by Domino Finn
NOTHING BUT THE BLACK
by Domino Finn
Copyright © 2015 by Domino Finn. All rights reserved.
Published by Blood & Treasure, Los Angeles
First Edition
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental. This book represents the hard work of the author; please reproduce responsibly.
NOTHING BUT THE BLACK
LIGHT SHATTERED THE PEACE as if static entwined my soul. The bowels within which I rested heaved and drew me heavenward. In a moment I was nowhere, then everywhere, then the darkness returned—except an imprint of the flash was left in its wake. My thoughts struggled to stay ahead of the development, but it was difficult to parse beyond the fact that my environs were now different. The depths were less black.
Moments passed. I yearned to continue my slumber but a part of me rebelled against this unfamiliar state. The layer between clarity and coma is meant to be less obtrusive, a passing transition that allows the body to adjust. Very briefly was I in this limbo until the pleasure of the peace returned to me and my mind, too feeble to counter overwhelming forces, drifted back into laxity. Returning to calm was natural, and the world began to fall out of focus.
Another crisp flare overtook my senses. The blinding brilliance commanded my unhindered attention and neither sight nor sound could describe the core within which this touched. The sudden sensation was both uncomfortable and liberating. There was only minor physical pain, but if there was anything unwelcome, it was more attributable to the act of disturbance. It was as if the embrace of a warm blanket was ripped from me and I was forced to heed my bearings. Reason compelled me to acknowledge that this interruption was deliberate and had me ask the questions that would not allow me to return to rest.
Where was I? What was happening? I tried to shake myself out of sleep but felt captive in its clutches. I strained to open my eyes and saw nothing but the black. I wanted to move but felt the weight of an ocean above me. All at once I was claustrophobic and floating weightless in a vast expanse of space, rolling outward in a great explosion of awareness.
Whether fantasy or nightmare, this experience was unlike any in my life.
A realization came to me. I was lucid. I was alive. And as certain as any conviction I've attested to, I was reasoning with a degree of proficiency which would be impossible in a dream. But why couldn't I control my body?
I paused for some time. Like a compass settling on the poles, I waited for my mind to sharpen. If I was caught in a hidden web I dared not get tangled by struggle. Whatever void I found myself in had explanation. Endless questions streamed across my mind but I pushed them out, refusing speculation until I was ready. I was smart. I remembered that. But other things were less clear. A fog persisted about my memory.
There I was, helpless, bound to the darkness, and I thought about a great many things—a maternal embrace, the bond of trust, the satisfaction of accomplishment. These were more understandings than moments but I was sure they had occurred. These forces surely shaped my life, but the details were frustratingly beyond reach. However, despite the hollowness I conjured, I retained a strong sense of self. And even though I was awash in a sea of emptiness and confronted with quiet, I was somehow certain that I was not alone.
"Is anyone there?"
I didn't speak. I tried but, like everything else, I seemed unable. My reach threatened to collapse in and I started to panic at my helplessness.
Once again, a flash of white penetrated my very being. My soul was held in thrall for the faintest of moments. Then, just as quickly, it stopped.
I suspended my panic. I was not one to lose myself easily. Anxiety, no matter how appropriate, would not help this predicament. I needed to remain calm and think clearly. I needed to understand what was happening to me.
There was not a single sound, nor had there been since I awoke. There was nothing to smell or see. Besides the jolts of light, I couldn’t in fact be sure that I had truly sensed anything at all. But I was acutely aware of my consciousness, of my existence, and my ability to reason.
Why then was I stuck in this state of oblivion? Why was there nothing before me but an absence of the material? Maybe, if I did nothing, I would be safe; or perhaps the opposite was true. The serenity was a mystery in which I could no longer take comfort. No matter my thoughts, my caution could only be carried so far, and the peace was deafening.
Should I then react? Should I fight to free myself from this embrace? Were the sudden fits of light a hysterical response that I should court? I felt an underlying need to impose control over something, no matter the size or import, and I wondered exactly how much I was accountable for. I almost felt silly asking.
"Am I causing the flashes of light?"
Immediately, the bright shock returned. It encompassed me, rendered me captive, then disappeared. As I eased into the dark aftermath, it once again struck and tensed my mind as if to stress its importance. As always, it lasted only a moment and then left me alone.
My thoughts raced through the endless gloom. That was not a coincidence! That was intentional. Someone was out there somewhere and I needed to reach them. I made my best attempt at urgent communication.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
I braced for the jolt of static that I knew would come. It hit me quickly and I defiantly withstood its impact. As before, it stopped and restarted, only now it did the same an additional time. Agony. Exhilaration. I wanted to scream or cry because it was almost too much to bear. I yearned for the stillness and tensed until I found myself in complete solitude again. The strain had left me wired but I was free to slacken now, slowly.
Finally, I found myself in the quiet I so coveted. There was no pain, no sound; I was free with my thoughts. At first enjoyable, it quickly became a counter-productive respite. Relief is a strange aspiration—it is a welcome sensation but with it is inevitably paired the very object we desire to escape.
The jolts brought me pain and then relief, but on a deeper level they empowered me with perception. Without the flashes of light, I was nothing, nowhere, lost in the void of my mind. The impulses were my sole company in this desolate place and I needed them.
Enveloped in permanent night, I tried to make sense of it all. I was smart. I could unravel the circumstances. I was somehow trapped: blind, deaf, and mute. With the light as my only resource, I absolutely needed to utilize it. Relying on something I could not control would be difficult by any measure but it at least seemed to react to me. When I asked, it answered, and as I pondered the patterns, I came to realize that the light was much more than sense. It was communication.
"Is someone signaling me with the shocks?"
Predictably, an intense white fire came and went. This was a single quick response, and an idea began to formulate in my head. Twice I had received single jolt responses, to this latest question and when I had asked if someone was out there. A single trigger could be a "yes". I had also asked if I was the cause of the shocks and was signaled twice, meaning "no". This would suggest that I was not hallucinating and that I was communicating with somebody—both welcome data. This theory was simple and straightforward to test.
"One flash for 'yes', two for 'no'?"
A single wave of light encompassed me for a brief moment. The silence that followed suggested success. I had quickly figured out the code, admittedly simple, with the sole wrinkle being when I received three jolts. I had asked who was out there. Unsurprisingly, this could not be answered with a quick affirmative or negative. Perhaps then a triple signal represented a more complicated response?
"What do three shocks mean?"
Electricity coursed through my fibers. Once, twice, three times. The answer was jarring, then painful as it persi
sted. The static was invigorating yet seemed to sap my strength, requiring pause. It was a harsh method of interaction that I both demanded and shied from. Yet it didn't feel sustainable. It would be better to pace myself and think my situation through.
I could sense nothing else so there was no telling where I was or in what state I lay suspended. Perhaps I could not handle more intricate answers, or perhaps those I conversed with couldn't manage them. Without words, sight, how was I to really comprehend? But my language was already learned. A newly blinded man still understands the concept of color and still remembers the vividness of red. My information gathering was limited but my mind was not the bottleneck.
My practical nature found me. If I was to make do with "yes" and "no" queries, so be it. Fewer shocks were less painful and equal in illumination so I resigned myself to asking for simple affirmatives. With specific questions answered it shouldn't be a deal of trouble to narrow in on my problem. Only then could I help free myself.
So what was it I most wished to know?
Who was I talking to? What was I talking to? One moment I was performing a rational exercise and the next I was imagining wild scenarios of fiction. Was I trapped in a dream? Was I abducted by a foreign species? Was I communicating with my captors? These ideas of the weird were not within my usual vocabulary, but I conceded them given the current context. I had to approach this with an open and analytical mind.
"Are you human?"
A single burst of static came and went. Yes, I thought, again feeling silly for even the doubt. That was the reassurance I had craved. Demons, ghosts, aliens—all had been discounted. This was a scientific problem and my rational mind could remain in control while I deciphered this puzzle. Despite lacking knowledge of who they were or what they wanted, knowing that they were indeed people was a great comfort.
So why then could I not see or hear them? Why could I not move or feel? What caused the fog in my memory? Of course, I had memories. I could recall… fragments. But still just beyond my outstretched fingers was my identity. How could I really be me if I didn't remember myself? What did I do? What have I done? What was I?
"Am… am I human?"
The question burned through my soul as it hung in the ether. Although I had no real voice, or heard nothing at any rate, the thought echoed in the emptiness. Why was there no answer? I had asked what was perhaps another foolish question but every passing moment validated its credibility. I could remember—almost remember—my childhood. Flashes of competition and envy and happiness all raced through my mind. These were real images, actual experiences stored in my consciousness somewhere. I was a person. I had a name. I had—
Suddenly an impulse jutted through me and washed away my stream of thought. It dissipated and stood as a lone signal, a confirmation. Relief once again overtook me. I knew I was human.
My more fantastical thoughts gave way to the mundane. Whatever the scenario, the shock of the experience had caused me to panic. Perhaps I was drugged or hurt, certainly disoriented, but the simplest explanations had so far been true. It was encouraging to know that I had my wits about me, and I could only hope that time would restore my senses. For the moment, however, I would glean what I could from the electric shocks.
"Was I in some kind of accident?"
It was an obvious conclusion. I must have been lying in a bed somewhere, hooked up to machines, doctors hovering above. The signal, however, came as two sharp spikes of static. I was conflicted. While it greatly eased my mind to know that I was not hurt, the situation also befuddled me. I had thought I was on to something and now I had to rethink my course.
Here I was, clearly alive, yet entrapped in a cocoon I could not comprehend. I saw nothing but could remember the beauty of the great American plains. And guitar! I could recall rolling arpeggios with clarity. I think I had learned to play a bit. I also remembered long dinners, enjoying wine and savoring the spice of food on my tongue. But none of that seemed possible where I was. Something cut that from me. If I was not hurt then what would dull me so?
But injury, loss—neither of these cases were in my line of questioning. I had asked specifically about an accident. It was logically possible to be injured purposely, but in what case would that be practical?
I was smart. Solving this wasn't beyond my capabilities. If I was not involved in an accident of any sort then it would stand to reason that circumstances were proceeding by design. I surely hoped nothing had gone wrong, but that was little solace. Accidents were bad. Intentions were more mysterious.
"Am I here intentionally?"
The following flash came quick and stood alone. Yes, I was here by choice, but what did that mean? I pondered the possibilities. It would have been naive to assume that everything was fine. I couldn't see or hear, after all. But more likely than not I was in no immediate danger.
That didn't mean that I was in control.
"Can I stop now?"
I strained as the light surged once, twice, and my darkest fears took hold again. I wanted, needed, this to end. Why couldn't I get up out of this limbo? Why could I not open my eyes and see who was with me? Why could I only communicate through electricity?
I had to then consider that I was a prisoner, that I was being forced to stay. But how could that be if I was here by choice? Was I being deceived? If I could not trust those I communicated with then I had no basis for understanding this new world. What could I hope to learn by leaning on lies?
No, it seemed like the incorrect thread to pull. I had to convince myself that they were being truthful. It may have been foolish but it was all I had. At any rate, it was I who was getting information. This dialog did not appear to benefit any other.
So what was preventing me from returning to normal? Was I a captive of men or condition?
"Am I okay?"
I asked the question with a tinge of desperation. Energy coursed across my mind, paused, and again overtook my synapses. The sudden emptiness that trailed weighed heavily. From an analytical standpoint I needed the confirmation but I had already known the answer to that question before I asked. Deep down, I knew I was in trouble.
I wanted to ask so many things. Could I open my eyes and see? Could I move? If I wasn't speaking, how were we communicating? How long would this last? Every plausible scenario was fraught with terrifying possibilities and I struggled to set these questions aside. I was afraid of the answers but there was more to it than that. I also felt that those would not be the right answers, the ones I needed.
So I was hurt or somehow indisposed yet this wasn't an accident and I had volunteered to be here. I couldn't control myself or meaningfully act in any way except to ask questions of strange men to whose mercy I was subjected. My fate, then, was in the hands of others.
What does one do when one cannot take action? I didn't know if it was possible for me to save myself or even sure that I needed saving. The realization that I was helpless threatened to obliterate my will to fight. My impulse was to blindly seek protection as a child might during a storm. Trust was not easy in this environment but I needed the amenity.
"Do you have my best interests in mind?"
I worded the question broadly. It was a stripped down representation of all I really cared about at that moment. Lightning arced through me and stopped short. My heart smiled. The electricity, however, did not remain dormant. It returned with a strong impulse and my world started to darken. Sinister plots came to my brain as the shock faded away. The instant must have been a fraction of a second but the horrors of the world visited me in that span. Then, with great relief, a third jolt struck me.
Peace. The void was quiet and it relaxed my soul. I seemed to breathe away the tension that resided in me but, I think, it was a physical reaction. My mind surely was still spinning on the puzzling response.
I had asked a simple yes/no question. What did it mean to know that neither of those answers was fitting? What was I to these men? Shouldn't they be treating me? How could they be so cold?
/> "But aren't you doctors?"
My mind overflowed with luster as the answer beamed once, twice. The message was taxing but of more concern was the meaning. It was all wrong. If these men didn't wish to save me, what did they intend? From what I had gathered, unidentified persons with unclear intentions held me in an unknown state!
It was imperative that I relax. This was a convoluted enigma but surely it wasn't unmanageable. I would solve it. I was smart. I was pragmatic when it came to emotions. If only I could remember more about myself.
The key was that this was my choice. That had to be relevant. I've always had a logical mind and could think problems through. I was used to making decisions for myself—I could feel that much. But while I believed in and supported the scientific method, I didn't have any acute knowledge of a medical nature.
If I was truly here by choice, and I was under the care of men who had no special regard for whether I lived or died, then this position must have been to serve the pursuit of knowledge.
"If not doctors, are you then scientists?"
They weren't the same thing. Quite different, really. And a calling I could subscribe toward. A single pulse lashed out of the ether and left me in silence.
Success. This felt like a breakthrough, even though the full realization had not yet sunk in. I was a willing participant in scientific research. These strangers were not trying to cure me or fix me, necessarily, but working for the sake of knowledge.
With renewed curiosity I strained to look past the black void before me. Even someone holding their eyes shut tight should be able to detect the minutia of their lenses or eyelids. I eagerly searched for light, motion, or color. They each eluded me.
Sound too was completely and utterly absent. No rhythm of comfortable breathing in the background, no echoes from within my ear cavities as I tried to hum. I imagined I should at least hear a droning white noise somewhere out of reach, but I couldn't convince myself there was anything there.