by Nicky Blue
‘This is what I’ve been waiting for.’ Barry did as he was told then climbed headfirst into the waxy-coated tubing. ‘It’s like climbing into someone’s intestines.’
‘You’ll soon get used to it, Barry. Get ready… You’re about to–’
Barry flew off up the tube, zero to a hundred miles-per-hour in seconds, getting faster and faster, to the point where his cheeks were bulging and tongue flapping wildly out of his mouth. The stars around him blurred and he was having trouble breathing. Must be reaching the speed of light, he thought.
The tube criss-crossed with other tubes, a spaghetti junction. He could see other people being pulled in a myriad of directions. Just as he felt he was going to faint, he began slowing down.
With one final slurp, Barry was pumped through the ceiling of a vast open-plan office. Landing with a thud on a grubby old mattress, he found himself looking up at a garish neon sign:
Welcome To The Prophecy Allocation Department.
Taking in his new surroundings, he saw he was in a vast warehouse containing hundreds of rows of seats at one end and five small desks at the other. The place was lit by large strip lights, some of which flickered intermittently, causing a strobe light effect. There was a faint smell of burning flesh from an electric bug zapper on the wall. It was doing a good job of frying any unsuspecting creature that flew within 50cm of it.
A petite but rotund man wearing braces and a pork pie hat helped Barry onto his feet.
‘Come along, sir, up you get. We don’t like time-wasters here. Take a number and have a seat until you are called.’
Barry looked up at the wall and saw what looked like a clock, except it had two hour hands speeding in different directions that stopped after one rotation and then would go back on themselves making a ‘ting!’ as they did so. The man sitting next to Barry, who was dressed as Elvis Presley, raised his right eyebrow and introduced himself.
‘Hello, I’m Mr Law. I’m here to make a pitch for a new prophecy called “Return to Sender“.’
‘Hi, I’m Barry. What’s that about?’
‘I believe that Elvis was a musical genius and it is a catastrophe that we were robbed of his later musical years. I’m proposing to go back in time to save him so he can return and make more beautiful music for us.’
‘Save him from who?’
‘From himself of course. I have devised some specialised dietary plans for him and I’m even prepared to stay on with him and act as his personal trainer. To be honest with you things haven’t been going so great for me lately… the change would do me good. ‘
‘You don’t say. Why do you think he’s going to be open to you making these changes for him?’
‘He’s not making a lot of music now, is he?’
Barry tilted his head slightly, frowned, and zoomed in closer to Mr Law.
‘So, let me get this straight: you are going to go back in time to save Elvis Presley, from himself, dressed as Elvis Presley? I’m not sure they are going to buy that.’
‘Yes, I know it may seem a little odd. It’s what’s known as a paradoxical intervention.’
‘So where does the prophecy come in?’ asked Barry.
‘If my application is approved, the department have a way of inserting into history (in diaries, letters, old manuscripts, that sort of thing) evidence of the new prophecy. That way, the new prophecy becomes an old prophecy, if you know what I mean. Then I can go on – or back – and fulfill the prophecy, see?’
‘No, I don’t think I do,’ Said Barry, scrunching up his face. ‘Try not to go back too early in his career though, you’re likely to give him a bloody heart attack.’
A voice blared from the tannoy.
‘Number fifty-two to the front desk please.’
Barry approached the front desk to see a tall intense-looking woman staring down at her paperwork. She had the air of a headmistress about her and looked like a cross between Mrs Marple and Morticia from The Addams Family. There was a bronze plaque on the front of the desk which read: “Ms Hannah McCann – Time Vortex Translocation Coordinator”.
‘That job title’s a bit of a mouthful.’ Barry grinned as he sat down.
Ms McCann peered up from behind her half-rimmed spectacles.
‘It’s not just the material world that gets hit by funding cuts, you know. I’m doing three people’s jobs here; I’m working my arse to the bone! Fill in this prophecy request application and please make sure you record the correct time of transcendence. People always get that wrong – it’s the bane of my life.’
Barry scribbled away frantically while Ms McCann sat back and read his case file, muttering under her breath, ‘Ah!…huh…tut tut!…oh, I see… you’re the one who put a cat in a blender! Nasty bit of business that. You seem very good at leaving a trail of chaos behind you, Mr Harris.’
‘I can explain… It’s not my fault, you see. A ninja demon called Cygloar possessed my gardening clients and tried to kill me.’
‘Ha, that’s a tall story.’
‘How can it be any taller than all this?’ Said Barry throwing his arms up in the air. Ms McCann got up and leaned forward over her desk, parking herself about an inch away from Barry’s face.
‘All this, I’ll have you know, is perfectly normal. Was it Terry the Hedge who put you onto the compost gateway?’
‘He gave me a conundrum and I had to try and work it out for myself.’
‘He’s got a lot to answer for, that one. Did you know he used to work for us in accounting? Useless he was and he never stopped talking! He’d drive me to distraction. That’s why I gave him a three-minute conversation limit, he’d drive you insane otherwise! Was it Brian that gave you gateway access?’
‘Yes I couldn’t have done it without him.’
‘Ha ha! I bet you thought he was boring, didn’t you? The problem is that the compost gateway is meant to be an emergency time travel portal reserved for wizards and space commandos. That said, we do let Brian use it – you’ve got to give a little bit back. Its main function is to prevent intergalactic conflict. For someone…well…such as yourself, it’s the spiritual equivalent of travelling through a cosmic ring piece. You come out the other end with a condition called karma inversion.’
‘What the hell is that?’ Barry nibbled the quick of his fingernails.
‘It’s when all the good deeds you have ever done in your life are erased from history and all you are left with is the cat-in-the-blender type stuff.’
‘That’s a good start then.’ quipped Barry whilst trying to covertly adjust the velcro straps on his underwear. ‘So, Mr Harris…this brings us to the details of your mission. You’ll be tasked with carrying out prophecy number 231/129.4, commonly known as “The Ninja Prophecy”. You’ll going back to October 1st 1603 to Rim province in Japan, where Obi Nobmearda, an evil warlord, is leading forty thousand samurai warriors into the province to finish off the ninjas. Only four hundred ninjas remain, and their leader Yamochi—’
‘Dad’s alive! I knew it! I knew it!’
‘Yes, we hope so but he’s been captured by the samurai. It’s your mission to get into their heavily-defended hilltop temple and rescue your father so the ninja tradition can live on. It’s an impossible mission and you’re probably the least capable candidate for the job, but you are all we have, so good luck.’
‘Cool, this is like a back to the future ninja black ops! I won’t let you down. I’m gonna make those samurai suckers pay for what they have done to my family.’
‘By the way, did you know that Robbie Jarvis was a wizard?’ Ms McCann removed her spectacles and sat back onto her chair.
‘You mean he looks like one?’
‘No. He’s an actual wizard and not only that, he’s also a mercenary who was hired by the warlord Obi Nobmearda to wipe out your family and kill you so you couldn’t fulfil the prophecy.’
‘What? He’s been doing my hair since I was five!… He’s an actual mercenary time-travelling dark wizard?’
‘Yes, with a gre
y-love addiction, you couldn’t make it up, could you? You were lucky, he’s normally deadly but he got a bit distracted with his old ladies.’
‘So it was his porking that saved my bacon!’ Barry looked very pleased with himself.
Ms McCann let slip a rare smile to reveal the most glorious set of mustard-coloured teeth. ‘You really are quite a basic individual, aren’t you?’
‘I do my best.’ Barry returned the favour with his own gappy beam. Ms McCann looked up at the clock on the wall to see both hands travelling even quicker but in the same direction. ‘Okay, Mr Harris, it’s almost time for your departure, I’ll be back with a map you’ll need to follow. Feel free to use the services while you are waiting.’
‘Just one last thing, you don’t happen to have a chemist here do you?’
‘No, this isn’t an airport you know! What is it you need?’
‘Never mind, nothing, it doesn’t matter.
With all this excitement, Barry’s entrails were making the kind of noise that results from stealing a juicy bone from a grumpy basset hound. He thought it prudent to go and find out what an intergalactic lavatory looked like.
Wandering around, he arrived at a spiral staircase and a sign reading, “Departure Lounge This Way”. Barry clambered up the rusty jangling steps to find himself in an immense glass-domed atrium. It was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen. It looked like the whole universe lay before him, shooting stars were disappearing into black holes as tubes siphoned people in all directions. Spacecraft of all shapes and sizes lit up the horizon. I wish mum and Mindy could be here to see this! thought Barry. Who is ever going to believe me when I tell them? Staring into infinity he marvelled at the countless beings surrounding him. A reflection that would ordinarily have made him feel utterly insignificant. Today however, he smiled to himself, as at last he felt part of this vast unfathomable cosmic game.
Continuing his search, he walked down a dimly lit corridor, arriving at a door that was simply marked X. Poking his head inside, he could see rows of shiny silver cubicles. There must be a lot of staff here, thought Barry as he rushed into one and sat down on what looked like a glass bucket. As he began emptying his underwear, he could hear a loud gurgling noise. He presumed it must have been the kebab he had devoured earlier.
Looking down, he could see a small whirlpool emerging from the bottom of the bowl which was getting faster and faster. A fierce suction started drawing Barry downward and he desperately gripped the sides of the toilet to stop himself being dragged in.
‘Help!’ yelped Barry, holding on with all his might. A loud voice honked from the tannoy.
‘Welcome, traveller. You are now entering the Time Vortex Translocation System. We hope you have a pleasant journey.’ Two large hands reached out of the middle of the whirlpool and grabbed hold of Barry’s buttocks, yanking him down into the torrent below.
His pants still around his ankles, Barry emerged, unceremoniously flushed into a huge heap of green slime. Poking his head from the slime, there appeared to be nothing but desert surrounding him. The sky was a sepia haze, with no sun to be seen, just a weird twilight. Standing over him was a small being, no more than three feet, with no eyes, ears or nose. It had spindly looping arms that were twice the size of its body. Barry blinked a few times to confirm to himself that he was actually seeing what he was seeing.
Helping him out of the slime, the being spoke.
‘Hello I’m Armitage Frank. I guide people between worlds. Can you show me your map please?’
‘Where am I?’
‘You are in The Before and After.’
‘How can you hear me without any ears?’ asked Barry, scraping the slime from himself.
‘I spend my life pulling people through time-toilets. I have only one orifice for all my bodily functions. It’s much more practical.’
‘Only one?…even for… never mind. I left before I could get a map…by accident, actually.’
‘You what? You can’t be in The Before and After without a map – you could get lost for all eternity. I’ve had four-hundred-and-twenty cats, eighty-five dogs and twelve guinea pigs go missing down here. You never age, you just walk round and round in circles. Forever. I’m worried they will all come back and find me on the same day! You must have a map.’
‘Do I have to go back up into that toilet?’
‘That’s the only way in and out.’
‘Bugger that. I’ll take my chances. Can you just explain to me roughly where to go?’
‘Who knows? In this place somewhere is nowhere and nowhere is everywhere.’
‘Great! I won’t ask to borrow an A-to-Z then. What happens if I go that way?’ Barry pointed to what he thought might be north.
‘No, no. Never ever go that way. That takes you through The Forest of Unattainable Dreams and Ghastly Consequences.’
‘What happens there?’
‘You can never get what you want and if you get upset about it you’re severely punished.’
‘What about if I go south then?’ Barry made a guess and pointed.
‘There is no magnetic field in The Before and After so how do you know which way is south?’ Frank then pointed in what seemed to be the same direction as Barry. ‘If you mean that way, you mustn’t go that way! There you find The Forest of Fabulous Abundance and Pitiful Remorse. There you can fulfil your hearts desires, have anything you want, but only with debilitating regret for the rest of your days.’
‘What the hell is this place?’ Barry got up and started pacing up and down on the coarse desert sand, ‘Please just tell me the way to Japan?’ Frank pointed wildly in another random direction.
‘That way takes you to The Sea of Non-dual Materialism.’
‘What?’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to go there. Your only hope is to walk into the prevailing wind, which takes you deeper into The Desert of Existential Mirrors, where nothing exists but everything is possible. Be careful, a sandstorm is brewing.’
Wrapping his t-shirt around his face, Barry set off into the gritty, cutting wind. It was slow going with his head down, the diamond dust coating his skin. A coppery tang registered at the back of his mouth and a fuzzy background tinnitus ricocheted in the wind like a poorly tuned radio station. He tried desperately to walk in some sort of straight line, fearing the price of going off-piste. After miles upon miles of arid wasteland, he could walk no more. Deliriously tired, it was all he could do to curl up into the sand and fall fast asleep.
He quickly found himself back in his night terror, though this time it was him standing on the cliff, and his father hanging from the edge. Barry reached down for his father’s hand but Yamoshi knocked it away.
‘You have to go back home Barry, it’s too dangerous for you here.’ With that Yamoshi let go and sent himself hurtling to the rocks below.
Barry awoke, gasping wildly for breath, almost fully covered in sand. The wind had given way to a ghostly calm and the only sounds were a kettle of vultures circling above him. Didn’t Frank say nothing existed here?
As soon as he had collected himself, Barry jumped to his feet and set off into nowhere again as the last of the light evaporated. Faint from not having eaten anything since leaving Portslade, he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. The cabaret of night began fabricating faces in the distance, seemingly familiar but disappearing before he could place them. He sensed he was being followed but didn’t have the strength to walk any faster. A cacophony of tiny voices behind him competed with the desert hum.
‘There he is, the little bastard. I told you we’d find him.’
‘There’s no sense running, Mister. You’ll never escape us.’
Barry turned round to see gangs of garden gnomes surrounding him, tooled up with little knives and crowbars.
‘This will teach you for deserting us!’ The gnomes swarmed up his legs, dragging him to the ground and sticking their little weapons into him.
Barry picked one of the gnomes up and used him to
smash the rest of them. But as soon as one went down two more appeared, flooding in from all directions. Slowly drowning in psycho gnomes, Barry saw a dark figure approaching him. Squinting to try to make out who or what it was, a white cowboy hat emerged… followed by a bright blue suit with a gun hanging from its hip in its holster. As the figure got closer, he saw his iconic black mask.
‘Oh fuck me, it’s The Lone Ranger! I know what this is! My mind is regurgitating itself into this place. Like a weird dream. ‘
The realisation instantly dismantled Barry’s tiny tormentors, who started turning to dust. The Lone Ranger smiled, tipped his hat and walked back into the night.
Lying alone, exhausted on the desert floor, Barry had not an inkling of what to do next. Will I be lost in this place for all eternity, inside the bizarre theatre of my own mind? That’s the closest vision of hell I can think of.
The rumination was interrupted as words appeared in front of him, painted onto the black canvas of The Before and After:
Forget everything you think you know, catch the sun and make it snow.
It was the koan his father had given him all those years earlier, that Barry had so passionately sought to decipher but had always drawn a blank. Now they seemed a little different; the words were more alive in some way, more accessible. It was as if they were inviting him to a secret conversation, a glimpse of something sacred, calling him, waiting for him. Then it occurred to Barry, if I can make things disappear, surely I can make this place anything I want. Can’t I? He sat up, closed his eyes and meditated.
Watching his breath to calm himself, he visualised a torii, the symbolic Japanese gateway that marks the entrance to a temple. With its large wooden posts and imposing bowed top beam, Barry held the image in his mind, sitting for what felt like hours upon hours, until he could sit no more.
He opened his eyes. Before him was a vast wooden gateway, the number 1603 inscribed upon it. He stepped inside and disappeared.