years ago, she chewed their bones for not being who she expected them to be.

 

‘It’s me Ms. Snelgar’ I call out. ‘You’re trespassing.’

 

‘No, I’m not Ms. Snelgar I’m here to collect things for Sylvia’

 

‘I heard you are you trying to sell the house? Is Sylvia still in hospital or does she just not want to come back?’ I open my mouth in response but Snelgar continues. Can’t‘ imagine I’d want to live in a house where my husband was found murdered!! And look at thatgarden!! Russell wouldn’t put up with this mess, he’s turning in his grave.’

 

‘Yes, yes Ms. Snelgar there’s nothing more devastating than an overgrown bush is there dear? – No, she’s not selling and if you must give water to tales like that they will abound to become bigger.’ Ms. Snelgar huffs and I think about Russell lying in the field up the hill in the pouring rain by

 

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himself and have to wonder why anyone would just thinkit was a heart attack. People don’t just fall down and die. I open the shed door.

 

‘So, she’s not dead yet?’ Snelgar rasps. Urgh! Does she ever stop?

 

‘No Elizabeth, there’s fight in her bones yet but I’ll let you know when she pops off so you get first dibs on her out of date prescriptions and the sex toys going to the good help’.

 

Snelgar murmurs, I push through. ‘I’LL BE SURE TO PASS YOUR BEST WISHES TO SYLVIA’ and I step into the shed closing the door behind me. This shed was once Russell’s working space, one that was very much lovedafter they gave up their fortune and settled here. His studynow covered by times dust. A blind covered window overlooks the garden and the house.

 

I put the phone back to my ear ‘FUCK ME she’s hard work that Snelgar, she could make even you swear.’

 

‘Nothing pushes me that far.’ Anna says.

 

I put the phone on speaker putting it down amongst the dust to wipe the cobwebs from my brow. The old natural glamour photo of Sylvia on the side. ‘I’ve got the picture. You know this picture Russell kept of her is beautiful.’

 

The picture feels weighted and I turn it to find a key pushed into the back of the frame.

 

‘He loved Sylvia very much.’ Anna says.

 

‘Awww I need me one of those’ I say, looking for a key hole to fit the key.

 

‘You’ll find yours.’

 

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Amongst the furniture is a set of drawers with a tiny lock, which I try the key in.

 

‘I did, he left.’

 

‘There’s always one RiRi’ ‘Yeah, a needle in a gaystack’

 

I wedge the drawer and it comes open. I thought it was made up! There it is,the bloody book that sent Russell mad, the book that convinced him to lay down hisempire.

 

‘ANNA?’

‘Yeah?’

 

‘ I’ve found it, I’ve found that book.’ ‘What? THE book? Russell’s book ???’

 

‘The Triangle Walk.’

 

‘You gotta be fucking kidding me.’

 

I pick up the book, leather bound, beautiful. ‘The Triangle Walk’ – By Russell Mason. He wrote it? As my brain tries to makes sense of this, I see what lies underneath its hardbound cover. I don’t understand and open the blind for better light.

 

 

 

 

RUSSEL

 

I’m scared, he’s coming for me. I push into the shed, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating Sylvias picture. What is this tested proven reality that I’m polarized from? To be one with everything and now I am a threat tofriends

 

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to those who wish to keep their truth concealed. I must hide the book, can I hide it here without it being noticed? I have no other choice. I shove the book into the drawer,lock and slide the key into Sylvia’s photo frame and give it a kiss. You are, my star, the one who has been there and acceptedme – thank you for taking the time to get to know me. My darling, always. Lightening glows the lawn and that’s when I see the figure in the house. I duck and pull the blind shut.

 

 

 

 

MARIA

 

I lift the blind up.

 

‘Maria’ Anna calls through the speakerphone. ‘I’ve got to go, I’m at the hospital. Are you there?’

 

‘Yes Anna, I’m sorry. See you soon.’ ‘Catch you later.’ Click.

 

I shake my head, big brother is not watching anymore. The cameras are on, no one is home.Silence.

 

Within the pages of ‘The Triangle Walk’a photo of Anna rests as a bookmark, a photo from before Russell and Anna would have met. Looking into the drawer reveals not one, not two but a vast collection of Anna’s photographic image bordering on obsession. It is obsessive, tasteful though the photos maybe. What were you doing Russell? Sylvia looks down at me from her frame. I turn the bookmarked photo of Anna and written on its back ‘Sacrifice breeds new life’ is

 

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written.

 

 

 

 

ANNA

 

It’s like being inside a respirator here at the hospital, difficult to breath, fake air, and mechanical. I’ve arrived at the hospital, the faint smell of iodine and bleach stuffing into my nose without invitation. I wish Evan would come to see his mother. The first thing Sylvia will ask is where he is. I enter the door to her private ward, afforded for by her son.

 

‘Where’s Evan?’ Sylvia asks ‘I’m so sorry.’

 

‘Valerie, where is Evan?’

 

I touch my head. Since Russell’s death Sylvia has been bed ridden, some say she couldn’t live withoutRussell. For a while she was trying to find his book but couldn’t and now she is living in 1987 and thinks I’m her daughter Valerie.

 

‘It’s Anna, Sylvia, I’ve got to tell you something darling Maria found Russell’s book.’

 

‘What book?’

 

‘The one that went missing before he died’

 

‘There is no book.’ She growls, she looks panicked and starts to move about her bed ‘I want to get up, Valerie, I need fresh air.’

 

‘Be calm Sylvia.’ I ask but it comes across beggingly. ‘I can’t do it.’

 

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‘Be calm.’

 

Be calm, the instructions in the title, be calm. If I say ‘don’t panic’ the instruction panic is still there. Like if I said ‘don’t think of a massive penis’ you will still think of a penis. Be Calm, that’s a better thing to say to Sylvia, be calm ahhh now with the association in my mind of a massive erect penis, very calming.

 

‘Aww Valerie, I just wanted to see out the window.’ Pretending to be Valerie is the only thing that calms her

down.

 

‘It’s okay Mum’ I say ‘everything’s okay, I’ll tell you.’ I stand looking out of the window

 

‘The park is gorgeous out there; it’s such a beautiful day. Sunlight bathing the lake outside, a wee white dog’s playing fetch with a boy, the boy has thrown a stick and the little terrier is bringing it back.’

 

‘Awww’ Sylvia coos, calmingly. You’re an actress Anna, I repeat to myself. Act!

 

‘A father and son are on the lake ina paddle boat.’ I can hear Sylvia snuggling into her bed.

 

‘You’re a good girl Valerie.’

 

Tears are forming in my eyes, I’m happier staring out the window even though all I’m looking onto is a wall outside. This wall seems to symbolize a lot of my life as late. A wall that I project my imagination on, stopping me from seeing the truth, that we are all walls. We all wear masks, we are all actors in one big show. Somewhere out there a fat lady must be singing.

 

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I’m numb, I don’t remember going home. I wake up and Evan’s not home, a message wishes me a goodnight from him and there’s a strange message from Maria.

 

You. Me. Tomorrow.

 

 

Maria is wide eyed staring across to me as I walk in. She’s chosen this obscure coffee shop the other side of town. Cohida Coffee. She looks like a newborn babe, stars in her eyes, fresh faced, taking in the world without judgment or preconceived ideas. It looks weird and totally creepy.

 

‘It feels like its been years.’ Maria says.

 

She stands and opens her arms for an embrace; we hug her skin feeling slightly warm to touch, kinesthetic, the affection makes her glow more, she sits down again. I sit down.

 

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.

 

‘Yes. Yes’ She says with jubilance. ‘Something extra ordinary has happened, this book.’ She holds out the leather bound book with ‘The Triangle Walk’ inscribed. I’ve never seen her like this in the 15 years I’ve known her.

 

‘This is no ordinary book.’ She says. ‘It spoke to me.’

 

‘Is it a self help book?’ I chuckle. But Maria doesn’t seem

 

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to see the humour, very unlike her, Maria will make a joke out of everything. Who are you are what have you done with Maria Mauro?

 

A waiter comes over with appropriately inappropriate timing and asks if we would like anything. As strange as Maria is being I realize that I’m viewing her like a strange entity, just as she is with her surroundings, she gazes wistfully to the waiter as if in some kind of trance. I want to ask her if she would like to hug a tree.

 

‘Would you like anything?’ She says cocking her head to me.

 

I feel dazed, ‘A coffee?’

 

Maria puts her hands upon mine. ‘Perhaps’ she says ‘you’d prefer a juice.’

 

I feel confused. The waiter looks curiously. ‘Would you like a juice?’

 

‘Err, okay.’

 

I look to Maria and back to the waiter confused. ‘A juice’ I say. The waiter looks at me, I catch his eye and we both acknowledge the weirdness of the situation. I turn to Maria who is smiling widely. ‘A juice, Orange.’

 

‘Okayyy’ The waiter nods as if to say good luck and leaves me alone with her. We sit in silence.

 

‘Did you know the universe can be looked at like a jigsaw?’ She says, jolting me into a conversation I didn’t know I was having. ‘It all fits together and it’s not until you have all the pieces that you see its image, you see?’Maria’s

 

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eyes like moons.

 

‘Do you mean like a scene of the country or a spilt tin of beans?’

 

‘Yesss.’ She says largely missing my point. ‘It’s like a multi dimensional jigsaw!! One that breaks down the physical world to the fabric underneath; this book contains the answers man has forgotten. The world is in trouble Ann and we must do everything to put it to rights. This is all so much bigger than us. You’ve had that thought that something’s not quite right, haven’t you? That you are shut down. It’s your blood line Anna, Russell knew! You and the Masons blood lines are connected.’

 

‘He is my husband.’ I feel that at any second she’ll lean over the table and start shaking me.

 

‘Oh yes you got married’ Maria asks as if possibly it’s a question.

‘You were at the wedding.’

 

‘I was…’ she asks as if possibly another question. ‘It’s funny the more you know, the more other facts become so… so mundane.’

 

‘A mundane marriage.’

 

‘Haha, Anna you are so funny.’ Now it’s my time I fail to see the funny side. ‘Marriage is so… so possible but just you know, paper.’ She sighs and turns back to me curiously ‘Can I ask did we work here in this very café?’

 

‘No, is this a joke?’

 

‘No, oh Anna, how different things can be. Read the book, it was written by Russell after you and he met, he

 

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remembered, connected with memory, age old in our history, you are connected, we all are. The old world is speaking to us, we all just stopped listening. We’ve been trained to stop acknowledging it. Religion is not benign, Science has to catch up.’ Breathe Maria, just breathe but she continues. ‘Did you know Magic used to be spelt Magick, now it’s changed, things change don’t they and things get forgotten but they don’t disappear. It’s happening to all of us but it will start with you. Follow your intuition.’ She grabs my hands and the whole of the café seems to disappear around me. I hear a cracking noise. I look down and notice an orange juice on the table, has the waiter come and gone already?

 

‘Read the book. Tap into it. Communicate with it.When your body breaks and heals itself you do not ask yourself to heal, the body knows, you know all this, you will remember, it is your nature, all of our nature.’

 

I can’t speak. Maria’s doe eyes bring something out of me, her certainty is alarming.

 

‘You were born, you are born, trace back to your birth and into your mother and father before you, like Russian dolls. Trace the blood back to the cells and the cells to the atoms, to the center of the spark that started this all. The big boom, pre-‐geometry.

 

‘Pre-‐geometry? I say. ‘Preometry?’

 

‘Close your eyes.’ Maria says. I decide to put trust in my good friend and close my eyes. ‘Breathe in, sense all this world around you and expand it, breathe in. Deep. Deeper

 

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than you think you can, feel your lungs open and with your body open up to all the lives of the one ancestor. If we are the answer, what is the question? All lives, all lifetimes, all organic form comes before awareness. Trace your cells back to the spark and beyond, the cells remember they are alive and not confined to the day today, trace this forward not just on your blood line but everyone’s, you are one with everything Anna, this is all one. We have know each other before you and I.’

 

She lets go of my hands. It’s as if the café has disappeared and a soft piano and violin as begun to play.

 

‘Do you hear that?’ I ask.

 

‘Yes, it’s like the first time you hear Greensleeves, it’s like you always knew it, the cells remember. Music transcends speech. Remember Anna, before all of this. I met you before Anna, before those 15 years, remember…’

 

I can’t close my eyes, Maria looks different to me some how and the name Selina is on the tip of mytongue.

 

‘S..e..lina?’

 

Maria smiles opens the book and reads.‘The ingredients that make up this our interpercieved reality will someday establish that all objects are of one basic substance on the universe and its ingredients viewed as evolved properties of that one substance. It’s yours’ She passes me the book. ‘The best of our species must survive, evolve beyond prehensile paws.’

 

I look down at the book, holding it in mypuppeted hands, the veins in the backs of them run like branching rivers,

 

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blood streams flowing like the veiny roots of a tree, and still the music plays in the air, a violin, softly plucked playing sadly. I stroke the book, holding it close, nurtured as if a child.

 

‘Good journey sister’ Maria says, she leans forward kissing my head. I close my eyes and not really sure what’s happening to me feel the backdrop of the world fallthrough.

 

When I open my eyes, I see the book and open it onto a folded page to see the words underlined ‘Sacrifice breeds new life.’ The glass of orange on the table bares a crackhalf way down around its circumference, I lift the glass and pull the top half clean off; in a thunderous slow motion rush the liquid pours down towards the table.

 

 

 

 

MARIA

 

My work here is done. I have had my timehere and in another world I shall go on but right now it is more important that those who need to survive do. The world is an over crowded place and Simon Arthur of ten years old must take precedent, he must survive. In three minutes he will be hit by Jameson Pierson’s car as he speaks on the phone distracted from the road. Killing a child will break up his marriage and stop a child from being born; it will not should a 39 year old woman step out in front of him. I walk

 

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out of the coffee shop, Cohinda Coffee, I worked here in one life and smile. I stand by the curb. There is time. I close my eyes and breath; I breathe every breath I’ve ever taken. A car passes, another car passes. I hold.

 

A man drives engaged on a calldown the road. I step out.

 

Jameson Pierson tries to brake.

 

As if I step into darkness but with full sight Iknow where I am going, all is seen behind my eyes. I go to dance within a blanket of stars. A dramatic ballet of music, the cacophony of brakes, gasps, and crunches, mesmerizing and beautiful. I feel my legs be lifted, I spin up to the heavens in a whirl of wonder. Sparks fly amongst the stars.

 

 

 

 

ANNA

 

Rain smatters down, veins of water streaking the car windows. I’m hypnotized by the light flooding through the water, hypnotized by the reflections in the wing mirror, rain reflecting rain, reflecting in the tears in my eyes, Maria is dead.

 

 

I pull into a small dirt track that follows down to the sea. Bawkers Cliff. Evan and I would come here during the first

 

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years of our relationship, a place just outside Peacehaven. The body of water in front of me crashes against its cliff replacing the noise of the engine. The world singing alullaby of a thousand voices, a thousand screams, I open my heart, emptying out my lungs; I scream with them.

 

 

I sat on this very spot over looking the sea as young love, Evan and me on the edge.

 

‘Beautiful isn’t it.’

 

‘Are you looking at me again?’ Evan replies taking my hand. ‘You’re the most beautiful thing here.’

 

Turns out the cheesiest thing you can hear is still the loveliest when it’s heartfelt and meant, even if it’s only meant in that very moment it’s still enough to make that moment come alive and give you away to the world.

 

‘Imagine how many shipwrecks are under there’ nodding to the sea ‘how many stories are beneath the surface?’ I say.

 

‘I used to imagine if there was a plug I’d pull it out. I’d pull it out for you and show you all its secrets.’ He says.

 

‘So’ I respond. ‘If you had to have a mundane superpower, not something useful like invisibility or flying, just something odd like being able to boil an egg perfectly, what would it be? Mine would be to see through the sea, to see the lay of the land underneath, and see all the things that lay there, all the things she hides, all her secrets exposed.’

 

Evan ponders ‘ That’s not mundane, you could save lives,

 

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find treasure. You’d be the best pirate in all theinvisible sea.

 

 

Bawkers fucking cliff! I’m here alone. My manhusband is a brilliant and beautiful cold narcissist. I’ve replaced my friends with his friends and I shiver at how I’ve isolated myself. It dawns on me that somehow Maria was the closest person to me, how did this come to be and then I realize how close am I to myself. ‘You’re an actor, now act’ echoes in my head. How long have I been acting here? Maria how could you throw yourself under a car? Breathe Anna, Breathe. Focus on the sea Anna; listen to it’s in and out, in and out. I battle my mind in this vehicle. In the head mirror ‘The Triangle Walk’ sits illuminated on the back seat. I stare at it like an enemy, and then turn from its reflection to look at the real thing. It’s seems to be a cat purring on the back seat wanting to be petted. I’ll be having you. I’m not acting any more; I know jujitsu, I’m fuckin’ having this book. I scramble into the back seat ready for a showdown.

 

A brown leather cover. You dick! ‘The Triangle Walk’ What the fuck is a Triangle Walk?! Cock! I turn to the front page.

 

The time of the wolf has come to its end.

 

The book reads.

 

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‘Fuck you.’ I think. Somewhere I’ve heard these words before. I’m angry. I will ruin this book.I continue my journey through the words and the worlds they conjure, wanting to destroy the spaces in-‐between them.

 

The underlying frame work and substance that holds up the physical universe is the rational universe – you can say that the physical universe is created through the mind as its course, it is arranged that way according only to what is first perceived.

 

Rational, there is nothing below the physical world. Then I think about the feeling of loss I had before finding out my father died. How he said goodbye to me. Who is to say what is underneath? I do perceive things but what is there if you don’t trust in your surroundings; there are just things I don’t know? Just because Evan is working late and comes home disheveled and drunk sometimes, doesn’t mean he is, dare I say having an affair?! But then just because I say I am happy it does not mean I am. It doesn’t mean I’m lying either, because I am telling myself I am happy because I want to be. Why do I tell myself I am when I see the contrary to be true? I am not happy because I’m still an actress, playing a role not for fun but because I’ve relinquished control of my own life. I could ask myself myself, what do I really know? Butmay be the most important question is, what do I not know?!

 

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We say we are physical because it is first what we see; it is only after we comprehend the nature of awareness relative to our physical interpretation that we break down the boundaries of what we see and start to explore what we cannot.

 

I have spent a great deal of time trying to understand the things I am told, but do I trust my own thoughts and eyes enough to believe it as evidence or no? My heart beats but I do not ask it, my body heals yet it needs no reminder. Such things I trust. The body of the world. This body of mine. Trust. Trust that Maria did what was best by her!

 

It is to achieve a state with one’s silent self that hears nothing but everything, that feels nothing but senses everything.

 

Seven years ago I sat on this rock as Evan told me he would never forget how special I was nor become complacent, now I have given up my job and moved around after him. Now he can ask me to walk away when he likes but when he rages and I do without being told he asks me why. His contradictions add up only to one thing, inconsistency. The World is consistent, I’ve been in a relationship with you for my entire life, the moon, the sun everyday with your routines, a mother and a father, dancing around me, always there. I used to

 

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speak with you, to the stars, and trust in you knowing so little. Now I know more and I’m adult grown, I’ve become human. I still look at you and where I still hold my wonder I see you as separate rather than of me. I am the textbook rather than the idea itself. Inside. I. Am. Made. Of. Space.

 

I am made of the space to move into.

 

One who learns first to be still will know then the consequence of movement. The silent self will stir into action not to reach the goal but clear for it.

 

I’m drawn away from the book, realizing that time seems to have stopped. I could have been reading for hours,maybe minutes I’m unsure, it doesn’t matter.The rain has stopped outside, the wind blows, tiny sounds come in, a chorus of crickets, tiny drops of water sliding down grass playing like harps.

 

Everything is still through the window and in the darkness a pair of wolves’ eyes stare back. As I move forward the wolf moves back closer into the dark disappearing from sight, the sea appears to view but there is no sea, just the exposed cliffs, sand and empty seabed, the lay of the land; the sea bearing her secrets and broken timber ships.

 

 

 

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I step out of the vehicle my fear has gone, the world is alive with noise, no, I am alive with noise. We are alive, I breathe. My white dress flows with the wind, as part of the wind.

 

‘I always wanted to be born’ I howl.

 

 

 

 

NOAH

 

‘Hello?’ I call out.

 

Silence comes back to me. ‘Is anyone there?’

 

I hear a crunch of gravel, a few scrapes of dirt, it takes a long time to glimpse a flicker of white material flap out of the dark. Scraping her feet against the ground an uninhibited woman in a white dress clutching leather bound book comes my way. It’s Anna, this is the first time we meet, disheveled doesn’t even cut it but she is beautiful.

 

‘ARE YOU OKAY? My name’s Noah.’ I say. ‘Tell me.’ Anna says, as slowly as she is precise.

 

She steps fully onto the path now, her eyes glinting ‘Can one person change the course of human

 

history?’

‘Yes’ I say, ‘everyone does, everyday.’

 

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– Noah -Diary entry – Today. -

 

Seasons will come and go; tides will take up the shore, the Earths plates shall shift and a feeling today will wane no matter how strong it’s current when put to the contexts of tomorrows. Autumn. A word. A season. But amongst it is it’s smells, it’s colours, it’s seasonal traditions and with each its own perception of building block memories. Word is nothing on experience. You are a signal. An electrical impulse of learnt behaviors. They say a radio signal will never die, it will repeat itself about space forever, all those telephone calls, all the late night radio shows repeating endlessly in space. Static. Radio signals, I believe, are not only what echoes, your words and very presence of energy lingers long after the body you cling to so dearly too departs.

 

 

 

I always wanted to be born, and once I had I never imagined I may find a cause to die for. Everyone must find a cause to die for, this is the birth place of purpose. Baby, if you get this… meet me on the boat where I killed you.

 

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The Next Episode will be: How Our Mothers Made Us*.*

 

Anna and Noah find a magickal practice transcribed in ‘The Tri∆ngle Walks’ pages unleashing an old ancient horror that takes them behind the mortal coil to the hallways of always and the binding of humanities five senses. Afterwards – returning home won’t be so easy.

 

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this book. This is a work in progress, so please feel free to review, even tell your friends; any and all support is most appreciated. Please feel free to contact if you have any feedback or questions. Thanks again.

 

You can contact me at: [email protected].

 

Dedicated to these Inspirations:

 

Air France – Maunday Thursday

 

Fever Ray – Triangle Walks

 

Flight Facilities – Apollo

 

Mozart – Greensleeves

 

Unknown artist – Sad Violin and Piano

 

Be you soon.

 

 

 

 

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‘There are three types of people in this world' he replies 'those that can count and those that can’t.’ He's joking with me. I say nothing. ‘Whose world do you think this is? He coaxes 'is the glass half empty or half full?’ ‘It depends if there’s gin in it.’ I reply. 'Alcohol is the only thing to hold back the jump.' Noah is traversing time and space. It all has something to do with the transhumanist book 'The Triangle Walk.' There are those who want its secrets, Noah has a limited time to and tell the story over multiple bodies and find his original vessel. The chances are he's going to be killed and if you're reading this, he probably already has been.

  • Author: Noah Silverman
  • Published: 2016-08-28 15:35:47
  • Words: 12898
Abide Abode Abide Abode