Saturday, November 15, 2014
The True Story of the Vortex. The Transcendence Files. Prologue. Draft.
by A.D. Stratu
(c) 2014. All rights reserved.
Brock Cairn, December 1996
‘You know, Doctor Court? Maybe...’ I pause.
‘Please… call me Gate. Anyway, I think the problem is the cultural field I grew up in,’ I explain.
Doctor Court looks at me puzzled, his bald patch glistening in the soft lamp light. He is very old. I stare at his seahorse-patterned tie. The fabric hippocampi seem to mock me in their dumb jolliness.
I was definitely right to rephrase the hell out of my sentence. What I initially wanted to ask was a question about the behavioral influence of my noosphere.
‘Dreams are the only loophole in the ironclad Western psyche. If I were born in India with a long line of Brahman ancestors in my wake, I’d probably feel totally OK. Like a unicorn in an enchanted forest’, I elaborate. Dr. Court doesn’t like it. To him, my way to speak is yet another sign of my… deviances.
’I think the Vortex dreams are somehow related to my short-term amnesia.’ I continue. ‘How come I don’t remember one single day? It’s like it was deleted off my brain by the Men in Black! Is it even medically possible – amnesias with that kind of selectiveness?’
I can see he’s irritated. Of course. No one likes know-it-alls, especially if they’re teenagers.
‘The Men in Black?’ he asks, frowning.
‘I made a reference to an obscure 1953 graphic novel! Not that I was abducted by aliens!’
Outrageous. OK, calm now, Gate. He’s just a stupid shrink.
‘I think that little comic’s got potential, though.’
How long has it been now? I’ve been having those dreams since I was a little girl in boarding school, after Rose, Ginger and I spent our Christmas in the woods. That was quite a story: we disappeared, we were found on the next day, and none of us remembered a thing.
Another mystery is that all three of us were lightly dressed, and winters in Scotland are no mean feat. However, none of us had any signs of hypothermia or frostbite. The 24 hours of our absence were obliterated from our minds. Several days later, I saw my first Sol Vortex dream.
The girls were successfully guidance-counseled back to normalcy or whatever passes for it these days. My parents still keep on inflicting shrink after shrink on me.
Now I got Dr. Court and his nefarious tie. Marvelous.
‘Never mind,’ he says dryly. ‘You still cannot tell me what exactly happens in the dreams?’
‘I don’t remember the exact events’, I say truthfully, for the thousandth time, I think.
Yes, the action is always different and always forgotten as I awake. The surroundings are always the same. Violet oceans, amethyst and diamond rocks, majestic suns in multicolored skies home to the Celestial Castle… talking, almost sapient plants, ferocious predators, subsurface so rich the inhabitants carve citadels out of precious crystalline rock… Values so different, power balances so complex, evils so dangerous…
I call it The Vortex.
Sometimes it’s so beautiful I wake up crying. Sometimes it’s so terrifying I wake up screaming. And some day, when I will be able to capture the dreams, I will write the story of it.
Right now, as I stare at Dr. Court’s tie, I have no idea it will become the true story of the Sol Vortex.
16 years later
To: L.N. Axelsson <firstname.lastname@example.org>
From: A.D.C. Whitcomb-Carson <email@example.com>
Date: Tue 16 Feb, 2012 03:05:14
Subject: A little self-analysis… please don’t be mad
I know you don’t like ruminations, but you are the only person I can possibly talk to… I obviously can’t tell him, he’ll just freak out and blame himself, as usual. Rose is out of the question, unless she’s an undercover Starplayer – she fits the race description all right. I guess I’ll never figure out the amount of lies that you guys have built around me.
When I was writing my Skydwellers game draft, I had absolutely no idea of how my dreams would shape up my life, or how sharply that life – a senseless petty existence – would mutate into something so different that I changed unrecognizably as my life was changing.
I can say with certainty that I am no longer the Gate Carson who embarked on that journey of a thousand roads starting with merely a few weird dreams and a passion for an exceptional and inaccessible man. And it still scares me.
Still, I regret nothing, not a single moment in my beautiful, dangerous, soon-to-be-over life. Please don’t frown. You know my time is numbered down to seconds, still many of them, but each is murderously short.
We have a story, though. The most wonderful story. The story that brought to life so many things… two civilizations, my best friend, and the man I will love forever.
I wish I knew where to start ending it… will it be the Maya who will put an end to my misery?
Thank you for listening.